The Party Starts at Midnight

by Lucy King

  ‘All’s fair in love and war,’ said Gemma sagely, ‘and, believe me, if you don’t try and snap him up someone else will.’

  ‘Then they’re welcome to him.’

  Gemma frowned. ‘Do you regret it?’

  ‘Not for a moment. Why would I? I feel fabulous. Martin? Martin who?’

  ‘Then you’re nuts, you know that?’

  ‘Look,’ said Abby, getting up to refill her cup from the urn, ‘if Leo wants to get in touch he can get hold of my number and call me easily enough—it is on my website after all—but there really wouldn’t be any point even if he did.’

  ‘If the night was as great as you say it was it seems to me that there’s a mutually very good point indeed.’

  ‘It wouldn’t go anywhere.’

  ‘How do you know that, you pessimist?’

  Abby sighed and thought about the information she’d dug up on him after half an hour on Google, some of which had been so well buried—although how he’d managed that she had no idea—she’d very nearly missed it. ‘Because he’s about as emotionally repressed as they come.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Gemma with a slow nod of dawning realisation. ‘Right. I see.’

  ‘So it doesn’t matter how great he is in bed,’ said Abby. ‘He’s not my type at all.’

  ‘Well, OK, but don’t you think you may be jumping to conclusions? I mean, you don’t exactly know him very well, do you? At least not in anything other than the physical sense.’

  ‘I get the feeling you could have known him for years and still not really know him.’

  ‘That’s true of most men, I should think.’

  ‘Possibly, but, as you so astutely pointed out, I was keeping my eye on him last night and the entire time he was there but not there if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Keeping his distance.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘It was work.’

  ‘True, but Jake said it was impossible to know what he was thinking, and what about the weird way he was watching me?’

  ‘Yes, that was odd.’

  ‘And then there’s his reputation. That doesn’t come from nowhere. There has to be a basis for it.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Abby leaned towards Gemma and lowered her voice a little, even though what with the family getting ready upstairs there was no one within earshot. ‘I also subsequently found out something that would suggest that he takes bottling things up to the extreme.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like he was nearly married once.’

  Gemma’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’

  Abby nodded.

  ‘Blimey. I hadn’t heard that.’

  ‘That’s my point.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Well, from what I can gather it was around Christmas five years ago. He was jilted. At the last minute. Literally at the altar.’

  ‘Heavens.’

  ‘I know. Apparently his fiancée decided she was too in love with an old flame she’d hooked up with again on Facebook to go through with it.’

  Gemma winced. ‘Ouch. That has to have hurt.’

  Abby nodded. ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? Yet when he said that he didn’t particularly like this time of year all he mentioned was the commercialism of it and the lack of business opportunity.’

  ‘Well, to be fair to him, what else would you have expected? He’d hardly have spilled all the details to a complete stranger. Who would?’

  ‘No, but you’d have thought there’d at least be a flicker of, I don’t know, something.’ Abby shook her head at the memory of how cool he’d been about it. How smoothly the excuses had slid off his tongue. How quickly. How practised the lack of emotion had seemed. ‘But he came across as being so totally unfazed by it.’

  ‘Maybe he is.’

  ‘But then why would he still be hung up over the time-of-year thing?’

  Gemma frowned. ‘Hmm. You have a point. But how come we didn’t know about this? In fact, how come no one knows about this? I’d have thought it would have provided enough fodder for the gossip mags to keep going for months.’

  ‘Well, quite. But all I found was an engagement announcement and then a tiny five-line article about what had happened and how the wedding had been called off. On an obscure blog somewhere. It didn’t appear anywhere in the press, so the whole thing must have somehow been hushed up or something.’

  ‘Crikey.’

  As her belt began to ring and vibrate Abby extracted her phone, glanced down at the unknown number and hit the silence button before sticking it back in the pouch.

  ‘Anyway,’ she said, making a note on her clipboard to check and call back once she’d got through this London’s Next Top Tween Model birthday party, ‘the point is that while I wouldn’t mind a boyfriend, the last thing I need is to get involved with someone who bottles everything up. All that second-guessing and getting it wrong...’ She grimaced as thoughts of her family and their total inability to communicate spun through her head. ‘So not my bag.’

  ‘I suppose not. But I still think you’re making a mistake.’

  ‘Better now than later,’ said Abby lightly, determinedly putting Leo and last night from her mind because she really didn’t need the distraction right now, or ever. ‘Besides, if anything more did happen between us I’d only end up wanting to be the one to change him and we know how well that works out.’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘Not well at all because men don’t want to be changed. And I can understand that. I don’t really want to be changed either.’

  ‘Who does?’

  Silence fell for a moment as the relationships of Abby’s youth flickered through her head and maybe Gemma’s flickered through hers, and then she froze. ‘Oh, no.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I have a horrible feeling I’ve forgotten to put those Chanel nail varnishes in the going home bags.’

  ‘You? Forget something? Impossible.’

