Completely. Un. Related.
Chapter Eight
By the time I come downstairs, Alastair’s cleaned up all of the sheet music from the coffee table and stashed his guitar behind Ziggy’s chair. He’s also brought out a tray with the red teapot and two matching mugs, a tiny white pitcher of milk, and a small plate of chocolate-covered biscuits. My first instinct is to say something sarcastic because I feel like I’ve entered a parallel universe of domesticity, but I curb it because Alastair’s expression reminds me I’m firmly in this one. The one where he’s not any happier to see me and is just being politely British.
“If you point me in the direction of the dryer, I’ll toss these in?” I offer, holding up my wet jeans. And socks, it turns out. Because despite wearing wellies, somehow my feet got wet, too.
Alastair holds out his hand to take them and says, “Do you need socks?”
“No, your sweats are more than long enough to cover my feet, too.” I point towards the log burner, even though there’s no fire in it. “And it’s really cozy in here.”
“I’ll be right back.” Alastair turns and again I stare after him waiting for the rest of his sentence.
Bloody hell. It’s one of my favorite British phrases. And so apt right now. I didn’t expect him to roll out the welcome mat, but it wouldn’t kill him to be a little less impersonal, would it?
Before I can answer that question, Alastair comes back in and gestures to the couch. “Have a seat.”
I move to the far end because it’s obviously the only place to sit in the room with Ziggy taking up the chair and I don’t think Alastair wants to be within knee-knocking distance of me. As soon as I perch on my cushion, Ziggy slides off the chair and flops down on top of my feet. I take a sharp breath in and look up at Alastair, who’s easing himself down onto the opposite end of the couch. “Um?”
I don’t have to say anymore. Alastair shrugs and says, “I guess he thinks you need a foot warmer after all. I promise you, he’s not going to bite your toes off.”
“Sure, he’s not. He’s going to lull me into a false sense of security and go in for the kill.” I’m not going to lie. I hate the fact that this dog is sitting on my feet, but the foot warming part doesn’t suck. “How long have you had him?”
“A couple of years. I found him in the barn when I moved in. I don’t know if he used to live here before or not, but he’d been on his own for a while by the time I came along.” Alastair pours me a cup of tea while he talks and slides the mug across the coffee table towards me.
“So you’ve lived here two years?” I ask the question without thinking, but I can tell it’s the wrong one before Alastair finishes pouring his cup of tea.
He waits until he’s added milk before meeting my eyes and asking, “What do you want, Remi? I’d rather not pretend this is some kind of friendly catch up.”
On the plus side, Alastair’s actually looking me in the eye for the first time. On the minus side, well, I think there are too many minuses to count. I add milk to my own tea before answering, cupping my hands around the steaming cup. “I told you yesterday. Your agent sent me.”
“I phoned Moira last night. She said your job is to get me exposure so she can book me onto Luanna Parker’s tour.” Alastair’s tone gives me zero idea what he thinks about this.
“Yes, basically.”
“So why not say that?” Alastair raises his eyebrows at me as he takes another sip of his tea.
“Sure, okay. Luanna Parker wants you for part of her European festival tour, but you need to raise your profile or she’ll go with someone else. Your agent thinks this could be very lucrative for you, but Luanna is savvy and she knows her accompanying act needs to be a draw in his or her own right. Your fans are, well, your fans.” I mean, Wellsies? Really? “And among them you have a reputation as a bit of a recluse. Which adds to your mystique with your established base, but in terms of building that base? It works against you.”
“Okay?” Alastair takes another sip of tea.
My pitch is on the tip of my tongue. I’m good at this part – appealing to emotion, sharing success stories and statistics, looking like I care. But I’m pretty sure if I pitched Alastair right now, this conversation would be capital-O Over. Instead I say, “It depends on what you want.”
“What does that mean?” For the first time, Alastair doesn’t hide behind his tea when he speaks.
