I want to have dinner with you. Nothing else. Just time with you.
She smiled and was about to answer when another message from him appeared.
And, perhaps, another kiss. If you’re very good.
She wanted the same thing, and almost told him so, but then erased the message. Telling him goodbye again would be too hard. Even though she’d be back in a little over two weeks, their relationship wouldn’t be the same. It would have to be strictly platonic. Nothing else. And if she couldn’t even go a few hours before giving into his pleas to see her again, how would they ever spend the next six months or longer working together without getting involved?
I’ve ordered room service. I’d invite you up, but after your first text, I’m afraid I might give you the wrong idea. :)
She pressed send, then decided to add more.
And I will want to kiss you again, so inviting you to my room might be very, very dangerous. But if you order your own dinner, and we both watch the same terrible TV show at the same time, it will almost be like we’re together.
Geoffrey took a very long time to answer, but she finally got a response just as her food arrived. She read the text while the bellhop brought in her food.
Or you could forget your room service, and we could have fish and chips in Picadilly. Or bangers and mash in a pub somewhere. Experience some real British food.
She smiled, then realized the gray-haired bellhop was waiting for her with the bill. “The flowers are from a gentleman who stopped me on the way up.” He wagged his head in the direction of the coffee table where he’d set up the food and a bouquet of roses and lilies. “He asked if this was your food. He looked familiar—one of those bluebloods that’s in the papers. I didn’t tell him it was your food, but he gave me the flowers anyway. ‘Just in case’ he said. Also paid your bill and my tip.”
Alice looked at the bill he’d handed her and saw it was a receipt with a note on it.
In the lounge in case you change your mind. Will be watching Carjackers until then. Currently the worst show on the telly. Channel 4.
“Thank you,” she said to the bellhop after she’d read the note.
“Thank you, ma’am. And the gentleman. He gave me a very generous tip. Best not let that one get away.” He smiled in a grandfatherly way and tipped his hat to her.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She waited for him to take a few steps down the hall before she closed the door. Once she was alone again, Alice grinned and leaned against the door, looking across the room at the flowers.
Geoffrey knew how to charm a girl, that was for sure. Alice crossed the room, debating whether to change into something nicer than the sweats she’d put on and go downstairs. Every part of her wanted to do just that. How could she sit and eat dinner by herself, like she did most nights, when a guy she could legitimately fall hard for was right downstairs willing to buy her dinner? A second dinner, actually. She’d be crazy not to take him up on his offer.
Or she might be crazy to take him up on it. Seeing him again would put her right in the spot she had just convinced herself she didn’t want to be in—making their goodbye even harder. Which, in turn, would make working together more difficult.
Alice put her nose to the flowers and smelled them. The roses actually had a scent. Alice wondered where Geoffrey had found them in the last hour or so since they’d said their goodbyes, and what he’d paid for them. A rose that hadn’t had its scent bred out of it was difficult to find, and not cheap. These weren’t flowers he’d bought from a vendor on the street.
If she had an ounce less self-control, she would have run—not walked—to the lounge. But she hadn’t grit her way through college and the LA art scene without a healthy amount of willpower.
So, as hard as it was, she sat down on the sofa and turned on the television to channel four, then texted Geoffrey.
Thank you for the flowers. They smell heavenly. She had no idea how she’d get them home, but she’d figure out a way, even if she had to hold them in her lap for the entire nine-hour flight. I’ve turned on Carjackers. What are you eating for dinner?
FaceTiming would have been easier on her fingers, but harder on her resolve. It was taking every ounce of self-control she had not to go downstairs or invite him up. Seeing his blue eyes and the cleft in his chin on her phone screen, knowing how easily she could see them—him—in person would turn her willpower into a puddle of mush.
Hamburger and fries. They cater to Americans here.
I ordered the same. Plus, a hot fudge sundae.
Ketchup and mustard?
Ketchup and mayo. And extra pickles.
Sounds horrible. Trying it now.
Seconds later she got a picture of Geoffrey’s hamburger, the top bun off and Geoffrey’s hand piling pickles onto the mayonnaise covered meat patty.
It’s the way hamburgers were meant to be eaten, she wrote back.
Hamburgers are meant to be eaten at Shake Shack.
If she hadn’t already been convinced they were a good match, those words would have done the trick. With bacon and cheese. Cheese fries on the side.
You’ve just talked me into going back to LA with you.
Alice laughed, then wondered if he was being serious. After all, he’d shown up at her hotel and was currently eating in the lounge. Would he go back to LA with her? Did she want him to?
She didn’t have to think twice about that answer. Obviously yes. No one knew him in LA. No one would care if they were together. He could work on his art, and she could . . . do something. In two weeks, she wouldn’t have a job in LA anymore, since she’d given her notice as soon as Geoffrey had hired her. And Geoffrey hadn’t actually told her he was an artist. That would have to come first before she started making any more plans about their life together in LA.
Really? She texted back and held her breath. She honestly didn’t know how she wanted him to answer.
