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“Christ,” I mutter, as a tear escapes Caleb’s eye. “You two are no help.”

Caleb lets out another snort, then shakes his head. “Jesus, only you. Why the hell didn’t you tell her that you’re a Hunt from the start?”

“I don’t know.” I shake my head. Fuck, I have a headache. “It was nice to be somebody else for a change I guess.”

“And now she thinks you’re dating your mum?” Beck says, shaking his head. “I wish I’d been there to see that.”

We’re sitting in a booth at the back of the pub near Caleb’s office. The place is festooned with foil Christmas decorations. In the corner there’s some kind of office party going on, as people sit around the table wearing hats and pulling crackers.

On any other day, I’d be delighted that we’re spending time together. Although Beckett comes up to London a few times a week, he usually prefers to be at home to put his little girl to bed than staying here. But he’s had back to back meetings for the last few days, so his daughter is staying with his parents.

Caleb, on the other hand, is here more often. As the owner of a burgeoning airline company, he spends most of his life flying around the world making deals, but his head office is here, near St. Paul’s, and he often stays over.

“So what do I do?” I ask. “Because it’s pretty obvious she’s never going to talk to me again.”

“You should have told your mum you had a better offer,” Caleb murmurs, still grinning.

“She would’ve loved that.” Beckett shakes his head. He’s known my parents most of his life. The three of us were in school together after all. “I can picture it now. If you thought this woman screaming at you this morning was bad, your mom giving you the silent treatment would be much worse.”

“Still a bad decision,” Caleb murmurs. “Especially the note. Damn, that was harsh.”

My jaw tightens. Maybe I shouldn’t have written it so hastily. Or briefly. But it’s always been easier to walk away than explain.

“Remind me what this woman looks like again?” Beckett asks.

“Her name is Georgia,” I say pointedly, because I don’t like the way he’s calling her a woman.

He lifts a brow at my grumpy response. “Okay, remind me what Georgia looks like again.”

“She’s American,” Caleb says. “And blonde. Apparently gorgeous, too.” He grins at me. “You fool.”

I think of how she looked last night. How soft she felt as I held her under the shop canopy. How I nearly kissed her.

I let out a sigh, because Christ, I know how to mess things up.

“You should apologize,” Beckett says.

“I tried that. She screamed at me.”

“Then try harder.” Caleb lifts a brow. “You need to make a grand gesture.”

“A grand gesture?” I frown. “What the hell is that?”

He shrugs. “One of the assistants at work was telling me about them in her romance novels. The hero fucks up and does a grand gesture to make up for it. Apparently it works every time.”

I blink. “What kind of grand gesture?” Not that I’m planning to do it. First of all, I’m not a hero. And second of all, this is in no way a romance novel.

I’m just an idiot who makes women hate him, apparently.

“I’ve no fucking idea,” Caleb says. “Read a book or something. Don’t ask me.”

“You’re no help.”

He shrugs. Then, when I say nothing he lifts a brow. “God, you really like her, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. Jesus, I need to meet this woman.”