How to Get Over Your Ex

by Nikki Logan

‘You seem to be dealing with this quite well,’ he murmured as the waiter topped up both their glasses in his favourite Hampstead bar. ‘Given how you felt about the whole idea last time we met.’

  She took a long, steady breath. ‘It seems I’m the only one of a longish list of people who doesn’t think there’s room for improvement with Georgia Version-Two.’

  ‘Give yourself some credit,’ he murmured, saluting her with his glass before taking a sip. ‘You’re more together than you think.’

  ‘Based on what?’

  ‘My observations.’

  ‘During one quick walk in the woods?’

  ‘I’m paid to pay attention to first impressions.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘The elevator?’

  ‘That was a tough few minutes for you and you handled them well.’

  She snorted. ‘Weeping while your back was turned?’

  He smiled. ‘How someone reacts under extreme pressure tells you a lot about them. You were unfailingly courteous even as you were dying inside.’

  Uncertainty flooded her dark eyes. ‘You saw that?’

  ‘But you didn’t let it have you. You stayed in control.’

  ‘You didn’t see what happened to me once I got home,’ she murmured.

  He chuckled. ‘I said you were strong, not a machine.’

  He glanced down to her twisting fingers. Elegant, sensibly manicured hands. He wondered how much else Georgia Stone was sensible about. And what secret things she wasn’t.

  And he shut that curiosity down as fast as it came.

  ‘So. Have you given any thought to the kinds of things you might like to do with the Year of Georgia?’

  ‘No.’

  A lie, for sure. She was human. Who wouldn’t start thinking about how to spend that kind of money?

  ‘Top restaurants? Boats? A-list parties? A taste of how the other half live.’

  She shrugged. ‘I can see how they live. It doesn’t interest me, particularly.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s...frivolous.’

  Wow. ‘That’s rather judgemental, don’t you think?’

  She leaned forward. ‘More cars than one person can drive and glamorous houses and wardrobes bulging with unworn clothes?’

  ‘Where’d you get that impression? Television?’ She frowned. ‘I have more cars than I can drive at once. A nice house and enough suits for two weeks without laundering.’ As he knew from experience. ‘But I wouldn’t call myself frivolous. Maybe there’s more to it than you imagine.’

  And he wouldn’t flatter himself that this was about him. This was an older prejudice at work.

  She dropped her eyes briefly. ‘Perhaps. But I’m still not interested enough to try. I like my own world.’

  ‘Science and beautiful gardens? What else?’

  She stared him down. ‘Classical music. Rowing. Old movies. History.’

  He blew out a breath. One part of him sighed at the image of a life filled with those things. Quiet, solitary, gentle things. But the station manager in him baulked. ‘Getting our listeners excited about rowing and classical music is going to be a hard sell.’ Along with the rest.

  She sat up straighter. ‘Not my problem.’

  The first real emotion she’d shown him. Shame it was offence. ‘It kind of is, Georgia. You have a signed contract to honour. We need to find a way forward in this.’

  Her astute eyes pinned him. ‘As long as it also works for your listeners?’

  ‘There must be things that they’ll enjoy that you will, too.’

  She stared at him. ‘I won’t do it if it’s portrayed as me trying to find a man. Or to improve myself enough to find one.’

  ‘Just the Year of Georgia, then. The Valentine’s Girl getting back on her feet. You really cared for Daniel, our listeners will buy that.’ God... Could he hear himself? He sounded just like Rod. Always an angle. Always a carrot. ‘We’ll assign someone from the station to—’

  ‘No. I don’t want one of them with me.’

  ‘One of who?’

  ‘One of the people who were there for the proposal. I don’t want them coming with me.’

  She didn’t trust them. And he understood why. Though what she didn’t understand was that the whole sodding mess was his fault. Not theirs.

  ‘OK, I’ll hire someone esp—’

  ‘No strangers, either.’ Her face pinched in several places.

  ‘Georgia, if I can’t use one of my team and I can’t hire someone, who am I going to get to do it?’

  ‘You do it. I know you.’

