been for the interruption,’ he said.
‘Ha, you’d like to think so.’ I felt a burst of pleasure. ‘Only losers look for excuses.’
‘Excuses?’ he all but spluttered. ‘She fell into my lap.’
I shrugged, biting back a grin, as if to say, not my problem.
‘Are you always this contrary?’ he asked as we mounted the stairs.
‘I’m not contrary,’ I said indignantly. ‘Most people think I’m lovely.’
Surprising me, his mouth curved into a sudden grin which did the whole clichéd transform-his-face thing, but it really did. Those eyes really were something and he had the most perfect teeth, except the bottom ones crossed each other very slightly.
‘Okay, prove it.’
‘How am I supposed to do that?’ I asked.
Like a magician with a quick sleight of hand, he produced a business card between his fingers and pushed it into the top pocket of my suit with an arrogant grin, that did something to my insides. Either there were fledgling butterflies in there or I’d got a bad case of indigestion.
‘Come out for a drink with me. A week on Friday. Here’s my card. Text me.’
Chapter Two
Ashwin Laghari,
Financial Director
When I got to the office I’d flipped the card backwards and forwards over my hand. It had been ages since I’d had so much as a sniff of a date. All work and no play made Claire very dull. And I didn’t want to be dull. He’d sparked something that had lit a little glow of excitement in what was otherwise a fairly barren landscape. While sitting at my desk, something had made me send a distinctly out-of-character, playful text to Ashwin Laghari, of the sexy long legs and unusual, piercing eyes. He wasn’t having things all his own way and besides, on Friday nights I tended to stay late in the office and get as much done as I could before heading home. My reply had been:
Dinner, a week on Saturday. 8pm. The Beech House. Coffee Girl. x
I swallowed as a twinge of nerves flashed in the pit of my stomach. Ashwin Laghari. After a whole day of radio silence, he’d finally responded to my text.
You strike a hard bargain. Saturday it is. See you there.
Despite its brevity, I must have read it dozens of times over the last ten days and now here I was on Saturday afternoon, less than three hours to lift off. I’d kept my eyes peeled for him on my daily walk across the park to the train station but hadn’t seen him once. Maybe he didn’t live around here. What if he’d been on his way to work after a one-night stand? What if he was a complete womaniser?
And what if he was? I was overdue some fun. I didn’t get the impression he was a ‘for keeps’ sort of guy. Far too full of himself, but there’d been that definite sexual frisson.
Ashwin Laghari. I kept twisting his name around my tongue. I liked the sound of it. His full name had a melodic feel to it. I wondered if he had any middle names and how they’d fit. I’d have to ask him tonight. And then my sensible gene reared its prudent, forthright self.
For goodness’ sake, Claire, what is the matter with you? He’s a player. You challenged him. He waited a whole day to respond to your text. This is a game. You might have won that round insisting on Saturday instead of Friday but he wants round two. That’s all.
But less-sensible me, who seemed to be determined by my hormones, suggested that maybe he had also felt that sexual frisson and was keen to explore it too.
Armed with his name, I’d done a little bit of research. No more than you’d do before meeting a new business colleague. Not full-on stalking. A bit of LinkedIn, a quick trawl of Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Okay, I might have done a search on Google images. Just to remind myself what he looked like, in case after intensively staring at his face for those fifteen minutes I’d forgotten some aspect of his features. He cropped up in all his gorgeousness a couple of times, always in a suit shaking the hand of some important guy. LinkedIn had given me plenty of information. Graduate from Leeds with a first in Mechanical Engineering. Two years with First Direct and then a move to London and stellar promotions ever since and then back north. Clearly, he was a smart cookie.
Why, oh why, had I chosen The Beech House? Intimate, quiet, with perfect ambient lighting. Ideal for a romantic date. I should have selected somewhere swankier, more contemporary and more show off-y where the staff squinted at you as if you were beneath contempt and everything was far too much trouble for them.
The fussy, friendly maître d’ greeted me with a smile of pleasure, briefly dousing my shimmering nerves, which had been making themselves felt ever since I raced into my flat from my sister Alice’s to get ready. I’d managed to fob her off last Saturday but couldn’t avoid it today. An afternoon’s hedge trimming had left me a sweaty, bug-infested mess and now the butterflies in my stomach were manically trying to beat their way out. Why was I so damn nervous?
‘I’ve booked a table for two.’ I paused, wiping my slightly damp palms on my favourite black trousers.
‘The name?’ he asked.
Playing it cool, I hadn’t responded to the last text when he’d asked for my name. Ashwin Laghari only knew me as Coffee Girl. I said it, maintaining eye contact with the man as if this was a perfectly acceptable name and there was nothing out of the ordinary with it.
‘Certainly, madam.’ He didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘Allow me. The gentleman has already arrived.’
I followed him, weaving through cosy candlelit tables, towards the back of the restaurant, wishing he’d slow down a little. My legs felt a little unsteady and my tongue had already glued itself to the roof of my mouth. This was ridiculous. I’d met and conversed easily with people from all over the world, talked to conference audiences over a thousand strong and presented to chief executives and board directors all the time and never betrayed a flicker of what I was feeling.
Stiffening my spine and tilting my chin, I sucked in a breath and two seconds later I was at the table and the waiter melted away.
Ashwin Laghari was every bit as gorgeous as I remembered and so was the slightly mocking smile. He stood up.
‘You came,’ he said, his voice deeper and more mellow than I had recalled.
‘I did,’ I said, sliding onto the chair opposite him.
He suddenly grinned. ‘Busy on Friday, were you?’
‘No,’ I paused for a minute before giving him a catlike smile; he didn’t need to know that I’d been at work until nine, ‘but I wanted to put you in your place.’
‘Why didn’t I guess as much?’ Those fascinating eyes twinkled at me. ‘Am I allowed to know your name?’
‘Yes, but I’m not sure it’s been worth waiting for. Do you have any middle names,
