‘I know. Shit just happens to you.’
‘Yeah,’ I agree with a little chagrin. ‘I’m a magnet for trouble.’
‘But from here on in, it’s all going to be the good kind.’
Here’s hoping,I think as we reach the reception desk, and I begin to sign in.
‘But at least you can say you’re a proper Londoner now.’
‘You mean I can complain about the Tube?’ He laughs as I’m handed a lanyard and card with the wordvisitoremblazoned across the front.
‘You can’t help being an Anglophile,’ he adds as he leads me to a bank of elevators, pressing his own access card against the panel.
‘You make it sound so dirty.’
‘Or maybe I only hope you are.’ I turn to him quickly when he shoots me an innocent look. ‘What? With relatives in Yorkshire, you probably are.’
‘Watch it,’ I retort, hip checking him as the doors slide open, and we step into the empty box.The glass box of possible doom.I shake off a shudder, wishing it was as easy to shake off my fear of elevators. ‘I come from very respectable stock.’
‘Yeah, but they talk funny up there. Like they’ve got a mouthful of dirt.’
‘Like Londoners don’t sound weird.’ I sort of scoff, though, in truth, I love the diversity of British accents. In fact, I love all the British things.
‘Has your gran still got her accent?’
‘After being out of the country for seventy-two years?’ My grandmother emigrated to the States from Yorkshire following World War II to follow her G.I. sweetheart at age seventeen. ‘She absolutely has,’ I add proudly.
I guess she’s the reason I’m a total Anglophile. Up until the age of fifteen, I was convinced I was destined to marry one of the Windsor princes. Secretly, I still thought I had a chance when I moved to London for college, or university, as they call it here. Which is where I met Luke and decided I’d rather take a chance with him. He’s the kind of boy-next-door handsome and a good man. Take right now, for example. All this idle chit-chat is his way of trying to distract me from my nerves. Sadly for me, he always seemed to have a girlfriend and never really noticed how I watched him from the sidelines. But life is all about timing.
‘How long have I got?’ I turn my head, noting the riot that is my hair reflected in the glass as I try to ignore the fact we’re hurtling skywards at a rapid pace. ‘Please say it’s long enough to wash these?’ I hold out my scuffed palms. ‘And fix this.’ I point at my hair.
‘You’re just angling for a compliment.’ In profile, his smile looks quite sly. At least, until I jab him in the ribs with my elbow. ‘What was that for?’ he asks, turning to me now, his words delivered through a stuttering laugh.
‘I was not! I can’t go into the meeting looking like something the cat dragged inafterchewing on it!’
‘You always look gorgeous,’ his low voice suddenly rumbles. He takes a step closer, but no matter how my heart pitter-pats, I know we’re not about to get hot and heavy. Luke is too honourable. Besides, we’ve waited this long, so I’m sure we can both wait a few more hours.
‘Business before pleasure,’ I whisper, placing my hand in the middle of his solid chest. His eyes darken, but he doesn’t answer as the elevator begins to slow.
‘Sure, I can wait until tonight.’
‘Tonight,’ I repeat with a sigh of longing. So many good things are happening for me today.
‘But for now,’ he says as the doors swish open, ‘it’s time to get your game face on.’
He points out a nearby washroom where I tend to my hands and tame my hair as much as is possible without the use of a flat iron. The thick mass that is neither red nor brown but always unruly has mostly escaped the low bun I’d painstakingly crafted this morning. It turns out, I don’t have another hair tie, so using my fingers as a comb and the remaining pins, I do my best to repair it before rubbing my fingers under my eyes to straighten my mascara.
Mine is hardly the kind of face that would launch a thousand ships, I reason as I study my reflection, but I’m passably pretty. The inclement English weather mostly keeps my freckles in check, and a dab of Origins Pink your Cheeks in Coralberry is usually enough to stop me from looking too pale. But right now, I don’t need any of that because my cheeks pink enough on their own. I open my purse to pull out my lip-gloss, wishing a Xanax would magically appear instead.
It seems I’m all out of wishes today.
‘A lot of people are depending on you right now,’ I whisper, staring at my flushed expression. Which, as far as pep talks go, it isn’t much of one. So I pull open the bathroom door and step into the hall.
Chapter 2
OLIVIA
‘Knock ’em dead,’ Luke whispers, leading me to one end of a large boardroom. Just because it doesn’t have the prerequisite sterile-looking table doesn’t mean it isn’t a boardroom. A large bank of windows flanks either side of the room, one with a vista over London and the other an open-plan office space filled with office furniture that seems to be a modern take on mid-century Danish interiors. At the other end of the room, a bunch of suits don’t so much wait expectantly as they do ignore my presence, chatting amongst themselves. I know I’m not the first person to pitch an idea to them today, but I’m grateful for Luke’s help in getting me through the door.