  His laugh was as loud as it was immediate. ‘Do you know what I get paid an hour?’

  ‘Too much to actually get paid by the hour, I’m sure. But that is my condition.’ She did her best to look adamant. Even that was moderated by a faintly apologetic sheen to her steady gaze. ‘Take it or leave it.’

  She had no idea how to negotiate. The innocence was insanely refreshing. ‘You’ve already signed the contract,’ he pointed out gently.

  But even as the words came out of his mouth his brain ticked over, furiously. His assistant would jump at the chance for some extra responsibility, so he could offload some lower-end tasks to Casey. And if this was what it would take to get Georgia fully on board...

  But he held his assent back, in case it had more power a few moments later.

  His entire life was about holding things back until they had the most advantage.

  ‘My days are packed out from dawn until dusk.’

  Georgia shrugged. ‘I have a job, too, so they’re going to be evening and weekend things anyway, I imagine.’

  It was hard not to admire her for sticking to her guns. Not too many people made a habit of saying no to him these days. He had them all too scared.

  ‘I have things I like to do on my weekends,’ he argued. But not very convincingly. Hard-to-get was all part of the game.

  One dark, well-shaped eyebrow lifted. ‘How badly do you want these ratings?’

  A stain of colour came to her cheeks. Either she was shocked at her own audacity or she was enjoying giving him some stick. He used the time she thought he was thinking about her offer to study her features instead. She had a right-hand-side dimple that totally belied the determination of those set lips, and she had a chin built for protesting.

  That was probably long enough. He hissed as if he hadn’t made his decision sixty seconds ago. ‘Fine. I’ll do it.’

  Her triumph was so brief. It only took her a heartbeat to realise that his commitment had fully sealed hers. And her next twelve months.

  ‘One more condition,’ she hurried as a pair of drink menus arrived. It was his turn to lift a brow. ‘No one mentions Dan. No one. You will leave him completely alone.’

  Loyalty blazed from her chocolate eyes.

  Somewhere down deep where constancy used to live in him, he admired her for continuing to protect the man she’d injured. A man she still cared for even though he’d also hurt her horribly. It said she might have been impetuous and naïve but she was faithful. And that was a rare commodity in his world. Her hurt and anger were very clearly directed at herself. In fact, the most notable thing about her manner was the absence of the flat, lifeless lack of interest that he associated so closely with heartbreak—and knew so intimately.

  He wondered if she’d even realised yet that her heart wasn’t broken.

  ‘OK, Daniel is out of it.’

  ‘And get the media to lay off him.’

  He snorted. Whoever taught Georgia about manners forgot to teach her about pushing her luck. ‘No one can halt that train now that it’s moving, Georgia. I can promise EROS won’t use him, but there’s nothing I can do about him being London’s most wanted. He’s a big boy. He’ll be fine.’

  Besides, judging by what he heard on the broadcast, Daniel Bradford could look after himself.

  He leaned forward and locked his eyes on hers. ‘You’ve played this well—’ for a civilian ‘—but I’ve bent about
as far as I’m going to go. I’ll have an amendment to the contract drawn up and ready for your signature next week.’

  She nodded and sank back in her side of the booth.

  ‘How about some dinner?’

  She just blinked at him.

  ‘You do eat dinner?’

  ‘Um, yes. Though not usually out. Except for special occasions.’

  She truly hadn’t begun to imagine ways of spending her huge windfall? He tried one last time to prove that she was like everyone else. ‘Don’t tell me you’re another mad-keen home chef?’

  Her laugh was automatic. ‘No, definitely not.’

  ‘You don’t cook?’

  ‘I prepare food. But it’s not really cooking. The latest in a number of reasons it was probably just as well Dan declined my proposal.’

  She certainly was taking her failed marriage-bid a hell of a lot better than he’d taken his. Did that say more about her or Bradford?

  Or him?

  He fired up his tablet and tapped a few keys. ‘I think we just found your first official Year of Georgia idea.’

  ‘Eating out in every restaurant in London?’

