Naughty Bits: Too Hot to Print (11 page)

Well, that’s fine with me. I’ve always been happy to play Jacob’s games; I’ve always come out of them exactly where I wanted to be
.

Victoria heaved a long sigh of release. She was finally free to relish her dinner. For a moment, her fork toyed with the chopped anchovies, tempted to mix them into the tartare, but then she
pushed them aside, her self-control as acute as ever; she loved anchovies, but the high salt content would cause her to retain water.

‘So who are you seeing now, Jacob?’ she asked, deftly directing the sexual tension that lingered at the table into safe waters.

‘Jools,’ Jacob said, and Victoria nodded at the name. Jools Gosling was the latest hot British model, a runway sensation with her high-stepping walk, boyishly-cropped hair and
flat-chested, long-waisted figure. ‘Lovely girl. She’s on a shoot in Morocco for a few days.’

‘Aww, what a shame, Jacob,’ Victoria teased. ‘I bet you still want it every night, don’t you?’

‘Hey, take me to Annabel’s after dinner and I’ll pick up a slim young thing,’ Jacob said easily. ‘One of your upper-class girls. I like ‘em, you know that.
Some Camilla or Vanessa or Florence. See, I even know all the names. It’s not like Jools and I are exclusive.’

‘You know, Jacob, you should get married,’ Victoria observed. ‘To a nice Camilla or Vanessa or Florence. It’s about time, don’t you think? When the models
you’re dating are less than half your age . . . Jools is barely twenty.’

Jacob’s thick eyebrows shot up. ‘Marriage? Honey, I did that once, in a galaxy far, far away, a loooong time ago,’ he said, drawing out the vowel for comic effect. ‘And
that was enough. I’ve learned my lesson. Besides,’ he added, reaching out to lay a hand on hers, ‘I like my serious women really smart. You know that. Your English aristocrats,
they’re not so bright. No hips, big brain: that’s my ideal woman.’

‘Well, I’ll happily come with you into Annabel’s,’ Victoria said, finishing her steak tartare with satisfaction. ‘And you can pick up some skinny Sloane, spin her
on her axis, and show her the time of her life.’

Dinner at the Wolseley, a celebration toast in full view of all the tables that count, and then off to Annabel’s, Victoria thought, anticipating the visit to London’s most exclusive
nightclub, its membership list packed with hereditary titles, where Lady Gaga, no less, had played a private set just last year.
And we’ll have another celebration toast there. Jacob told
me not to breathe a word about my new job, but I won’t need to. London gossip will do it for me
.

Jennifer Lane Davis is going to feel a cold wind blowing over the Atlantic and down her neck very, very soon. Better start packing up your desk now, Jennifer
.

In her mind, Victoria blew her rival a little goodbye kiss.

Bye bye, Jen. Don’t let the door of the editor’s office hit you on the way out.