that you might actually be pleased for me. Yes, Alistair is in the public eye, but that has nothing to do with why I’ve agreed to go away with him. Has it occurred to you that I might actually like him because he’s interested in me for a change? As opposed to the grandchildren I might bear him or the fact I might be his carer when he’s old and decrepit. Or...’ she added pointedly ‘...the fact that I might boost his profile at some damned work dinner so he can extend his client list a bit further because he never quite feels he’s rich or successful enough.’
She paused.
‘You’re saying no, then?’ he said. ‘To the all-expenses-paid top-notch Mayfair ball?’
He heard her draw in a huge breath and then she let it out in a rude, exasperated noise. He held the phone briefly away from his ear. When he put it back her voice was Arctic.
‘Dan,’ she was saying slowly, as if he had a problem understanding plain English, ‘I’m saying no to the Mayfair ball. I’m through with posing as your professional romantic interest so you can impress your damned client list while you date airhead models for a week at a time.’
Had he really thought this would be easy? It occurred to him that in reality she couldn’t be further from one of his usual conquests, of which currently there were two or three, any of whom would drop everything else at a moment’s notice if he deigned to call them up and suggest getting together.
You didn’t get as far up the legal career ladder as she had by being a ‘yes’ girl. But her easy refusal bothered the hell out of him. He’d expected her to agree to resurrect their agreement without even needing persuasion. Had expected her to thank him, in fact.
The need to win back control rose another notch with her unexpected refusal of his offer, and also her apparent indifference to it. It put his teeth on edge and gnawed at him deep inside.
‘How about helping me out with this one last time, then?’ he pressed, confident that in an evening he could quickly turn the situation around. Reinstate their agreement and then decide what he wanted to do with it. End it, change the terms—whatever happened it would be up to him to decide, not her.
‘Dan, you don’t need my help,’ she said patiently. ‘I’m in the middle of dinner and I haven’t got time to discuss this now. It’s not as if you’re short of dates. Grab your little black book and pick one of your girlies from there. I’m sure any one of them would love to go with you.’
There was a soft click on the end of the phone as she hung up.
That went well. Not.
THREE
‘Let me just recap. You’re in a relationship with Alistair Woods— the Alistair Woods, the man who looks a dream in Lycra—and you’re not planning on mentioning it to Mum and Dad?’
Adam’s eyebrows practically disappeared into his sleek quiff hairstyle and Emma took a defensive sip of coffee. The fantasy she’d had of disappearing around the world on Alistair’s arm and calling up her parents from Cannes/LA/somewhere else that screamed kudos, to tell them she would be featuring in next month’s celebrity magazine, had turned out to be just that. A fantasy.
Because Adam was getting married.
Her big brother, Adam—who never failed to make her laugh, and who was so bright and sharp and funny that she’d never for a moment questioned her role in family life as the forgettable backing act to his flamboyant scene-stealer. Of course she had paled into insignificance in her family’s eyes next to Adam—not to mention in the eyes of schoolteachers, friends, neighbours... But only in the way that everyone else had faded into the background next to him in her own eyes. He was simply someone who commanded success and attention without needing to put in any effort.
She couldn’t exit her life without telling Adam, and she’d asked him to meet her for coffee to do exactly that. She’d even tried to sweeten the news by buying him an enormous