  ‘Culinary school.’ He chuckled.

  She stared. ‘I hated home economics at school. What makes you think I’ll enjoy it now?’

  ‘Half the women on my staff are right into those social cooking classes. Wine, conversation, cooking techniques from the experts. The sessions must have something going for them.’

  Her lips tightened. ‘I’m not sure I’d want to go where your staff—’

  ‘God, no.’ He pushed his chair back and stood. ‘That’s the last thing I want, too.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘I’ll be coming along. Or have you changed your mind?’

  Her delicate brows folded closer together. ‘It’s not me doing it for me if I’m doing it with you. The dynamic would be all wrong.’

  Dynamic. That sounded almost credible. What was she really worried about?

  ‘I need to be there to record your progress, but...you have a point. We’ll do it together, but separate. Like we don’t know each other. I’ll just shadow you. Watch.’

  A streak of colour ran up her jaw. ‘Won’t that be weird?’

  He pushed his glass away and leaned in closer. ‘Georgia, I’m going to have a solution for any hurdle you put up. You’ve signed the contract. How about working with me on this instead of against?’

  She sighed. Stared at him with those unreadable eyes. ‘OK. Sorry.’ She took a sip of white wine. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  * * *

  ‘That’s a long list.’ Georgia stretched and read the upside-down sheet in front of Zander.

  ‘A year is a long time. But we don’t have to go with all of these. Plus things might come up along the way so we need to leave room for those. If you had to shortlist, which ones would you enjoy the most?’

  He spun the paper around to her and passed her his fancy pen. She asterisked Wimbledon, cooking classes—which she agreed to because he’d indicated his listeners would love it, not because she actually wanted to know the difference between flambé and sauté—cocktail-making class, truffle-making, and a makeover. That last one because she got the sense he really thought it was important. She tugged her sensible shirt down further over her sensible trousers.

  ‘I really want to do this one.’ She circled one down near the bottom, taking a risk. It wasn’t what he’d be expecting at all. And unlike some of the others this one actually did interest and intrigue her.

  ‘Ice carving?’

  ‘How amazing would that be? Ooh, and this one...’ Another asterisk.

  ‘Spy school?’

  She lifted excited eyes. ‘Can you imagine?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t need to imagine. I’m going to find out.’

  She sipped her wine.

  ‘What about travel?’ he asked.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Not interested in the thought of a holiday?’

  Flying to a whole other country seemed a lot to ask. Besides, she didn’t have a passport. Just the idea of applying for one got her blood thrumming.

  ‘Where could I go?’ she breathed.

  His smile was almost indulgent. If it weren’t also so confused. Had he never met anyone whose gratification went so far beyond delayed it was non-existent?

  ‘Anywhere you want,’ he said.

  As she holidayed in her apartment as a rule, anything further afield than Brighton just didn’t occur to her. ‘Where would be good for your listeners?’

  Zander shrugged. ‘New York? Ibiza?’

  Her breath caught... Ankara? She’d wanted to go to Turkey since seeing a documentary on its ancient history.

  But no, that seemed too much. Fanciful. She wrote down Ibiza on the bottom of the list. That seemed like the kind of place EROS listeners would like to hear about. The party capital of Europe. Fast-pour bars and twenty-four-hour clubs and duelling dance arenas and swollen feet and ringing ears.

  Oh, yay.

  ‘I might add some things, as we go along. Things that occur to me.’ Things she’d like to do but didn’t want Zander knowing about. Though of course they wouldn’t stay secret for long.

  ‘That’s fine. Just hook them up with Casey. I’ll just go where she sends me.’

  ‘That’s very accommodating of you. Compliance won’t do much for your reputation as a fearsome boss,’ she said.

  One eye twitched. ‘I’m not fearsome; I just want them to think that I am.’

  ‘Why?’ That was no way to enjoy your work.

  ‘Because it gets things done. I’m not there to be their friend.’

  She thought of her own boss. A whacky, brilliant man whom she absolutely adored. ‘You don’t think people would work just as hard with respect and admiration as their motivation?’

