by Lacey London
‘Not really, glass of wine and a bubble bath,’ I reply, stepping into the lift and hitting the ground floor button.
‘If you don’t have any plans, why don’t you let me take you out for dinner?’
I feel every muscle in my body tighten and seem to lose the ability to speak. I can’t go out for dinner with him! It’s against the rules! I look up at him and feel my knees go weak. Oh my God! I can’t! What about my date tomorrow? How do I say no? How do I turn down the hottest, most talented man I have ever met? I open my mouth, ready to politely decline.
‘OK,’ the word is out before I have chance to realise the enormity of what I have said.
He pauses for a moment before breaking into a huge smile.
‘Great. What do you fancy?’
Chapter 13
Sitting in La Fleur, sipping a very nice glass of Chateauneuf du Pape feels incredibly surreal. I have just polished off a lovely Lobster Bisque and I’m slightly concerned that this second glass of wine has pushed me over the driving limit. Oliver has spared no expense and I really do feel rather spoilt. Upon arriving at the restaurant, he ordered the taster menu for both of us and chose a rather pricey bottle of red. My initial panic at having dinner with Oliver was intensified when he ordered a taxi and we pulled up at La Fleur, a quirky French restaurant famed for its champagne dinners. How he even knew about this place, I have no idea.
The yummy food and incredible wine has sedated me massively in the past hour and I really am starting to relax and enjoy myself. I have stopped worrying about Marc and convinced myself that it is only a meal with a colleague, just like when I go out with Lianna. Sort of.
The ridiculously tall waiter collects our plates and refills the wine glasses without saying a word.
‘So tell me, Clara, how does a girl as talented and pretty as you end up single?’ Oliver asks, taking a slug of wine.
His expression is unreadable as he plays with the stem of the glass, not taking his eyes off me for a second.
Oh God. I feel my pulse beating fast and bite my lip in an attempt to stop myself burning up. This is definitely breaking the rules, what was I thinking? I really need to get this back onto a work related path before it gets out of hand. I pause for a second before answering.
‘Well, I have always been truly dedicated to furthering my career and working my way up the ladder. When you are completely committed to something, it makes you very independent, leaving very little time for anything or anyone else.’ Feeling quite pleased with my diplomatic answer, I lean back in my seat and sip my wine.
‘Nice script, but I didn’t want the interview answer.’ We lock eyes for a moment, neither of us saying a word.
Thankfully, I am saved by the return of the waiter. He places our sizzling plates down on the table and wishes us bon appetite, before disappearing to another table. The smell of the Filet Mignon fuses with the Bordelaise sauce, awakening my caveman senses. I pick up my cutlery and dive in, glad to have an excuse not to talk for a while.
I finish up my steak and resist the urge to lick my plate clean. That was seriously good grub.
‘Good?’ Oliver asks wiping his mouth with a napkin.
‘Amazing! Honestly really good.’ I nod enthusiastically and drain my glass before checking my watch.
9.30! Well, I guess that’s my pampering evening out of the window. The little voice in my mind tells me not to be so ungrateful. Here I am, in a beautiful restaurant, being treated to dinner by a gorgeous, talented man and I am grumbling that I have missed out on a night shaving and plucking. Priorities Clara, priorities.
‘How is your house hunting going? Have you managed to find anywhere yet?’
‘I have as it happens. I signed on an apartment in Limechurch just yesterday.’ He digs around in his pocket and pulls out his phone.
I watch him scrolling and tapping until he hands me his phone. Apartment? That is not an apartment! On the screen is a Rightmove listing for a penthouse on the outskirts of town. It has four bedrooms, two bathrooms and decorated throughout in opulent shades of cream and gold. He is rich! I suddenly feel ridiculous at suggesting the modest semi on the corner of my street.
‘Wow,’ I am actually close to speechless.
‘You like?’ He takes the phone back and lays it on the table, ‘It’s not ideally what I would want, but it’s available on a short term lease and I can move in right away, so it ticked a few boxes.’
‘Ticks a few boxes? It’s amazing!’ I exclaim, unable to contain myself.
