The Plus-One Agreement

by Charlotte Phillips

  ELEVEN

  ‘You want to try and get to breakfast?’ he asked.

  Emma felt the light brush of his kiss against her shoulder. Even after the night they’d spent, followed by the delicious intimacy of this morning, his touch thrilled her.

  She wriggled against him. Her arms fitted around his neck as if they were meant to be there. She smoothed the dense spikes of his hair through her fingers.

  ‘Let me think,’ she said, smiling into his eyes. ‘Would I rather sit opposite my parents and watch my father drool over a full English while my mother force-feeds him muesli, or would I rather stay here with you?’

  He laughed and pulled her tighter.

  ‘Adam’s married now. I think he’s grown-up enough to manage without me watching his back through one little breakfast.’ She dropped her eyes briefly. ‘And I think you’ve done enough for him. We can catch him before he goes.’

  Was it just that? Or was part of it that she didn’t want to leave this gorgeous little bubble where he was hers for fear that it might burst? After wanting him for so long, all the while convinced nothing would ever come of it, to actually have her crush requited made it seem all the sweeter.

  Needling doubt lurked at the edge of her consciousness despite the gorgeous night they’d spent and the way he’d opened up about his past. She knew Dan—knew the way he played relationships. Despite his reassurances there was no getting away from the fact that pretty soon after you made it into Dan’s bed you made it just as quickly out of it, never to be heard of again. Was this like some holiday romance? Would the magic be theirs as long as they didn’t leave? What would happen when they got back to London?

  She’d noticed that her mention of the old plus-one agreement hadn’t been picked up by him. His intention to cut all ties with her after this weekend gnawed at the edge of her consciousness as she tried to push it away.

  * * *

  Adam and Ernie stood at the hotel doorway, waving madly. Those who had made it down to breakfast clustered in the lobby. Emma had dragged Dan downstairs with moments to spare and eased her way through the group of smiling friends and relatives, her hand entwined in his.

  Emma’s mother dabbed a tear from the corner of her eye.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t the most traditional set-up,’ she sniffed, ‘but still...it’s been a lovely weekend.’

  She kissed Adam’s cheek and then leaned in to do the same to Ernie.

  ‘Tradition?’ Ernie said. ‘I think we can stretch to a bit of that before we go.’

  He grabbed at a bunch of yellow lilies standing in a huge vase on the side table near the door, turned his back on the gathered crowd of guests and lobbed them high in the air over his head to the sound of claps and squeals, showering the guests with drops of water. As the flowers plummeted, twisting and turning, faces turned to watch their progress.

  Dan shot out a hand and caught them on autopilot, to prevent them from smacking him over the head.

  He stared down stupidly at the bunch of flowers in his hand as cheers and mad clapping rang out all around them. Even Emma’s mother was smiling.

  ‘You’re next!’ Adam hollered from the doorway. ‘Great catch, sweetie!’

  Dan glanced at Emma and saw the look of delight on her face. Her eyes shone. Her smile lit up her face. She radiated happiness.

  Shock flooded into the pit of his stomach.

  You’re next!

  Was he? Was that where this led?

  He’d had a game plan way back in London, before they’d even set foot in the West Country. A plan to be a last-time-pays-for-all fake boyfriend stand-in for Emma and then go back to London. Back to work. Back to what worked. And somehow he’d been caught up in the moment, had lost sight of what was important to him.

  He’d ended up standing here with flowers in his hands to the sound of excited applause because the path ahead of him led down the aisle. Maybe not now, maybe not even in the next few years, but that was the destination.

  If they made it that far.

  That was the risk. A risk he’d vowed never to take again after the months of despair that had plagued him when Maggie left.

  This was way off-plan. Yet the thought of losing Emma now made his heart plummet and misery churn in his stomach.

  He followed the rest of the group outside to watch Adam and Ernie pile into a yellow Rolls-Royce. Maybe he could find another way forward. A way to keep her that still minimised risk. A compromise.

  * * *

  She’d been right.

  There really was more between them than one of his casual flings. They’d been back from the wedding for nearly a week now and he was a different man. He was in touch with her daily, and with every phone call and text she felt more secure. Flowers arrived from him at her workplace, eliciting envious stares and buzzing interest from her colleagues. He hadn’t so much as mentioned their old plus-one agreement, but that was because it was obsolete—right? Past history. OK, so she wasn’t expecting him to propose...let’s not get ahead of ourselves—although a girl could dream. But she’d been the one to change his behaviour. He really was different with her. They were a couple now—not just work contacts.

  Dan didn’t do flowers and phone calls. He did swift exits and dumping by text. And now she was seeing him tonight and her stomach was one big ball of excitement and anticipation. She couldn’t wait.

  The doorbell. On time.

  She checked her appearance one last time. A new dress, a less austere one than usual, with a floaty, feminine skirt. Deep pink instead of her usual black or grey choice of going-out outfit. Because going out with Dan was about pleasure now, not business. About getting to know each other instead of working the situation for every career advantage they could get out of it.

