I couldn’t argue with a well-thought-out plan.
‘Can I use my phone in here?’ I called from the bathroom, peeling off my damp yellow dress. The bathroom was full of products: Clinique, Anthony Logistics, Peter Thomas Roth. Sent over by PRs, I figured, but still, men with more moisturizer than me made me edgy.
‘The landline should be OK, but I’m keeping your mobile hostage until you leave.’ James knocked once on the door and then came in. Giving me just enough time to grab one of the robes hanging from the back of the door. But not enough time to put it on. ‘Nice knickers, Calvin Klein?’
‘Erm, yes,’ I said, trying to slide into the robe without revealing an inch of flesh or white lace. Not an easy task at the best of times, and even more difficult when you were a) ridiculous clumsy and b) in the hotel bathroom of a stupidly hot actor. A stupidly hot actor who had taken off his shirt. Oh. It was pretty.
‘Don’t tell your model friend, but I did a campaign for them last year.’ He took one arm of the robe, in theory to help me put it on, but in practice just to help me get even more wound up in the acres of jersey. ‘I think that’s the set Eva wore.’
Perfect. Who didn’t want to be compared to Eva Mendes in their underwear?
‘I’m so sorry about that,’ I said again. ‘I don’t know what his problem is. It’s just…God, Jenny is going to kill me.’
‘I’m sure she’ll be fine.’ James pushed his hair back off his face. Had his cheekbones always been so high? What else were those brown curls hiding? ‘And please stop apologizing for that knobhead. I’m just surprised you’re friends with him, to be honest. You did realize he was all over you? Do you know, I haven’t called anyone a knobhead for ages. You really do bring out the English in me.’
‘Thanks, I think.’ I pushed past him, moving very quickly through the bedroom, accidentally glancing at the rumpled bedsheets and settling in the living room. In an armchair. Made for one. Could he please just put a shirt back on? I was only human, for God’s sake. ‘And, just for the record, he’s absolutely not interested in me. I don’t even really know him; we’re not really friends. He and Jenny used to work in the same hotel in New York, that’s all.’
‘So they’re friends?’
‘Sort of,’ I wrinkled my nose. There was no way Jenny would be exploring their ‘friendship’ now. I was going to suffer for this one.
‘I see, friends with benefits?’
Before I could clarify, there was a knock at the door. James opened up and swapped my dress for a tray of drinks. ‘Thanks,’ he said to someone I couldn’t see. ‘Tea?’
‘Yes please,’ I sighed, realizing suddenly how tired I was. ‘I’d kill for a cup right now.’
‘I don’t want to know how you’re going to react to my HobNobs then,’ he said, producing a full packet of biscuits. ‘This really is the best hotel in the world.’
‘Don’t say that in front of Jenny,’ I said, taking a handful of crumbly biscuity goodness. ‘She’s all about The Union. Or at least she was; she hasn’t stolen anything in ages.’
‘So we’ve got twenty minutes to fill,’ James said, nursing his steaming mug. ‘What do you want to do?’
What did I want to do? Now there was a question. My head wanted to call Jenny, make sure she was OK and actually going to speak to me again. My heart wanted to call Alex and see how his gig went, hear his soft sleepy voice and have him put the phone on his pillow until he fell asleep so I could just listen to him breathe. But another, slightly less poetic part of me was absolutely burning to stand up, take that cup of tea out of James Jacobs’s hand and put all of his flirting to the test. To trace a finger up his abs, his sharply cut chest and over his full bottom lip. Just press it, just to see if it was as firm and plush as it looked. And then possibly nibble on it a little bit. And then—
‘You’ve got such a strange look on your face,’ James interrupted. ‘What are you thinking about?’
Pushing you backwards against the sofa and doing lots of very dirty things until my passport expires.
‘Nothing really.’
‘There’s something I wanted to say, actually,’ he carried on. ‘About this afternoon, at the burger place.’
Maybe just a quick nibble. ‘No need, really.’
‘Yes, there is. I’m sorry, I just get caught up easily. Really, it’s pathetic. I spend so much time spouting crap that’s written for me, I start coming out with it when they haven’t even given me a script.’ He rested on the arm of my chair. And smelt delicious. ‘I suppose that’s why Blake gets so angry. I get myself into so much trouble with all those photos.’
‘Photos?’
‘Of me. Well, if they were just of me it wouldn’t be a problem.’
‘Oh.’
‘They’re just photos, Angela,’ he said, looking down at me.
‘You don’t have to explain anything to me.’ I stared straight ahead. Trying not to be jealous.
‘Well, I do, you are the reporter,’ he said. ‘But I’m just saying. Although I can’t help but wonder what that interview is going to come out like.’
‘The interview.’ I covered my face. ‘I’m really not doing well, am I? I’m so going to get fired and then I’ll be deported. And homeless. And someone’s going to have to tell my mother…’
‘What are you talking about?’ James pulled away my hands with his own, warmed through by his hot tea. ‘Why are you going to get fired?’
‘Because Blake cancelled the interview.’ I looked at him as though he was slightly stupid. Very pretty but slightly stupid.
James looked back at me the exact same way. ‘Blake can’t cancel the interview.’
‘He can’t?’ I asked, puzzled. ‘I thought he did everything?’
‘Well he didn’t set it up,’ James explained.
‘He didn’t?’
‘No, Angela. I did.’
‘OK, I know I’m not very clever at the best of times, but I don’t understand…’
‘The interview, you, it was my idea,’ James said, looking really rather pleased with himself. ‘I’m not stupid, I know what people must think when they see all those photos of me and, well, every woman I’ve ever met. So I read some women’s magazines, checked out some of the writers and that’s how I came across you.’
‘You asked for me?’ I was confused. Not unusual, admittedly. ‘It was actually you?’
‘I asked for you. I loved your writing,’ he nodded. ‘But once I’d chosen you, I had to put everything through Blake, after I’d picked a magazine, otherwise it would have been weird. Actors don’t usually set up their own press. To be honest, Blake wasn’t completely convinced you were the right pick, so I would