‘Glad you approve,’ he laughs, ‘I didn’t want to commit myself to buying a property without knowing how long I will be here for, so renting seemed the right way to go.’
I suddenly feel quite saddened at the thought of Oliver not being around. He has only been here for a mere seven days, but it already feels like an eternity. I smile back and move my elbows from the table to allow the waiter to remove our plates, whilst another replaces them with a couple of pots of Creme Brulee.
‘I think I’m going to struggle to fit this in!’ I joke, inspecting the sugary, golden crust.
‘I’m sure you will manage,’ he winks and picks up his spoon.
Right! That was definitely a fat jibe! I give him my sternest look but he just laughs and carries on with his dessert regardless. I return my attention to my Creme Brulee. Cracking the top with my spoon, releasing the gooey goodness is my favourite part of the entire meal.
I find myself thinking that I have really enjoyed myself tonight. Between my mini panic attacks about the nature of our relationship, Oliver has been a true gentleman. In any other circumstance, this would have been my perfect date. My feelings towards Oliver have intensified over the course of today and after tonight, I am pretty sure those feelings are reciprocated.
I have to put a stop to this. I value my job way too much to throw it away by getting involved with a colleague. It’s not professional and as I keep reminding myself, it’s against the rules. At least I have my date with George tomorrow night to keep me occupied in the men department. From now on, my relationship with Oliver will be purely platonic.
‘All done?’ Oliver asks, signalling for the bill.
‘All done. Thank you for a fantastic evening.’ I raise my glass and clink it against his.
‘You are very welcome, Miss. Andrews. We will have to do it again sometime.’
‘We will indeed.’
What. Did. I. Just. Say?
Chapter 14
I lay in bed on Saturday morning, reminiscing over my meal with Oliver. It has been a long time since I have been wined and dined. Well, I have been treated to the odd dirty kebab from Marc, but that doesn’t count. It feels quite bizarre to have a post date high doubled with pre date nerves.
I really don’t know what to expect from George. I don’t know, or rather can’t remember, anything about him. What I do know, is that he will have to pull it out of the bag to beat last night.
I roll out of bed and wander over to my wardrobe. What do you wear to an indie night anyway? I haven’t been to an indie club since I was twenty one and going through my Arctic Monkeys phase. I pull out some skinny jeans and hang them on the door handle. You can’t really go wrong with skinny jeans. I study the rail for a while longer, before taking out a red pussy bow blouse and hanging it next to the jeans. Simple, yet sophisticated and hopefully not too librarian.
Satisfied with my outfit, I make for the kitchen, checking the porch for letters on the way. Clutching a handful of junk mail, I switch on the coffee machine and take a seat at the kitchen island. How people get through their daily activities without the help of coffee is beyond me. I pop two slices of bread in the toaster and flick through the pile of letters. After putting the obligatory bills on one side and tearing up some supermarket leaflets, I pour myself a coffee and smother some peanut butter onto my toast.
Curling up on the sofa, I make a mental note of all the beauty treatments I need to do today. For me, getting date ready is almost as fun as the
date itself. I munch away at my toast and switch on the TV. Daytime TV is always terrible, even at the weekend. I must go through every channel twice before turning it off in annoyance. Finishing up my breakfast and dumping the plate in the dishwasher, I turn on the radio and dig out my cosmetic case. Spilling out the contents onto the carpet, I pick out a glossy red nail polish and a bottle of instant tan.
As I head into the bathroom, tan in hand, I can’t help but wonder what Oliver is doing tonight. Maybe he is on a date too. Even the thought makes me feel sad. If I am lusting over Oliver, why am I going on a date with a guy I hardly remember? Why am I even bothering? Sitting on the edge of the bath, I try and fail to find a reason for going through with my date with George, but on the other hand, I can’t find a reason not to.