  ‘Improbable but not impossible after only a couple of hours of sleep. I’d better go and check.’

  Her friend shook her head and tutted. ‘Designer lipsticks, nail varnishes and face creams... Whatever happened to a piece of cake and a balloon?’

  ‘Happily for us they went the same way as jelly, crisps and pin the tail on the donkey,’ said Abby with a quick grin as she stood up and put her tea cup on the pristine granite work surface. ‘If you need a hand counting the carrot sticks or spooning out the hummus, just shout.’

  * * *

  For someone who’d almost managed to convince himself that he wasn’t in the slightest bit bothered by the fact that Abby had neither answered his call nor got back to him, Leo wasn’t doing a very good job of following through.

  He’d left a message asking her to call him when she had a moment, and had then sat down at his desk with every intention of putting in a couple of hours of work on the financial details of a development project the company was undertaking in China.

  Half an hour later, however, during which he’d achieved nothing but a full-blown rerun of the night before and consequently a hard-on that would not subside, he’d given up, stalked into the gym and run twenty miles on the treadmill. But that hadn’t done anything to restore the order he was so badly missing either.

  Nor had the rugby match he’d watched on television or the drinks he’d just had with a couple of friends.

  While his phone was rarely out of reach, Leo didn’t generally have too much trouble ignoring it. Yet this evening he hadn’t been able to stop looking at it, whether while sitting pointlessly at his desk, pounding out the miles or knocking back the beer.

  A dozen times he’d checked the volume setting, the battery, the signal, all of which were, of course, perfectly fine, and earlier he
’d even tried calling himself from the land line, just in case there was a connection problem. There wasn’t, naturally, as proven by the calls and texts he’d received from practically everyone he knew but her, and his inability to move on and concentrate on something—anything—else was driving him insane.

  It was absurd, he told himself, gritting his teeth as he once again found himself at his desk, staring blankly at his computer screen while thoughts of Abby filled his head. Anyone would think he was desperate to hear from her. And he wasn’t. Much. It was just that he didn’t like things hanging, un-dealt-with. Didn’t like the feeling of not being in control and at the mercy of someone else’s whim.

  But what choice did he have, short of calling her again, which he was absolutely not going to do? Besides, she’d told him she had to work, which was obviously what she was doing. He presumed the number he’d called her on was her work one, so, professional as she was, she’d get back to him when she could. He’d just have to be patient.

  * * *

  The call she had rejected earlier had been from Leo.

  Back at home after a successful but exhausting evening, Abby tapped her phone against her mouth and wondered why a brief message asking her to ring him back would warrant such a quickening of her heart rate and the heat that was surging through her.

  Hadn’t she decided that he wasn’t her type? Hadn’t she convinced herself that she wanted to have nothing more to do with him? She had, so why was she getting so hot and bothered about a ten-second voicemail message? Why did his deep voice in her ear seem so very intimate? Why was it so difficult to wipe last night from her memory? And what did he want?

  There was only one way to find out, so, with her heart beating annoyingly fast, Abby silenced the episode of St Jude’s she’d pre-recorded and had been watching before she’d suddenly remembered the missed call and took a fortifying gulp of wine.

  Was ten too late to ring? Should she send a message instead? No, better to get this over and done with. If it was too late, all that would happen was that he wouldn’t answer. She could leave a message and the ball would be back in his court.

  Putting her glass down, Abby crossed her legs, sat back and hit the button to return his call. He answered practically before the phone had time to ring, robbing her of the second or two of mental reinforcement she could have done with.

  ‘Abby,’ he said, his deep voice making her stomach do that weird swooping thing once again.

  She took a deep breath and swallowed hard in an effort to avoid the breathiness that seemed to invade her voice whenever she spoke to him. ‘Hi.’

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine. You?’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I hope it’s not too late to be calling.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘I’m sorry for not getting back to you sooner. I was working.’

  ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Fine.’ Way to go with the verbal skills, Abby, she thought, mentally rolling her eyes and pulling herself together because she really ought to be able to handle small talk with someone whose body she’d explored at length. ‘I mean, as fine as twenty ten-year-old wannabe supermodels can be.’

  ‘Ten-year-old supermodels?’

  She heard the surprise in his voice and could imagine him sitting there, eyebrows up as the ghost of a smile played at his mouth. His mouth... Sexy, clever, and so very damn good at kissing...

  ‘Abby?’ he said and she snapped out of her delicious little reverie.

  ‘What can I say?’ she said, and, oh, heavens, the breathiness was back. ‘The client asks and I provide.’

  There was a heavy pause during which she, and presumably he, remembered exactly how he’d asked and how she’d provided, and Abby gave herself a good pinch. And gasped at the pain because she hadn’t meant to pinch herself quite so hard.

  ‘Are you all right? What happened?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m right as rain,’ she said. ‘Sorry. Banged into the coffee table. How’s the jet lag?’

  ‘Going.’

  ‘That must be a relief.’

