Her phone buzzed and she snatched it up eagerly, expecting some kind of ‘goodnight, thanks again for driving’ text from Sam. Instead, it was Kit:
So. Just got up. Am now wondering … Precisely how intense is your crush on the sexy Viscount-to-be after a full 24 hours in his company? Honest answers only, on a scale of 1–10
Amy groaned and put her head in her hands, wishing for approximately the millionth time that he didn’t know her so well.
Amy: 11.
I hate myself right now.
Chapter 18
On Monday morning, Amy made her way over to Rowton Hall so she and Sam could dial in to Carolyn’s RomFest meeting together. Resistance to pairing up in this way was futile, Amy knew; it would lead to awkward questions about their ability to work together, and while those concerns were probably completely valid, she didn’t need the hassle of dealing with them.
Over coffees made by Sam and a box of croissants Amy had picked up from the village bakery on her way over, they organised the notes they’d made while up north and came up with a selection of clear proposals for Carolyn to sign off.
‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were almost excited about this,’ Sam remarked as he tore a pain au chocolat in half.
‘I’m excited about the PR potential,’ Amy parried. ‘I think we’ve got some great ideas here.’
One of these was to celebrate the variety of forms romance novels could take, in the same way as the scary story festival had highlighted the genres within the genre. RomFest could offer content on everything from romcoms and tales of Regency rakes to tragic contemporary tear-jerkers. They’d also decided to lean into honouring beloved romance tropes: Amy had come up with the idea of pitting them against one another and encouraging attendees to choose between ‘teams’. Hashtags would be used to discuss the various merits of ‘fake dates’ versus ‘soulmates’, and ‘enemies to lovers’ stories on social media. As she explained this to him, Sam had scribbled on a scrap of paper, then turned it around to show a drawing of a T-shirt with ‘Team #EnemiesToLovers’ emblazoned on the chest. Amy had beamed at him. Carolyn was going to love it.
They’d also discussed ideas for themed food and drink: hot and spicy burritos in a nod to some of the steamier fiction on offer, and– Amy’s personal favourite– the Ice Queen cocktail: a freezing cold rum concoction topped with warm coconut cream, designed to melt its way down through the drink. She’d seen something like it in the mirrored Mayfair bar Kit had taken her to for her birthday: a night out that, now she looked back on it, felt as though it had taken place several years ago rather than just a couple of months back.
Amy was grateful that she and Sam had so many work-related things to talk about; while they were discussing the RomFest budget and what insurance policies they’d need, she couldn’t drift into dangerous daydreams.
As they sat next to one another waiting for Carolyn to log in to their meeting, Amy stiffened her spine and tried to create enough distance between herself and Sam that their arms, legs and hands wouldn’t accidentally collide. His closeness was unsettling. He smelled like coffee, chocolate and that cedar and grapefruit scent he always wore. Depressingly, even the slightest hint of it now agitated her.
Suddenly, Carolyn appeared on Amy’s laptop screen– but she had her back to the camera. She was talking to someone, though he or she was obscured by Carolyn’s shock of silver hair. Whoever it was, Amy didn’t envy them.
‘… donotsee why you need to be involved,’ Carolyn was saying. ‘Really, given the circumstances and your previous, very vocal objections to this project, it seems entirely inappropriate for you to plug in at this stage. I’ve already made my feelings on the subject known to your uncle, and—’
At the word ‘uncle’, Amy felt her mouth compress into a thin, horrified line and the acid in her stomach begin to burn.
Sam cleared his throat. ‘Carolyn?’ he said politely. ‘Sorry. I just wanted you to be aware that Amy and I were already dialled in.’
‘Ah. Yes. Hello, there,’ she said, turning to face them. She was completely unabashed; far from embarrassed at being caught mid-rant, Amy could tell she was absolutely livid at the subject of her rant. If looks could kill, Hugh– now visible to Carolyn’s left– would have been reduced to a pile of smouldering ash by the fireballs shooting from her eyes. Amy rather wished he had been.
‘As you can see,’ Carolyn said waspishly, ‘Mr Howard here is keen to join us today and understand our plans for Torch, and the RomFest event that will launch it.’
‘I see,’ Sam said. ‘Hi there, it’s good to meet you.’
Amy merely nodded, not trusting herself to speak. This was her punishment for sending back Hugh’s gift to her, she realised.Thiswas the ‘next move’ Kit had said Hugh would make.
‘Actually,’ Hugh said, his voice a lazy drawl that, infuriatingly, implied he had more important places to be, ‘you and I have met before.’
‘Oh?’ Sam looked nonplussed.
‘At Queen Mary’s College, Winchester,’ Hugh said. ‘You, ah,leftafter the fifth form.’
Oh my God,Amy thought. Hugh wassmirking– as if he thought reminding Sam of being encouraged to leave boarding school would wrong-foot or humiliate him. She looked sideways at Sam, and when their eyes met, his were full of mirth. He grinned, all white teeth, dimples and devilish indifference. Amy fought the urge to laugh, as well as a flutter of attraction.
‘Oh, yes!’ Sam said, ‘I’m sorry, I remember now. And you’re right: my head of house and I had some irreconcilable differences that peaked during GCSE year– I’d say my departure came as something of a relief to the old man.’
Amy stifled another giggle. Hugh’s eyes narrowed.
‘I hear the two of you went on some sort ofresearch tripthis past weekend,’ he said.
‘That’s right,’ Sam confirmed, glancing at Amy as if to ask whether there was a reason for Hugh’s hostile attitude, and in puzzlement at her uncharacteristic silence.