By 7.30 that evening, I am feeling rather nauseas and it’s not solely due to the taxi drivers erratic driving. I have literally spent no less than five hours getting ready for tonight and I have to admit, I am pretty pleased with the outcome. My hair is glossy and tousled and my skin is perfectly golden. After a few attempts, I have, or rather I hope, mastered the perfect winged eyeliner. According to the YouTube tutorial, there is a thin line between cat eye and wang eye. I pray to God I have done it right. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to check, as before I can locate my compact mirror, the taxi pulls to halt.
I look out of the window and tell myself not to panic. It’s not that the place doesn’t look nice, that’s that the problem at all. It’s the gathering of young girls outside in Converse and hoodies that are causing me concern. I look down at my skin tight, wet look, jeans and sky high stilettos and bite my lip. Oh, God. I take a deep breath and pay the driver before climbing out onto the street, telling myself it will be OK. As Mum always said, it’s better to be over dressed than under dressed.
Squeezing between the crowds of hooded teenagers and into the bar, I am pleasantly surprised. If I forget the clothing issue, this place is actually quite nice. It’s bigger than I thought, with individual retro booths surrounding a small stage. Thankful for the dim lighting, I head for the bar and have a quick read through the drinks menu. Champagne cocktails? Indie bars have come a long way since I last stepped foot in one. I order a Kir Royale before taking out my phone and having a quick scan of the room. It is pretty empty to be honest. There are a few couples dotted around and the odd group of friends laughing, but that’s about it.
Convincing myself that I am early, I pick up my cocktail and take a seat at the back of the room, deliberately choosing a table next to the fire exit in case I need to make a run for it. Scrolling through my phone, as to not look like a total loser, I send Lianna a quick text and drop my phone back into my bag. I haven’t seen much of Li this past week and I’m starting to miss my better half, a girly gossip is way overdue.
I am watching a blonde haired Kurt Kobain-a-like setting up a microphone stand when a glass is placed on my table and a man sits down opposite me.
‘Anyone sitting here?’
Oh, God. It’s not a man. It’s a rather plump, tattooed woman, sporting a shaved head and numerous facial piercings. She gestures to the seat and looks me up and down, whilst taking a huge gulp of snake bite. Horrified, I try to string a sentence together that is firm, yet not offensive. I don’t fancy a smack in the mouth from a butch lesbian.
‘Actually, yes they are. I am waiting for my boyfriend,’ I smile apologetically as she shrugs her massive shoulders and stomps back to the bar.
I down my cocktail and look at my watch. 8.15. He is definitely late now, I am well within my social rights to get up and leave. What was I thinking coming here? I am heading for the door when I notice a cute, dark haired man in a checked shirt at the bar, looking directly at me and laughing. I am about to shoot my mouth off when he waves and walks over to me.
It’s him! Has he been stood there laughing at me the whole time? Feeling my blood boil with humiliation, I fold my arms in a strop.
‘You made it,’ he smiles and holds out his arm for a half hug.
I manage a small smile.
‘You’re late,’ I reply before I can stop myself, he laughs hard for a moment before pulling himself together.
‘As a matter of fact, I was two minutes early. I was on my way over when I overheard you say you were waiting for your boyfriend and I didn’t fancy getting a black eye so…,’ he smiles and scratches his beard.
‘Hilarious,’ I frown, trying my hardest not to laugh.
‘Drink?’ He asks, pointing towards the bar.
‘Definitely.’
Something tells me I’m going to need a lot more than one.
Chapter 15
Several Kir Royale cocktails and a few hours later, I must admit, I am having a fantastic time. The place is now packed out and there’s a cool band playing music I don’t even know, but it doesn’t seem to matter. I didn’t really have high hopes for tonight, but I haven’t laughed this much in ages. Which may have something to do with the vast amounts of champagne that I have swimming around inside me? George is not what I would normally label as my type, but he has something about him that I can’t quite put my finger on. Don’t get me wrong, he’s not bad to look at, in fact he is very handsome. With his olive skin, brown eyes and gentle dark curls, he looks more of a Spanish Mateo than an English George. That is until he opens his mouth and a cockney drawl comes spilling out. I just don’t have those stomach churning butterflies that I have when I look at Oliver. Not being one for love at first sight, I decided to brush past it and I’m so glad I did.