  ‘You have no idea. Thank you for your note.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ You’re welcome? God.

  ‘I take it you got home all right this morning.’

  She couldn’t say ‘fine’ again, and in any case it hadn’t been fine. ‘After a fashion.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘My car had been towed. I had to take a taxi to the pound and get it released.’ After two hours’ sleep with her hair a mess and her party clothes rumpled. Not exactly a good look.

  ‘Oh, dear.’

  ‘Hmm. It was a walk of shame I definitely wouldn’t care to repeat.’

  There was another silence. ‘Walk of shame?’

  ‘Just an expression,’ she clarified quickly because she could hear the frown in his tone and she didn’t want him thinking she regretted what they’d done because she didn’t. ‘I have no shame.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ he said, then after a pause, added, ‘Which leads me to the reason I’m calling.’

  For some reason her pulse sped up. ‘Oh?’

  ‘I’d like to see you again.’

  For a moment sheer delight soared through her, and then it plummeted because it couldn’t happen, and oh, dear, was this going to be awkward?

  ‘Look, Leo,’ she said, concentrating on his emotional repression and strengthening her resolve because despite knowing he was wrong for her she badly wanted to say yes. ‘Last night was great and everything, but I don’t think it should happen again.’

  There was a pause. A bit too long, a bit too uncomfortable, and she wondered if he was still there.

  ‘Really?’ he said eventually, and it struck her that some of the warmth had gone from his voice. ‘Out of interest, why?’

  Hmm. She could hardly tell him she suspected he had a problem with expressing his feelings while she was all for it, and that that difference of approach made anything between them a no-no. He’d think she was mad. ‘Because it should never really have happened in the first place,’ she said. ‘I admit it’s a pretty grey area, but I still have an issue with mixing business and pleasure and on reflection I think we fall into that category.’

  ‘You didn’t seem to mind last night.’

  ‘No, well, you caught me by surprise.’

  ‘Likewise. But you needn’t worry,’ he drawled, ‘because I didn’t actually mean it like that.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Abby, feeling herself sort of deflate, which didn’t make any sense because she ought to be glad he didn’t mean it ‘like that’. She wasn’t interested in him, was she? Which was just as well, because apparently, in spite of a night of hot sex—or maybe because of it—she still wasn’t dateable. ‘Then what did you mean?’ she said, reminding herself that Martin had been a prat and she absolutely didn’t care what he thought of her.

  ‘I’d like to see you to discuss some business.’

  Business. Of course. ‘I see,’ she said, her voice mercifully reflecting none of the emotion that was churning through her. ‘When?’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow’s Sunday.’

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  Apart from it being the first full day off she’d had in weeks? ‘No, no problem.’

  ‘Good,’ he said crisply, all business. ‘My office? Say four?’

  ‘See you then.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AT THREE-THIRTY the following afternoon, Leo was pacing around his office in something of a panic. Which was an unusual state of affairs for him because he was generally way too cool-headed and in command of himself to panic, but then nothing about any of his dealings with Abby so far had been usual.

  Up until he’d met her, for example, he
’d never wanted to extend a one-night stand. He’d never hung around waiting for the phone to ring like some poor pathetic idiot and then jumped on it the minute she had. He’d never gone into his office on a Sunday.

  He’d certainly never invented ‘business’ that needed urgent discussion when there wasn’t any.

  But what else was he to have done when she’d told him going out with him was not going to happen? Tell her he couldn’t stop thinking about her? About what they’d done? Humiliate himself even further than he already had by begging her for more? Hah. Not a bloody chance.

  Grinding his teeth, Leo resumed his pacing and scowled down at the carpet. It had never occurred to him that she wouldn’t want a repeat of Friday night. If he was brutally honest he hadn’t given what she might want much thought at all. But if he had he’d have been confident she’d say yes, because why would she say no when they’d had such a good time?

  Yet ‘no’ was exactly what she’d said.

  So what had put her off him? Had he said something, done something? Since their call last night he’d racked his brains to work it out but had drawn a blank. He presumed she had her reasons and he ought to be fine with that because it wasn’t as if he’d never had great sex before and it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t have it again.

  Annoyingly, though, he wasn’t fine with it. He hated rejection. And he wasn’t used to it. Ever since Lisa had jilted him at the altar and made him a laughing stock he’d taken great care to avoid it, never ever putting himself in a position where it could happen, which was why the women he slept with generally approached him first.

  So that was another exception to the general pre-Abby state of affairs because she was the first woman in a very long time he’d firstly actively made the first move on and secondly had planned on asking out. And, boy, what a mistake that had been because nearly twenty-four hours on and her rejection was still stinging.

  So what he’d been thinking creating a different excuse to see her when she didn’t want to have anything more to do with him he had no idea. He’d wanted to save face, but with hindsight he must have been out of his mind because he’d been racking his brains all day yet hadn’t been able to come up with a single bit of business he could possibly have to discuss with her.