I take that as progress and let a smile escape before shrugging and saying, “It means if you want the tour, you’ve got to get out there. Get into a few prestigious venues in London for exposure sooner than later, and basically be seen. If Moira and I can’t get the right venues, at least we can get you on the radio and plant some photos on social media. If you don’t want the tour, keep doing what you’re doing.”
I’m dying to ask what he is doing, but I stop myself. This isn’t a social visit and aside from the brief mention of Ziggy, Alastair’s kept it strictly business. He doesn’t change now. “When do I have to decide?”
“I’ll be here for two more days. By the time I head back to London would be great.”
“And I’ll be working with you?” Alastair takes another sip of tea.
This time so do I. “Probably. If that’s a problem, I have two partners.”
“You did get partner then.” Alastair stops with the tea halfway to his lips.
“I did.” Alastair and I broke up before I’d progressed beyond my entry-level job with Jed and Rex, but he knew where my sights were set.
“Congratulations.” He raises his tea in a mock toast before taking a sip.
His tone is as bland as rice pudding, but damn, his words make an unexpected lump rise in my throat. I swallow it down and say, “Thanks. It’s good. It’s been good.”
“I’m glad for you.” Alastair pauses for a second. “After everything.”
And the lump in my throat is back. I haven’t cried over Alastair in twelve years, but his words take me back to the day he broke up with me like it was yesterday, and I realize how easy it would be to break that streak. Which I don’t want to do because there’s nothing like crying over your ex in front of your ex. Even so, I hate myself a little bit when I jump back with my professional voice. “If you do decide you want to go ahead with this, it would help if we could sit down to discuss what you’re willing to do and what’s off the table. For example, ramping up your social media is key, but I’m not sure how you feel about managing it yourself versus me doing it. Also, what types of photographs are out of bounds? If we iron out things like that beforehand, it alleviates a lot of problems once our push gets underway. You have a limited time to achieve the kind of exposure Luanna Parker is looking for, so we need to be strategic about it.”
Alastair looks at me like I’ve started speaking Mandarin, but as he opens his mouth to respond, a buzzer sounds from the other room. He pushes himself to his feet. “That will be your clothes.”
“Great.” I stand up, too. But somehow I’ve forgotten Ziggy’s lying on my feet and he scrambles up. Which knocks me back onto the couch with his head on my thigh. I’m still holding a half-full cup of tea and the only way I can put it down is to lean over the dog, which is clearly not happening. I shoot Alastair a wide-eyed look. “Help.”
He laughs.
Let me repeat that. He laughs. And it is a good thing I’m sitting down because I actually go weak in the knees. To the point where I forget Ziggy for a solid thirty seconds. I forget everything except the fact that I used to love this man with my whole heart. And I’ve never loved anyone the same way since.
Thank God Alastair speaks before I confess exactly that. “You could stroke him, you know. I promise he won’t hurt you.”
There’s a softness in his eyes as he speaks that I haven’t seen in twelve years. And seeing it now reminds exactly how much he hurt me. I jump up like Ziggy bit me in the leg and shake my head. “No, thank you. I don’t like dogs.”
Alastair’s smile fades and he mumbles something about
fetching my clothes, leaving me alone with Ziggy, who’s looking up at me wondering what he did. It’s almost enough to make me pet him of my own accord. Because the truth is, I’m afraid of dogs, but I’m not convinced Ziggy is going to hurt me. His owner on the other hand? He has a way of ripping a girl’s heart out. And I’ve grown rather attached to mine.
Chapter Nine
My mother calls me when I’m en route back to the Swan with Two Necks – I know it’s her because the ringtone is Abba’s “Does Your Mother Know” - and the only reason I ease to the side of the road to answer is because I’m in a bad mood anyway. I love my mother, but she’s a lot more demanding since she retired from her teaching job a few months ago.
“Are you ever going to answer my email?” my mother asks by way of hello.
“Hi, Mom. I’m good, thanks. How are you?” I grind my back teeth together. I shouldn’t have answered. I knew I didn’t have the patience for this and hearing her voice confirms it.