Putting the world to rights with the aid of alcohol is probably my favourite thing to do. We must have covered everything from pizza to politics before I develop the overwhelming urge to pee. Excusing myself before my bladder bursts, I push my way through the crowds of people and squeeze into a tiny cubicle. After peeing and flushing, I stand at the sink and rinse my hands before refreshing my makeup. Making my way back to our table, I pause at the bar and grab a couple more drinks. As much as I love champagne, I think I should make this my last. I’m pretty sure if I have much more I am going to be seeing bubbles not just drinking them.
Drinks in hand, I drop back into my seat and pass one to George who happily accepts.
‘Oh, so that’s where you went. I was beginning to think you had fallen in.’ He takes a sip of his cocktail and nods in approval.
‘How do you like the band?’ He turns around in his seat and claps as the song comes to an end.
‘They’re great,’ I grin enthusiastically and join in the applause, ‘I’ve had a really good time!’
‘Really? I was a little concerned when I saw the outfit that this wouldn’t be your kind of place.’
‘What’s wrong with my outfit?’ I demand, jumping on the defensive.
‘Nothing! You look fantastic! I just wouldn’t have put you in an indie club that’s all. I would have thought you were more of a Velvet Bar kind of girl.’
‘Err, hello???’ I waggle my champagne flute in his face.’
‘Exactly!’ He shakes his head and laughs. ‘I’m pretty sure these are the only champagne cocktails they have ever served.’
‘To be honest, it is usually more prosecco than champagne, but don’t tell anyone.’
‘Secrets safe with me.’
After making drunken chit chat on the subject of cocktails and music, talk changes to work.
‘Suave, eh? I think I have a pair of those.’
‘But we only do women’s?’
‘Maybe not then.’ He laughs, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Do you enjoy your work?’
My mind flicks to Oliver and our lovely meal last night. My heart swells and my stomach churns at the thought. Nothing can happen so stop torturing yourself. The little voice in my head reminds me to pull myself together.
‘I love designing and I love shoes, so it’s a win win.’
‘What girl doesn’t love shoes?’ George asks and drains his glass.
‘A stupid one. Give a girl the right shoes a
nd she can conquer the world.’
‘And what shoes do you have on?’ He glances down under the table.
‘Dancing shoes!’ Downing the rest of my champagne, I jump to my feet and hold out my hand.
‘Oh no, I think I am going to need at least one more before I get up there.’
‘To the bar it is then!’
Sighing, he stands up and leads the way, before placing his order for two champagne cocktails plus two dreaded tequila shots. I stand in front of him to avoid being squashed by the crowds and breathe in his musky, alluring scent. God, he smells good. He pays for the beverages and passes me a tequila shot. I take the shot glass and get my salt and lemon ready. This has to be my last drink, after the champagne, obviously.
‘Thank you for tonight, George. I’ve had a fantastic time.’ I hold up my tiny glass,
‘Me too.’ His eyes crinkle into a smile and he raises his shot to mine.
‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers.’
‘So, do you normally give bar men your phone number after a few too many tequilas?’
‘How do you know I had a few too many?’ I shoot back.
‘Because I was the one serving them!’ We both laugh and down the tequila.
‘No, but I am glad I did.’
And I really am.
Chapter 16
Sitting in McDonalds on Sunday morning, I shovel down my egg McMuffin and sip my coffee tepidly.
‘So, you went out with Oliver on Friday and then with George on Saturday?’ Lianna exclaims, her eyes glittering.
‘I know it sounds bad, but I didn’t exactly go out with Oliver. It wasn’t a date or anything, just dinner after work with a colleague.’
‘Right, because a burger on the way home is exactly the same as lobster at La Fleur.’ She rolls her eyes and laughs. ‘Isn’t it awkward? Dating someone you work with? Especially being cooped up in the studio on your own all day.’
‘How many times? It wasn’t a date! Now last night, that was a date.’ I break off a piece of hash brown and raise my eyebrows teasingly.