  She opened the front door and excitement at seeing him brought an instant smile to her face—one she couldn’t have held back. He stood on the doorstep, leaning against the jamb, his crisp blue shirt deepening the tones of his eyes as he smiled at her, a perfectly cut business suit and silk tie sharpening the look.

  Not the same relaxed designer look he’d had at the wedding weekend. Her mind stuttered briefly. Business suit.

  From nowhere cautionary unease jabbed her in the ribs and a wave of disorientating déjà vu swept over her. She could have rewound to a couple of months before Adam’s wedding, before Alistair had put a stop to their agreement, and Dan would have looked exactly like this when she’d opened the door for one of their business engagements.

  He slid an arm around her waist and kissed her softly on the mouth, starting up all the latent sparks from the weekend.

  She pulled herself up short.

  Jumping at shadows—that was what she was doing. She was so used to being doomed to failure when she put herself out there that now she was pre-empting problems before they even happened. She’d ruin things herself if she wasn’t careful. Already he had a puzzled expression on his face—no doubt because her first reaction on seeing him since their gorgeous weekend at the wedding was to hesitate.

  He’d called her. He’d sent flowers. He’d texted. And now she was spooked because of the suit he wore? She really needed to go to work on her own insecurities if she was going to move forward with her life.

  ‘Where are we going, then?’ she asked when he started the car.

  ‘Dinner first,’ he said easily, putting it in gear and moving smoothly into the early-evening traffic. ‘I’ve got a table booked at La Maison.’

  Another jab of unease.

  ‘La Maison?’

  It was Dan’s choice of venue for work dinners. She’d been there with him too many times to count, always as his stand-in date, always with a work objective in mind. Maybe it would be a new contact to impress, perhaps a sweetener before he put in a tender for services. Whatever it happened to be, she
’d been there to help smooth the path.

  He glanced across at her.

  ‘For starters, yes. If that’s OK with you? Then maybe later we could go on somewhere else? End up at my place?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She smiled brightly at him and pressed her palms together in her lap. They were damp.

  He parked the car and escorted her into the restaurant. The usual subtle piano music played in the background, and the usual perfectly dressed dark wood tables and soft lighting provided the perfect ambience for discussion, which had always been the point of coming here.

  His usual table. She felt Dan’s hand rest gently on her hip as he guided her between the tables towards it.

  Usual restaurant. Usual table.

  It didn’t mean anything, did it? The restaurant was a good one after all.

  Usual quick run-through of background?

  ‘Roger Lewis and Barry Trent,’ he said in a low voice at her shoulder. ‘Medium-sized business providing bespoke travel packages specifically aimed at the over-fifties. Looking for advice on growing their business to the next level.’ He gave her shoulder a squeeze. ‘Could be in the market for a change in legal services, too—you could be in there!’

  As they arrived at the table she turned to stare at him and he actually winked at her. It felt as if her heart was being squeezed in a vice.

  ‘Table for four,’ she said dully, stating the obvious.

  He looked at her as if she might be mad. As if there was nothing spot-the-deliberate-mistake about this at all.

  ‘Of course it is,’ he said. ‘Just a bit of business to discuss and then the evening’s ours. They’ll be along in a minute.’

  The waiter pulled a chair out for her and fussed over her as she sat down hard, her mind reeling. Dan gave him the nod and he poured them each a glass of champagne, replacing the bottle in the ice bucket to one side of the table.

  Her throat felt as if it might be closing up and she swallowed hard. She clasped her hands together on the table to stop them shaking.

  ‘I thought we were going on a date,’ she said, making her tone as neutral as she could manage when what she wanted to do was grab him by the shoulders and shake him. ‘Just you and me. But this is basically the same old set-up, Dan.’

  She waved a hand at the extra two table settings, at the surrounding quiet tastefulness of the restaurant.

  ‘Is that it, then? Now we’re back in London it’s back to the same old routine? Were you actually going to discuss that with me, or did you just assume I’d go along with it?’

  He reached for her hands but she removed them to her lap.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said.

  ‘What this looks like to me is the same old plus-one agreement,’ she said, forcing the words out, voicing her worst fears. ‘Just with sex thrown in.’

  He grimaced and leaned across the table to touch her cheek.

  ‘This is not the same old plus-one agreement,’ he said, ‘and I really wish we’d never given the damn thing a name. It makes it sound like we signed something official when all we really did was get into a routine over time. Because it worked so well for both of us.’

  A routine? She pressed her lips together hard and pushed a hand through her hair as anger began to course through her. It felt suddenly uncomfortably hot in here. She hadn’t missed the emphasis there on the word both. No way was she letting him lump her in with this as if it were some joint bloody venture.

  When he next spoke it felt as if he’d tipped the contents of the ice bucket over her head.

  ‘But if we have to call it that,’ he continued, holding out a hand, ‘for what it’s worth I don’t think we should be too hasty about changing how we relate to each other when it comes to work. Why end something that’s worked so well for us just because you and I have got closer? What do you think about varying it a little? Adding in a few amendments?’

