would be any warmer, any more personal, than the two-line rejection email?
We’re looking for someone with more experience...wishing you luck in your career...
I bite the inside of my cheek, staving off the well of emotion, unsure which rejection has my stupid eyes scalding—that of Drake’s head chef, or that of the man himself.
I scuff the toe of my shoe at a blob of welded-on chewing gum on the road, the shame directed inwards. Drake had greeted me with all the warmth of the strangers we are. Just because I thought I could convince him to take a chance on me with my dessert stunt doesn’t mean he’d be anything but consistently distant and frosty.
With my chest tight and my jumpy muscles cooling in the bitter November chill, I shrug into my jacket and drag my feet in the direction of the Underground.
The slam of the door bouncing off the brick wall behind startles me. I spin, clutching my chest. Drake, his face slashed with a scowl, heads my way with singular purpose and an intent expression, his suit jacket billowing out from his trim torso.
My previously defeated heart picks up the pace. Not only did my deflated soufflé of a plan fail, I’ve also ticked off the man with power to grant me a shot at my dream. When I fled, trailing my dignity, I was counting on him making some excuse for my unexpected appearance and continuing with his date. Now he’ll want an explanation, and, with the humiliation pounding through my bloodstream and facing a wall of his imposing but unfriendly manliness, I’m in no position to present my best argument.
I blurt the first thing that comes to mind, attack being the best form of defence. ‘What are you doing? Aren’t you on a date?’
He ignores me and strides closer, his long, muscular legs filling his dress trousers to perfection, each ominous footfall a clip from his tan leather brogues. My belly takes a nosedive—I’ve always loved brogues.
When he comes to rest in front of me I inhale a gulp of the damp air, wishing it were a shot of Dutch courage.
His thick brows dip over incredulous eyes. ‘What am I doing here...?’ His harsh expression could back me up a couple of paces but I stand still for the face-off. ‘That’s my question for you.’
I gape wordlessly. His chest seems twice as broad as he slings his hands in his trouser pockets, the fabric stretching across his hips. I lift my stare from his crotch, swallowing the heat in my throat. Hopefully it’s too dark for him to see my blush, and I can always blame the sub-zero temperatures.
‘What was that all about? The dessert?’ He nods at my outfit. ‘You pretending to be a waitress?’ His nostrils flare, his mouth tight with annoyance.
My shoulders sag. I’ve disrupted his date with the delightful Ashley, his bollocks are probably starting to freeze and my pathetic dream for a fresh start lies in tatters.
The adrift feeling, which has plagued me these past few months, returns with stinging force that makes me want to run or hide or fight. But which is the best tactic to convince Drake?
‘I...I hoped to get your attention.’ Hoped he’d see me, not just Sam’s widow or Tilly’s sister—but a woman with her own skills, aspirations, ambition. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I see it was a mistake.’ Drake’s undivided focus, him looking at me in this new, disconcerting way, is potent—like standing too close to a bonfire.
‘Forget it. Go back inside. She doesn’t look the type who’ll wait for ever.’ The damp air has turned into a mist of freezing drizzle—the kind that seeps into your bones. I belatedly fasten the buttons of my jacket, although the front of my blouse has already become transparent.
‘Well, you have my attention.’ His eyes narrow, as if he finds my bullshit decidedly suspect. ‘And what type does she look like?’
Why would he care what I think of his date? Or perhaps she’s his girlfriend. It would be a first for him, but then what do I know? This man is a virtual stranger—despite all the years we’ve known each other. And would he leave a girlfriend to chase after a woman he barely tolerates and hasn’t seen for years?
‘She looks like your type, Drake. Sorry for the interruption. Goodnight.’ My tight smile sticks on my frozen face as I spin away. But then I’m brought to a halt by the touch of his hand on my arm.
‘For fuck’s sake—you can’t just leave like this.’ He peers down at me, his irritation lessened but still brooking no argument. ‘Not until you explain what’s going on.’ He drops my arm, pinning me in place with the force of his intense stare alone.
I tilt my chin, my humiliation already complete. ‘It was a stupid long shot. I should have remembered that you owe me nothing.’ Absence, it seems, doesn’t make this man’s heart fonder. I cross my arms and grip my elbows in an attempt to conserve some heat and hold myself together.
‘Explain. What was a long shot? And why did you run out?’ He waits, his jaw tight and his breath whitening the air as his order echoes in the alleyway.
I press my lips together. I’ve nothing left to lose. I came here determined to seize the day but, now I’m face to face with this somehow different but equally stand-offish Drake, I’m not sure I want to expose myself or justify my fragile fledging dreams to his cool indifference. If he’d treated me to one whiff of welcome, a hint of pleasure at my appearance, perhaps I’d find the extra courage.
When my teeth rattle he sighs as if abandoning his search for answers, shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it around my juddering shoulders.
‘Thank you.’ I look down, too cold to protest, and tug the lapels across my chest. And then I’m hit with his scent, a waft from the fabric, a heady cloud of deliciousness that’s foreign and yet vaguely familiar.
I look up, my breath caught in my throat. We’ve never stepped this close before. A rare, awkward, one-armed hug constitutes the sum of our physical contact.
But he doesn’t back away.
‘You’re welcome.’ His voice drops, low enough to sound seductive to my rusty eardrums, although the remnants of the scowl linger behind his eyes.
I roll back on my heels, my frozen toes protesting at the surge of blood with a vicious throb. I should abandon the fight. Walk away from further explanation. But my feet have forgotten the way. I’m frozen with indecision, clinging to the lip of my coveted new life. Not a great position for a woman on an audacious mission...
In a last-ditch attempt to save myself the shame of exposure, I toss out, ‘You know it’s rude to keep a woman waiting, right?’ Since when did fleeing the effect his stare has on my pulse trump talking my way into a life-changing opportunity?
He grins a humourless grin and looks away, shaking his head as if he can’t believe my obstinacy. And yet here we are, his evening in tatters, my plan abandoned, standing in the rain at a stalemate.
‘Come back inside. We’ll talk in the warm.’ He scoops up my elbow in one of his big hands and directs my stiff form towards the kitchen’s entrance.
I dig in my heels, heart hammering. The last thing I want is to return to the scene of the crime. To explain my sad, lonely, unemployed status to both loved-up couples... But I’m too cold, damp and bone-weary to put up much of a fight beyond backtracking.
‘Look.