As much as the idea appealed to her, he couldn’t walk away from his obligations in England, and she wasn’t ready for him to meet her “obligations” in America. As much as she loved her mom and brother, Alice couldn’t stand the thought of Geoffrey judging them on their appearance rather than loving them as much as she did. They were very different people from his own family, so the risk he would see them as less than what they were was very real.
There are actually quite a few Shake Shacks in London. When you come back, we’ll go, he texted back.
Relief and disappointment sometimes work hand in hand, and Alice felt them both simultaneously. Her mind drifted back to wondering what their relationship—if it could even be called that—would look like in LA, away from photographers and his family but closer to hers.
Before she got too far down that path, she shook her head and turned back to reality, quickly answering his text with a short reply. Can’t wait.
Picking up a couple of fries, she dipped them in ketchup and stared at the TV, very much aware of how close Geoffrey was. Even though she was forcing herself not to go to the lounge, she wasn’t ready to tell him goodbye and checked her phone every other second for the telltale dots that would notify her he was replying. She hadn’t really been paying attention to what the TV show was about, but suddenly a man was freaking out about his car being stolen, and she had something she could say to Geoffrey.
This show is actually about cars getting stolen? she texted then pushed send.
Only somewhat. Just wait.
A few minutes later the man discovered his car had been stolen by his fiancé who was having it made into a giant chicken nugget for him. Because he loved chicken nuggets.
This can’t possibly be real.
You said you wanted terrible television.
Touché. I didn’t realize just how bad it would be.
British TV is either very, very good, or very, very bad.
They spent the next few hours going back and forth about the terrible life choices people were willing to make in order to be on TV, ideas about the Grey m
useum, dreams, favorite books and movies, good TV, and so on. Alice packed while they texted, never forgetting that tomorrow Geoffrey would be much further away than a minute-by-elevator.
When the urge to go to him got too strong, she kicked off her jeans and changed into her night shirt before climbing into the king-sized bed that was the size of a small island compared to the futon she slept on in her LA studio apartment. Flat prices in London would be even higher than LA rent, and she’d have to find something even smaller than her apartment if she were still going to send money to her mom. And there wasn’t really a way not to do that.
Alice checked the clock on the bedside table and was surprised to see it was after midnight. The lounge would be closed, and Geoffrey had probably gone home. As much as she hated to, she switched off her light and reluctantly texted Geoffrey goodnight. Long flight tomorrow.
I guess I’ll go back to my flat then. I’m counting the days until I see you again. Good night.
Alice popped up. Wait? You’re still downstairs?
Of course I am. Just me and the barkeep. Do you think he likes the way the chairs look on top of the tables, or is he closing up?
Alice stared at her phone. Geoffrey had stayed for hours just hoping to see her one last time? She dropped her phone on the bedside table and flung back the covers she’d burrowed under. Jumping out of bed, she threw on a pair of pajama pants and grabbed a hoodie to pull on over her t-shirt. There was no time to put on a bra. She bolted toward the door, stopping only long enough for a quick application of lip balm and a glance in the mirror. She didn’t look great, but she did look presentable.
Her door slammed shut behind her as she ran into the hall, its echo following her to the elevator. She spent ten unsuccessful seconds pushing the call button before heading for the doorway to the stairs.
Even though she only had two flights to go down, Alice was out of breath by the time she made it to the bottom. Her heart had been racing since the moment she’d made the decision to do what she was about to do.
She flung open the door and ran to the lounge. The barkeeper was locking the door when she got there, and she stopped only long enough to look through the glass windows and confirm Geoffrey wasn’t in there. Then she ran for the lobby.
Geoffrey was walking into the revolving door when she got there. She skidded to a stop and called, “Geoffrey!”
He glanced over his shoulder but couldn’t stop the momentum of the door pushing him through, but he followed it around until he was back inside again.
“Alice?” A tentative smile made its way across his face to become a full-grown grin when his eyes drifted to her Minnie Mouse pjs.
She followed his gaze, and for a split-second questioned her sanity. But she’d come this far for what she wanted, and she wasn’t going back to her room without it. Alice looked straight into Geoffrey’s face and walked toward him. When they were within a few feet of each other she said, “I’ve been very good.”
Then they were inches apart, and she tilted her head to him. “Can I have that kiss now?”
Geoffrey didn’t hesitate to comply, placing one hand on her cheek and the other on the small of her back in order to pull her toward him and close the distance between them. He kissed her tenderly, without any of the hunger Alice had felt in him earlier. This kiss felt more authentic, like real champagne. It held a promise that his others hadn’t.
This kiss promised he could wait for her.
For them.
Chapter Fifteen
Geoffrey had just woken the following morning when Ardis came into his bedroom.
“Clarissa is on the phone,” she said, handing him the house telephone. For Clarissa to call on the landline meant she’d been trying to reach his cellphone and hadn’t gotten through as quickly as she’d wanted. Whatever she might be, Clarissa wasn’t an impatient woman. Usually she would leave a message and wait for him to call her back. What was so urgent today that she couldn’t wait for his return call?
“Did you tell her I was asleep?”
Ardis answered by lifting her eyebrows in a way that made it abundantly clear she had, obviously. “She insisted I wake you.”
“Is something wrong?”
