‘Did he have billions too?’ Angel asked.
‘Uh-huh. He took the company into the global arena, from just a small firm with big ideas to a huge company with no limits.’
‘And, let me guess, junior is mucking it all up,’ Hayley said. Perhaps junior had different priorities too.
Dean shook his head. ‘No, he’s good at what he does. He flatters and uses his father’s old-school network to the company’s advantage, but, in my book, if you can’t remember the names of the people you employ, can’t spare agood morningor a smile now and then…’ Dean stopped, focusing his attention on Angel. ‘Listen to me. Going on about work when we have Chinese food to order.’
‘Shall we call the waiter?’ Hayley suggested, finally turning her attention away from Oliver.
She couldn’t remember what she’d intended to order because, for some reason, food was the last thing on her mind right now. Reasons Christmas is better in New York number thirty-five: eye candy at Chinese restaurants.
10
ASIAN DAWN, SOUTH WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK
Oliver watched her lick the ice cream from her spoon with all the experience of a Brooklyn hooker. Maybe that’s what she was. Did it matter? That’s what the rumour mill thought anyway. He put down his own spoon. She smiled then and, ravishing the stainless steel one more time, she placed it into her bowl.
‘So, are we staying for coffee? Or are you going to take me somewhere a little more intimate?’ his companion asked.
She was possibly the most forward woman he’d ever propositioned. Any soupçon of inner vulnerability had completely disappeared between their eyes meeting and her sucking the silverware like a porn star. He wasn’t sure he liked it. He wasn’t sure he wanted this now it was being laid out for him. It was all too easy. Too brazen. He swallowed. What was his problem? Easier was better, wasn’t it? Nothing difficult, just sex, a quick fix, no flying off in helicopters or trips to Vegas.
A skipped beat of his heart alerted him to the fact the woman – what was her name again? – was waiting for an answer. He’d lost all concentration; his tongue was parched and his glass was empty.
She leant forward, making sure her ample breasts met the table and rose up in the confines of her dress. ‘Shall I call us a cab?’
It didn’t really sound like a question. An internal punch to his heart had him squirming in his chair. He could feel his breath catching in his throat, adrenaline flooding his every sense. He could feel the blood flowing fast and hard through his entire body, his fingers were growing tight, his vision clouding.
He put his hand on the table to steady himself as he stood. ‘Please excuse me, for one minute.’
Without saying anything else, he headed in the direction of the restrooms.
‘Did you know that the wordnoodleactually comes from the German wordnudel? That’s n-u-d-e-l.’
Hayley was watching Angel trying to use her chopsticks. Most of the noodles – ornudels– were falling off the two prongs as soon as she’d got them anywhere near on.
‘Do you want a fork?’ she asked as Angel grabbed the strands between her lips and sucked.
Angel shook her head and sucked harder. Maternal pride coated Hayley’s insides as she watched.
‘She gets her brains from me, you know,’ Dean said, nudging Hayley’s elbow and smiling.
‘Are you calling me stupid?’ Hayley said in mock crossness.
‘I wouldn’t dare. Not when you’re holding chopsticksanda fork.’ Dean eyed the leftovers on her plate. ‘If you don’t eat that chicken, you know I’m going to have to.’
Hayley put her cutlery down and pushed the plate towards him.
‘I didn’t mean… take it back,’ Dean said, his fingers shifting the china across the cloth.
She shook her head. ‘No, it’s fine. I’ve had enough.’ She just wanted to get back to Dean’s apartment now, put her head on the pillow and let the exhaustion sweep over her. Tomorrow, she would face what she’d come here to do. Tomorrow, after two months of virtual searching for Angel’s father, she was going to begin the physical search. Starting with one of the galleries he’d mentioned exhibiting at all those years ago. Thank God for the ten-year diary containing all the information she’d needed to make a start. She’d remembered the name of the hotel too. It didn’t begin with ‘t’. It was the Shelton. She’d phoned them twice, both times getting the client confidentiality spiel. Bribing the receptionist hadn’t worked either. She also suspected they probably didn’t keep records of guests for ten years. She just had to hope turning up at the galleries was going to get her more results than the phone calls and emails.
Angel’s mouth hung open as the waiter walked past, a lobster on a silver platter heading for a table near the door. ‘It’s Lyndon,’ she announced, tearing up.
‘No,’ Hayley said quickly. ‘It can’t be. There were about twenty lobsters in that tank.’ She turned to observe the bubbling water, green weeds wobbling in the current. There were definitely fewer crustaceans than there had been. ‘Look, there he is.’
She pointed at a lobster bearing the closest resemblance to ‘Lyndon’ – although they all looked the same to her – and hoped for the best.
Angel shifted in her chair, getting up onto her knees to get a better look inside the water. ‘No, it’s not.’