  He lifted his gaze. ‘I’d like to think they respect me. I just don’t need them to like me.’

  Or want them to? Something in his demeanour whispered that. But there wasn’t much else she could say about that without offending him. Besides, last time she checked he was the most successful person she knew. And she didn’t know him at all.

  Silence fell. ‘What do you do on your weekends?’ she finally asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said you had things to do on your weekend. What kinds of things?’

  He regarded her steadily. ‘Weekend stuff.’

  She lifted both her eyebrows.

  ‘I train.’ He frowned.

  Lord. Blood from a stone! ‘For...?’

  ‘For events.’

  She took a stab. ‘Showjumping? Clay shooting? Oh!’ She drained the last of her wine. ‘Ice dancing.’

  A reluctant smile crept onto his face. ‘Endurance running. I compete in marathons.’

  ‘Truly?’

  He chuckled. ‘Yes.’

  ‘What sort of distances?’

  ‘Forty or fifty kilometres. It depends.’

  ‘A weekend?’ Her half-shriek drew glances from around the noisy bar.

  His lips twisted. ‘A day.’

  A day! ‘Well, that explains the body—’

  Horror sucked the words back in, but not fast enough. Oh, God! She quietly pushed her nearly empty glass far away from her.

  ‘I have to keep my fitness up, so I run every morning and I do long runs or hikes every weekend.’

  ‘Every weekend?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  Wow. ‘Just running. For hours on end?’

  ‘Or hard hiking. That’s why it’s called endurance.’

  ‘Sounds lonely.’ But also kind of...zen. Kind of what she did when she wandered deep into the dark heart of forests.

  ‘I don’t mind the solitude,’ he murmured.

  ‘Is that why you do it?’

  His answer was fast. As if he’d defended himself on that point often. ‘I do it for the challenge. Because I can. And I do my best thinking out there.’

&n
bsp; Fifty kilometres. That was a lot of thinking time.

  ‘Just...wow. I’m impressed.’

  ‘Don’t get too excited. In competition we can do that in under four hours.’

  Georgia shook her head. ‘Put marathon running on the list.’

  He looked up sharply. ‘You want to run a marathon?’

  ‘God, no. I have two left feet. But I’ve never seen one. I can just watch you. Help you train.’

  Intense discomfort flooded his face.

  Once again she’d managed to misread a man. This wasn’t a friendship. They weren’t bonding. This was a business arrangement with the sole purpose of tracking her activity. Why on earth would he want her around during his private time? He probably had a raft of friends actually of his choosing to hang out with—and many of them women.

  ‘I...uh...’

  She’d stuffed up big enough to actually make a man stammer. World class.

  ‘You know what?’ she breezed, not feeling the slightest bit breezy. ‘I’ve changed my mind. Me watching you run would make terrible radio. Scratch that off the list.’ Was she a convincing liar? They’d find out. His pen was still frozen over the page and so there was nothing to scratch out, so she said the only other thing that came into her head.

  ‘Another drink?’

  * * *

  The list grew as long as the evening. They hit the Internet for ideas of cool things for her to do in London. Pretty soon they had learn-to-dance classes, movie premieres, and a royal polo match.

  ‘Aquasphering!’ she said, a little bit too loud. ‘Whatever that is.’

  ‘Really? That’s your kind of thing?’

  ‘None of it is my thing—isn’t that the point? Pushing myself out of my comfort zone.’ Wa-a-ay out of it.

  ‘Can we afford a seat on a commercial spaceflight?’ she blurted, tapping the tablet’s glossy screen. ‘That would be exciting.’

  He smiled. ‘No. We can’t. And we don’t really have the time for it to become more mainstream.’

  ‘Pff. You suck.’

  Zander stared at her. Assessing. ‘I think I need to get some food into you.’

  ‘I told you I didn’t do this for the soup.’

  ‘I was thinking of something a little more solid than soup.’

  Judgement stung, low and sharp. She sat up straighter. ‘I’m not drunk.’

  ‘No, you’re not. But you will be if you keep going like this.’