“Oh, Remi.” Mom’s the only person I know who can communicate so much exasperation in only two words.
“What, Mom? What is it in your email that’s so important you can’t even say hello first?” I’m attacking her. I know I am. But it turns out I’m itching for a fight.
“Your father and I are making our plans for your cousin’s wedding and we were hoping we might be able to see you in London for a few days before we go to Paris.” Mom pauses, then adds, “I know you’re very busy, but we really would love to spend some time with you in your new home.”
Shit. Guilt, guilt, guilt. Whether my mom’s laying it on intentionally or not, it crawls through my stomach like a turtle in the mud. “Sorry. Of course, Mom. I’d love to have you.”
More guilt. It will be hard enough to take a long weekend off for Bea’s wedding, never mind more time to ferry my parents around London. I suppose I could put them on one of those open-top bus tours? That could take a day. And my mom loves art, so a museum hop is another day. I’d probably have to accompany them, but I could take my tablet and sit in the café while they gawk at famous paintings. It’s not as efficient as working from my office, but as long as Vera’s available to field my calls…
“Did you hear me?” Mom asks.
Nope. I’ve been mentally planning how to work while my parents visit and one said parent is still talking. I force a smile and say, “What, Mom? Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
“I said that your sister was thinking of coming to the wedding, but she’s too worried about flying,” Mom says. “It’s a shame because I’m sure she’d love to visit you in London, too. She absolutely adored that cologne you sent her for her birthday last month.”
First of all, my younger sister and I are not close and while I don’t doubt she would have loved to come to London, visiting me would have been an unfortunate necessity in her eyes. We have so little in common that I had to unfollow her Instagram, which is saying something because I follow Elvis, for God’s sake. (Don’t worry. I believe he’s dead.) Life for Reanne has always been about becoming a Mrs. over everything else, which I’ve never understood. And now that she’s pregnant…
“She’s like six seconds pregnant. Flying would be fine.” My tone is flat.
“Her Ob/Gyn said you can never be too careful.” Mom ignores my tone like she’s been doing for the past twenty-seven years. I know she wishes Reanne and I were as close as she is to her sisters, but she’s resigned herself to the more she pushes either of us, the worse it gets.
“Well, she’s the expert, right? So, London? What are you thinking?”
“We can travel down with you and your date from the wedding if that’s not too awkward? I spoke to Bea the other day and she said you were bringing a date, which is exciting.”
Not that exciting, Mom, since I don’t actually have a date yet. I ignore that whole topic and say, “Traveling down together will make the most sense, especially because we’ll probably have to switch trains somewhere. I need to look into that, actually.”
“Do you want me to do it? I know you’re busy with your job and I’m happy to have a look?”
And even more guilt. You’re so busy with your job I know you don’t have time to think about your family. I know my mother didn’t say that, but it’s what I hear and my voice is clipped when I say, “I’ll sort it out, Mom. Worst case scenario, I’ll get my assistant to book the tickets for us.”
“Right. Of course.” Mom’s pursing her lips right now. I’d bet a million dollars. “So, who’s your mystery date then?”
“If I tell you, it won’t be a mystery.” I force my tone to stay even. “I promise he’s presentable, though.”
Well, Vera promised he would be, so same thing, right?
God, I really need to make sure she gets a raise.
“I’m glad you’ve met someone. You know how I worry about you.”
“Mom.” My tone holds a world of warning because we’ve had this conversation. To death.
“I know. I know. I’m not starting, don’t worry.” Mom sounds like she’s holding her hands up in a ‘don’t shoot’ position. “How is work, by the way? Are you CEO yet?”
I’ve explained the whole partnership thing to my mom a million times and she still asks this question. Which I answer the same way because the alternative is getting frustrated every time. “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”
“Well, I hope your young man is making sure you don’t work too hard?”
I think of Alastair – who is not my young man at all – and the uncertain way we left things. He’s going to get in touch with me within the next two days. Maybe. Which leaves me playing the waiting game. I’ll probably have a bit of down time while I’m here, given that he didn’t seem all that eager.