He’d meant to go see Clarissa the night before. Had every intention to break things off with her. But as he was driving to her place, he’d passed the flower shop he knew carried the best roses in the UK. The kind specially delivered from a breeder in France who had figured out how to keep them disease-resistant without compromising the scent.
And they seemed like the kind of thing Alice would like, so he stopped to order a dozen to be delivered. But then he thought about it being her last night in London for a few weeks and that when she returned, he wouldn’t be able to kiss her. And once he was officially her boss, he’d have to limit the amount of time he spent with her in order to avoid the temptation he was sure he’d give into.
He had to see her one more time before that happened.
So he’d delivered the flowers himself. Or, rather, had the bellman do it when Alice had, justifiably, refused to see him.
She’d been right—and she obviously had more willpower than he had. But he’d still enjoyed spending the night texting her.
And the unexpected kiss that had ended the night.
He’d particularly enjoyed that.
“Clearly something’s wrong.” Ardis pressed the button to unmute the phone, then whispered, “This problem you get to solve on your own.”
Geoffrey sighed and took the phone from her, waiting until Ardis had shut the door behind her to answer. “Hello, darling.”
“Darling? You’re going to darling me after the pictures in the paper?” Clarissa didn’t raise her voice when she was angry, but her sarcasm got louder. It was currently at the level of wailing baby on an airplane.
“What pictures? I’ve only just woken. I haven’t seen any pictures.” Nor did he have the patience or energy to keep playing games with Clarissa. If she was angry with him, she should come out and say it. Or yell it.
“I’d think you’d have some idea that kissing a woman in the middle of the Tate would lead to some photographs being taken. Who is this tart anyway? I’ve never seen—”
“Where did you see this?” Geoffrey bolted upright and grabbed his cell phone from the bedside table.
“In The Tattler. Where else?”
Geoffrey Googled the tabloid, and when its front page popped up, it was even worse than he’d imagined. The headline read Does Lord G’s Fling Mean No Ring? Underneath it was not only a picture of him and Alice kissing at the Tate, but also the picture taken two nights before of him and Clarissa at dinner. Her empty left hand was on his chest, her lips were on his cheek, and there was little question that at least one of them thought they were a couple. What was it Clarissa had said? She expected a ring soon? Or something like that? Undoubtedly that was somewhere in the article.
“Where did this picture come from?” He couldn’t quit looking at it, worrying what Alice would think when she saw it.
If she saw it. It was a British tabloid, after all. She’d have to go looking for it to find it, and he doubted she read the tabloids.
“Well, it seems from a very romantic outing to the Tate. That much is obvious.” Clarissa snapped her syllables. “And it’s obvious she’s the woman you’ve hired as your curator. What’s less obvious is why you would be kissing her in public when we’re on the verge of being engaged.”
“Does it say who she is in the article?” Geoffrey hoped not. Alice’s anonymity needed to be protected.
“No, I’m just assuming. Would you like to confirm my suspicions?”
Geoffrey sighed. “No. I’d rather no one know who she is, for her own privacy.”
“Including me? Do I get to know, or am I expected to pretend I haven’t been publicly humiliated?”
Geoffrey climbed out of bed. He couldn’t say what he had to say lying down. He needed to be moving. “I don’t think it’s important that y
ou know who she is, Clarissa,” he began gently. “What’s important is that nothing more than that kiss happened between us.”
“I’m supposed to believe that? You shared one innocent kiss that didn’t mean anything?” Her voice didn’t get louder, it got steelier. Like ice forming on a pond, growing thicker and harder to crack the lower the temperature dropped. “That’s not what it looks like in the picture.” Everything about Clarissa reminded Geoffrey of an icy pond.
“It was more than one kiss, but nothing more than kissing.” Geoffrey raised his eyes to the ceiling and raked a hand through his hair. “And I never said it didn’t mean anything.” He skated carefully, knowing he was on dangerous ground.
A long pause followed, and Geoffrey feared Clarissa was going to crack and suck him into the depths of her anger. Silence was more terrifying than shouting. Too much of the unknown lay in it.
“I’m not sure how to respond to that. Am I supposed to feel better that this woman means something to you? That she’s not just a fling?”
“No. I suspect that makes things worse.”
Another silence followed, until finally Clarissa spoke. “Is this where you break up with me? Or shall I go first?”
“I can have Ardis prepare a statement that you had broken up with me shortly after the photo of us was taken.” Geoffrey walked toward his closet to pick out something to wear. Someone in Lady Chatsworth’s household would be informing her any minute now about the picture, and he would have to do some damage control. She would know exactly who he’d been kissing at the Tate.
“That’s very generous of you.” Clarissa’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Clarissa, we both know this wasn’t going to work, even if we both wanted it to. We were never together for the right reasons.” Geoffrey scrambled to find any words that might make her feel better, or at least less rejected. “We really haven’t been a couple since I left for America.”
“If you’re trying to justify cheating on me, don’t bother. You can’t make this better by attempting to rewrite history. We had an understanding, and if you no longer felt the same about us, you should have been honest about that.”
Gambling on a Gentleman: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (ABCs of Love) Page 12