‘Really?’ Surprise surges through my soul replacing the stupidity weighing down on me.
‘I think we’d need to meet in person, to see if this could work.’ Code for, ‘to see if you’ve got three heads.’ I hear a thrumming. Like he’s tapping his fingers on a desk. Or his whiskey glass. ‘When are you free?’
‘I, errrr …’ I glance at my watch. It’s not quite nine o’clock.
‘If I send a car for you now, will you come?’ His question is loaded with intensity. Or maybe that’s just in my head.
‘If you’re looking for that blow job, you can forget it.’ I tease, but I’m not entirely joking. This will only ever be business.
I’ve never even laid eyes on this man, but going by his sign-up form, he’s not exactly my usual type. Mind you, my usual type are usually assholes.
‘That would imply this is a first date, when in fact, it’s a business meeting.’
Good. At least we’re on the same page.
He clears his throat. ‘But if you want to add a sweetener to the deal, I suppose I could consider it. I wasn't joking when I said it’s been a while.’ There’s that hint of humour again. If I was a betting woman, I’d bet my life his smiles are rarer than black diamonds.
‘In your dreams.’ Though if his utterly sexy voice is any reflection of the rest of him, it might just star in mine. ‘Can you meet me in the city? Forgive me for not feeling entirely comfortable heading to a strange man’s house.’
He pauses like he’s thinking about it for a beat. ‘I’ll need to see if my housekeeper can stay late to babysit. I’ll call you back in five minutes on this number.’
The call disconnects and I’m left cradling the phone wondering what the hell I’ve done.
ChapterFour
CILLIAN
I stare at the phone wondering if I’ve lost my mind. What kind of a woman owns a dating agency but can’t even get a date herself? I mean, who is she? Does she have three heads? Is she purple with scales?
How can a woman with the confidence and sass to call me out on my blow job comment possibly need to fake-date anyone? She must have access to thousands of single guys at the tips of her fingertips.
There’s something off here.
I just can’t work out what.
Matilda pops her head round the living room door, her quilted coat buttoned up to her chin. ‘I’ve made a lasagne for tomorrow. It’s on the third shelf in the fridge. Phoebe’s packed lunch is on the second shelf next to her breakfast smoothie. I left pancake batter in the fridge door. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?’
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her to stay but apart from the fact it’s not fair, the idea of going to town to meet a woman I might potentially fake-date seems absurd now that said woman’s sexy voice isn't purring into my ear.
Ava sounded like a lot of fun, something I don’t have enough of in my life. But fun to me has always equalled flighty. And that’s something I’ve had a lifetime supply of.
‘Thanks for everything, Matilda.’ I stand to wave her off. ‘You are a godsend.’
Matilda’s cheeks flush at the compliment as she shuffles out to the hallway. ‘See you tomorrow.’ The front door clicks behind her and an engine roars to life on the driveway outside.
I sit back on the leather recliner, gaze at the honey-coloured liquid in my glass and contemplate ringing my mother. She might pop over for a couple of hours, especially if she thought I was going on a date.
Well, a fake-date.
Date to secure a fake-date?
Whatever.
My parents live ten minutes away, in a ten-thousand-square-foot mansion that makes this place look like a hovel. They are living proof that money does not buy happiness.
Lillian Callaghan oozes glamour. At sixty years of age, my mother could pass for fifty. I have never, and I mean never, seen my mother without a full face of make-up and a killer designer outfit on. Probably for the benefit of my utterly undeserving father. I’m pretty sure it’s her way of trying to entice him to keep it in his pants each time he disappears on ‘business’.
Her love is unconditional. It knows no bounds. Even when it should.
