The Awakening of Poppy Edwards Read Online Free PDF Page A

get on my high horse. I was just what
he
would call gutted, though I wasn’t about to let him see that. ‘So whatever it is you’re proposing, Mr Whateveryourname is, the answer is no.’
    ‘It’s Cartsdyke,’ he said. ‘My name is Lewis Cartsdyke.’
    Lewis
    Usually people are pleased when I tell them who I am. Sometimes a bit flustered, occasionally a bit intimidated, but mostly pleased. Poppy looked at me in horror.
    ‘
You’re
Lewis Cartsdyke?
The
Lewis Cartsdyke? Broadway producer? Owner of Cartsdyke Studios? Why aren’t you older? You should have a moustache. A monocle. A cigar. Bloody hell, why didn’t you tell me?’
    She sank down onto the edge of the couch and dropped her face into her hands. When I tried to touch her, she shook me away violently. ‘I screwed up,’ I said, because it was abundantly clear to me that I wouldn’t get anywhere without admitting the truth of it. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—last night. I had no intentions of—but then I saw you sing, and I guess my brain just shut off.’
    She just stared at me, her face a complete blank.
    ‘Poppy, what we did had nothing to do with business. You’ve got to believe me. I’m just the same as you—I absolutely never mix business and pleasure and I certainly don’t kiss and tell.’
    She was gazing down at her hands. Her hair, her own hair, was like a fluffy golden halo round her head, utterly at odds with the outfit she wore. She had a perfect profile. No wonder the camera loved her. That straight little nose. The cheeks. And the mouth. Just looking at that mouth made me want to kiss her. And thinking about kissing her made me think about all the other things we’d done and thinking about that made me want to do them all over again and so much more, and I had to struggle real hard to get my mind back to business. Which, believe me, is not something I struggle with often.
    ‘What if I do,’ she said to me, and my confusion must have shown on my face. ‘Kiss and tell,’ she said. ‘What if I do that?’
    ‘You never do.’
    She shrugged. ‘I’ve never been out of contract before. What’s my silence worth, Mr Cartsdyke?’
    There was a definite challenge in her voice. She watched me, one thin eyebrow raised. ‘Are you trying to blackmail me?’ I asked her.
    ‘Is it working?’
    ‘You haven’t thought it through. I might not like having my name in the press, but it won’t do me any harm to have the world know that I’ve seen one of Hollywood’s most beautiful stars in the flesh.’ I couldn’t resist touching her leg, running my hand up the outside of her thigh. I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t been so sure she was playing with me. I’m not like that. I certainly don’t do business that way. But she was, she was definitely playing with me. And I found I liked playing with her.
    She trapped my hand, curling her fingers round it. ‘I could say the same, Mr Cartsdyke,’ she said, and once again her English accent was like cut glass. ‘Your name is a legend of stage and screen. It can’t do me anything but good to have it entwined with mine.’
    No one does irony like the English. I wanted to laugh, she was so good. She hadn’t let go of my hand. The sash of her kimono was loose. My eyes had wandered down to the delicious cleavage on display. She shifted on the couch, just a fraction, to let me see more. I no longer wanted to laugh. ‘What about Randolph Farrell?’ I asked her. ‘They like their leading ladies to be the faithful type here in Hollywood. Even if the man they’re reputedly faithful to is otherwise inclined.’
    ‘Randolph isn’t—that’s not the issue with Randolph. Your sources aren’t as good as you think, Mr Cartsdyke.’
    She was gloating. The thick black stuff outlining her eyes made them look huge, made her face look exotic. Her smile, on those dark red lips, was almost exultant. I couldn’t have cared less about what way Randolph Farrell was inclined, but I was enjoying