That’s not great, and not only because I’m used to being super busy, but to my mom I say, “Actually, I’m having a little bit of an unexpected break right now.”
Mom starts to respond and then the house phone rings in the background. She apologizes that she’s expecting a call from the doctor, but before she hangs up she says, “I’m glad you’re finding some time to relax, Remi. You don’t let yourself do nearly enough of that. Let me know what you find out about the trains.”
She hangs up before I can respond and I shake my head at the black screen. I slept until nine o’clock this morning. I’m on a bicycle in the middle of nowhere, wearing wellies for God’s sake. I didn’t get where I am by being relaxed. And I sure as hell didn’t get where I am waiting for Alastair Wells. Part of me wants to turn this damn bike around and go back to demand a commitment right now. I could be on my way back to London tonight if I did that. The only thing that stops me is pride.
I didn’t get where I am by badgering potential clients either and I’m not about to start. Especially when said client is my ex-fiancé. If this is his way of playing hard to get, let him. The only time playing hard to get actually works is when the chaser thinks the chasee is more attractive because they’re unavailable.
As if.
In this case the most attractive thing Alastair could possibly do is let me know where he stands so I can get on with my job.
Chapter Ten
When I get back to the Swan with Two Necks, Amy calls me over to where she’s wiping down the bar. “You’re in time for lunch if you fancy it? We’ve got a Ploughman’s today that’s pretty good.”
I’m about to decline – a Ploughman’s isn’t exactly on my eating plan – but then I think of the conversation with my mother, and my stomach roars like I asked its opinion. I laugh a little. “I guess that’s a yes. Thank you.”
Amy goes to key the order into the register and I stare at the wood grain on the bar. After I hung up with my mother, I rode my granny bike around a little bit since the rain had stopped. My phone buzzed at least five more times while I was riding, but I left it in my back pocket because I didn’t want to subject anyone else to my bad mood. As if on cue it buzzes again and this time I slide it out and bring it to my ear as I answ
er.
“Hey, Rex. Yes, I saw Wells. No, I don’t have a firm commitment from him yet, but I will.” I keep my voice low as I move back towards the door because I don’t want Amy to overhear.
“It’s Jed here, Remi.” Jed’s voice booms through my phone and I pull it away from my ear to double check the caller ID. Sure enough. Dammit. I wish I’d checked before I answered because I wouldn’t have picked up if I knew it was him. I need to give him his own ringtone. Something along the lines of Dolly Parton’s “Nine to Five.” I slip through the door onto the sidewalk as he continues. “Glad to hear things are progressing with Wells. I’m wondering if you’ll be back in time for a drink on Friday night?”
“Sure, I could be. I have an open return. What time were you thinking?” I sound eager to please, which I hate. It’s my default setting when talking to Jed, even after working together for twelve years. Like he’s the father whose standards I never quite meet.
“I’m catching the Eurostar to Paris at eight, so if you come into Euston and pop over by seven, that will give us enough time.”
Jed goes to Paris like other people go to Brighton. I think he’s got a girlfriend there, but whatever the reason, he won’t spill. The one time I tried to cajole it out of him by teasing, his retort was something along the lines of, “There’s a reason it’s called a private life.” Needless to say, I turned forty shades of fuchsia and never asked again. If it were Rex I would have pried it out of him. With Jed, I didn’t even try. Now I say, “Sure, I can do that. There’s that champagne bar at St Pancras. Shall I meet you there?”
“That sounds perfect. Thank you, Remi. I look forward to your update on Wells then, too.” Jed hangs up without waiting for my reply, leaving me staring at my phone.
Call me paranoid, but I need to make one more call before heading back inside. I swipe to Vera’s number and hope that Rex isn’t with her. When she answers the first thing I say is, “Hey, I’ve only got a minute, so let me know if I should catch up with you later.”
Maid in England (The I Do Crew Book 1) Page 5