  His tone was jokey—teasing, even. As if he were proposing something exciting. As if she ought to be taking his arm off in her eagerness to say yes.

  ‘Different rules this time—it’ll be fun. We can still do work engagements together, give it everything we’ve got just like we always have, but without the need to limit it. There’ll be no need to pretend we’re a couple any more—no need to go our separate ways at the end of the night.’

  He wanted to carry on seeing her but without any full-on legitimacy. Work would continue to come first with him, just the way it always had. He would expect her to carry on acting as his plus-one, smoothing the way for his business prowess at charity dinners and the like. The difference would be that this time she would get to share his bed, as well.

  Well, lucky, lucky her.

  All the pent-up excitement that had built this week as she’d looked forward to seeing him again had quit bubbling and dissipated like flat champagne. The flavour would still be there—the tang of white grape and the sharp aroma reminiscent of the effervescent drink it once was—but when you got right down to it, it was past its best. What you were really getting was the dregs.

  And one thing she knew without a shadow of a doubt was that she was not going to be the dregs. Not for anyone.

  Not even for him.

  * * *

  She stood up, a veil of calm slipping over her. She’d wanted him to be hers so much she’d believed she’d give anything to keep him.

  But when it came to it she found that her self-respect just wasn’t up for grabs.

  He looked up at her, his expression confused, as she picked up her handbag and lifted her wrap from the back of her chair, making it obvious this wasn’t just a visit to the ladies’ room. She was leaving.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Home,’ she said, not looking at him.

  She pushed her chair back into place. Sick disappointment burned in her throat, blocking it. She wasn’t sure she could stop it transforming into tears if she looked at him. She absolutely was not going to cry. No way.

  He stood up immediately, his hand on her elbow.

  ‘Why? What’s wrong? Are you ill?’

  The look of concern in his eyes touched her heart and she almost faltered. But this was just too bloody reminiscent of the last guy she’d met for dinner, thinking she was on her way to a happy ending. Dan was just like Alistair after all.

  ‘No, Dan,’ she said. ‘I’m not ill. I’m stupid. Stupid for thinking there might actually be more between us than work.’

  She made a move to leave and he grabbed her by the hand.

  ‘Hey, we can talk about this. That’s what this is about? You’re annoyed because I factored a work dinner into our date night?’ He shrugged. ‘I’m sorry. Maybe I should have talked to you about it first. I just didn’t think you’d mind. Before last weekend you were all for carrying on with the agreement, and you’d gone back to work instead of taking that sabbatical, so I just assumed you’d be all for it.’

  ‘That was before the weekend,’ she said.

  She looked down at her hand, encased in his.

  ‘This isn’t what I want. Some half-arsed excuse for a relationship. I thought you understood that. I don’t want some relationship where we both have our own agenda and factor the other person in wherever they happen to fit. You know where that kind of relationship ends up?’ She didn’t wait for his answer. ‘It ends up with separate bedrooms and separate interests and separate bloody lives. If we can’t even get that right now, what hope do we have? I want you and me to be the priority—not an afterthought to whatever work ambitions we might happen to have.’

  ‘It never bothered you before,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Because it was all I had before,’ she said. ‘It was the only way I could have some level of relationship with you. But I want more than that now. And after last weekend I tho
ught you wanted that, too.’

  Two business-suited middle-aged men were being ushered between the tables towards them. The over-fifties leisure break people, she assumed.

  ‘Don’t go,’ he said. ‘Let’s get this business discussion out of the way and then we can talk this through properly.’

  She gave a wry laugh and flung her hands up.

  ‘That’s the problem, you see. Right there. You still think I might actually sit down and put your work meeting first—before we get to talk about what’s happening between us. I’m not doing it. Whatever this is for you—plus-one bloody agreement, quick fling, friends with benefits—it’s over.’

  She’d raised her voice and some of the diners seated nearby rubbernecked to stare at them. She didn’t give a damn. She had no intention of ever visiting this restaurant again. In fact, the way she felt right now, she might not go out socially again. Possibly ever. Maybe she’d embrace her inner workaholic and make senior partnership by thirty-five. A new goal. One that was attainable. One that relied solely on her and so wasn’t doomed to failure.

  She walked away from the table.

  He moved after her as she passed the two businessmen, one with his hand outstretched. She heard Dan apologise briefly before he ran after her. He caught her near the door, took her arm, turned her to face him.

  ‘You’re dumping me?’ A grin lifted the corner of his mouth.

  Her heart twisted agonisingly in her chest.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘What? No champagne-throwing?’ he joked, as if he still couldn’t believe she was making such a fuss.

  She didn’t smile. It felt as if her veins were full of ice water.

  ‘That was a fake break-up, Dan,’ she said. ‘All for show. This is the real thing.’

  She walked out of the restaurant without looking back.

  TWELVE

  Dan stared at the city skyline from the balcony of his flat. Grey today, misted in drizzle. The fine rain was the kind that coated and his hair and skin were slowly soaking; the boards were slick beneath his feet.