Carla couldn’t seem to see how much better off she would be without him; as far as she was concerned, any guy was better than being alone. ‘Look, just because Tom has weird fetishes doesn’t mean you have to starve yourself.’
‘I just want him to love me,’ Carla whispered, her doe eyes filling with tears.
‘Hon, he’s a bastard,’ Sadie told her frankly.
‘Your area of expertise,’ shot back Carla, turning her anger on Sadie.
‘Touché.’ Sadie raised an eyebrow. She could tell Carla was upset, so she let the matter drop. ‘Anyway, I’m the one who needs to go on a diet,’ she continued, as she sipped the deliciously chilled Pinot Grigio. ‘I’ve barely worked out at all since 42nd Street was cancelled. Laziness and comfort eating are not a good combination.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, you look fantastic,’ Carla re assured her. ‘Every man in here is practically drooling into his lunch.’
‘Well it’s nice to have these,’ Sadie smirked, indicating her breasts, ‘but I really need to get back down to my performance weight. I haven’t done anything for weeks. Thanks for dragging me out,’ she smiled gratefully. Despite her protests when Carla first invited her, Sadie felt a lot better after the Pilates class. She enjoyed the familiar buzz as her body was kick-started back to life. She knew that she needed to get back into some sort of routine – and soon. She planned to start auditioning again next week and she needed to be on top of her game. It would be steamed veg and dance classes all the way from now on, she vowed, wincing as the waitress brought a delicious-looking panna cotta over to the table next to them.
‘No, thanks for doing me the favour. It’s nice to see a friendly face among all those tight-arsed Botox freaks,’ Carla grinned, as she fished out the slice of lemon from her glass.
‘Too many calories?’ teased Sadie.
‘Fuck off,’ retorted Carla, good-naturedly. ‘You might be able to look amazing 24/7, but not all of us have that luxury. Speaking of which, I’m off to the Ladies to tidy myself up a little. All these rich bitches are giving me a complex,’ she asserted, grabbing her bag as she pushed her chair back and went inside.
Idly, Sadie glanced over at the surrounding tables, settling back to watch the hustle and bustle as people hurried past on their way to Liverpool Street. Everyone seemed to be wearing freshly buffed shoes and expensive suits, their braying voices loudly discussing incomprehensible terms like derivative clearing and projected EPS. But she couldn’t deny that everyone looked fantastic. The women were impeccably dressed in chic designer outfits and sky-high heels, their hair professionally styled and their make-up immaculate. And the men …! Sadie allowed herself a small smile, and resolved to discuss the topic with Carla as soon as she got back. They’d have no problem finding Carla someone hotter than freaky Tom. The men here all looked sexy as hell, with their crisp, white shirts and light tans, no doubt cultivated at Christmas in St Barts and topped up on the ski slopes at Klosters.
Her gaze landed on a guy a couple of tables away, and Sadie almost knocked over her wine glass. Christ, he was gorgeous! She felt as if she’d just received an electric shock, one thousand volts straight through her body. Thank God she was wearing dark glasses so he couldn’t see her staring. He looked directly at her and his gaze was so disconcerting that she dropped her eyes, feeling her cheeks flame.
Cautiously, she glanced up from underneath her long, dark lashes. He was no longer looking at her, but some instinct told Sadie that he was still highly aware of her presence. He was chatting and joking with his colleagues; the women burst out laughing at something he’d said and Sadie felt an inexplicable pang of jealousy.
Then he glanced over at her again, as if to check that she was watching. This time Sadie didn’t look away. Damn, he was attractive. He must have been almost twice her age – early forties, she would have guessed – but he had that complete confidence and authority that comes with maturity. Maturity, and a shit-load of cash, Sadie smiled to herself, as she noticed the Rolex on his wrist. His hair was dark, flecked with grey, and his features were exquisite – strong jaw line and a heavy, Roman nose which gave his face a distinction and gravity, offset by the way he was grinning now. He looked fun, she thought, feeling a delicious flutter in her stomach. He looked sexy.
Sadie glanced up as Carla slid back into her seat, now perfectly made up with her glossy brown hair freshly brushed. ‘I feel better for that,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s like I’m naked without lip gloss.’ She noticed Sadie’s agitated state, the spots of colour high on her cheeks. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Hot man alert,’ Sadie hissed through pursed lips.
‘I know, they’re everywhere.’ Carla sat back languidly as the waiter placed their food in front of them.
‘Not like this one.’
‘So who’s your intended victim?’
Sadie nodded discreetly to where the man was once again talking with his friends.
Carla wrinkled her nose. ‘Not bad. Not really my taste, though. He’s been checking you out since we arrived so he’s definitely interested.’
Sadie was pleased by the confirmation.
‘What about your vow to make it to the top?’ Carla asked, a teasing glint in her eye. ‘Won’t he be a distraction?’
‘A girl’s got to have some fun,’ Sadie pouted. ‘Let off a little steam, if you know what I’m saying.’
‘I know what you’re saying,’ Carla grinned. ‘So are you going over?’
Sadie shook her head. ‘No way. He can come to me.’
‘Well he’d better be quick …’
‘Fuck,’ swore Sadie, as there was a clattering of chairs and the women gathered their handbags. The group stood up and the man walked off without so much as a backwards glance. ‘Bastard,’ she hissed, as she watched his retreating form. His shoulders were broad, his back toned and defined through the white cotton shirt. She imagined his strong, muscular chest pressed against her, his breath hot on her neck. She wanted him badly.
‘There’ll be another one along in a minute,’ Carla reassured her. ‘What about that guy over there?’ she suggested, indicating a young City slicker with over-styled blond hair who was talking loudly into his BlackBerry.
Sadie merely raised an eyebrow. She pushed her food aside; suddenly she had no appetite. She took a large gulp of wine, hoping it would dull the nagging sensation of humiliation. She felt like a loser and she didn’t like it. ‘Shall we get the bill?’
‘Sure,’ agreed Carla, who was toying with a leaf of rocket.
Sadie signalled for the waiter, who came rushing over. ‘No, there is no charge, madam. The gentleman who was sitting over there paid for your meal.’
It took Sadie a moment to comprehend what he was saying, but then a satisfied smile slowly spread across her face. ‘Did he now?’ she purred, feeling the familiar rush of excitement in her stomach.
‘Yes madam. And he asked me to give you this.’ The waiter handed over a neat, elegantly printed business card. Sadie took it, brushing her fingers thoughtfully over the raised print. Paul Austin. Senior Investment Manager. Willis & Bourne. It was thick, creamy card, expertly embossed. Very
