Skinny Dipping (3 page)

The taxi burst into the hotel driveway, overshooting the doorway entrance and stopped near the roadside. She’d have to walk back to the entrance. Feeling faint, her gaze darted around, almost warily. “We made it.” A grateful sigh escaped her lips, everyone was intact, no crash. The taxi driver was panting like he’d run a marathon.

“I got you here in record time.”

Sophie gave a shaky nod and thrust the door open. One leg found safety on the pavement beside the vehicle. She handed the driver twenty pounds, and shut the taxi door. The taxi jerked toward the street.

The Porsche was already parked directly outside the hotel doors. The driver, a blond man catapulted out. His face was deathly pale and he raced toward the back of the accelerating taxi as it pulled out into the busy London street.

“Learn how to drive,” the man shouted. There was a wildness about him.

Sophie brushed her dress down, trying desperately to become invisible, to become part of the pavement, since this was not the place to cause a scene. Clients could be anywhere.

The man stalked back toward his car, glaring fiercely at her. “We could have all died. Or someone could have been seriously injured. He’s a maniac. Why didn’t you say something?”

Sophie suddenly felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle. “I tried my best.”

“Your
best
?” The man shook his head. “Clearly your best isn’t good enough because people die in accidents. Make things happen. Don’t just
try
to do something.”

“Thanks, Daddio, for the tip. I’ll keep that in mind going for my next promotion.” Sophie felt her lips freeze into a tight smile. Who did this guy think he was telling her off when she obviously hadn’t asked the taxi driver to be a maniac? She clutched her handbag almost like a protective shield. Glaring, she continued to walk toward the entrance of the hotel.

Almost like a mirror image, the man’s foot stepped out at the same time, directly in front of her. They stood, facing each other, her high heels in front of his polished, black leather shoes.

He snorted. “Unbelievable.” He fixed his shirt which was half hanging out, tucking the fabric into his trousers.

“Excuse me, I’m trying to get past,” Sophie snapped.

The blond main raised his eyebrow, and struggled to fix his tie which hung loosely around his chest rather than his neck.

“Did you lose your clutch?” he asked pointedly, looking at her handbag. “You look like Mary Poppins with that thing.”

She lifted her chin. “Did you lose your manners and your ability to recognise when you’re being insulting?” She hadn’t bothered to find her clutch as it would be somewhere in one of her many boxes, or at Derek’s. Quite frankly she had no desire to explain her personal predicament to a stranger.

The man sighed. “I’m sorry, you’re right.” He ran a hand through his blond hair, looking like he belonged in an aftershave commercial. “I just hate accidents. Someone I know died in an accident, quite recently.”

She gave him a wary look. She took a step to the side, and like they were doing a dance, his foot in synch with hers, landed directly opposite. Again, they both faced each other.

She looked up at his face. “Sorry to hear about the accident.” She raised her eyebrows, contemplating whether he would move first. She wanted to get to the gala. “Look I’m sorry the taxi almost crashed your car. I did ask the driver to slow down but he didn’t listen.”

The man half-grinned and a dimple appeared on his cheek. “Have a good evening and sorry about the confrontation.” He yanked at his tie, frustration clear on his face. “I hate these things.”

Spontaneity overtook her and she leaned in. “Here, let me help you.” She nimbly looped the ends of the tie with expertise as if she worked in a clothing store. The man watched her hands work. Threading the tie round, she realised she’d once again, crossed a boundary.

“I’m a creature of habit,” she said, suddenly aware of what she was doing. She froze. “I used to do my Dad’s tie when I was little. ‘Rabbit jumps into the hole’ and all that.”

“It’s fine. Continue.” The man grinned. “First your taxi tries to kill me and then you look after me, how will I ever understand women?”

“I don’t have high hopes for you. That temper….”

“Really? So there’s no hope for me?” he questioned, and chuckled.

She finished fastening the tie around his neck. “There you go. Done.” She turned instantly away, not bothering with pleasant goodbyes. Warmth crept up the back of her neck, feeling his stare on her back.

A creature of habit?
Did she really say that? What possessed her to fasten his tie? Who did she think she was? She was being a blooming idiot, fawning over a man in a Porsche. A rude one at that. She must be more tired than she thought. She needed to get the night over and done with, soon. She pulled her fake fur wrap tightly round her shoulders, when the distinct sound of her cell’s ring tone sounded in her ears. It must be Matthew Silver.

She began her ascent up the hotel steps, multitasking like she often did, she also fished through her bag. She grabbed the phone, the name screen reading Roger Smart. Her Dad. The phone stopped ringing.

Her foot missed a step. Sliding like a novice acrobat she threw her hands out to find her balance. Her fur wrap fell to the floor. She dropped her bag creating a commotion as the contents clattered over the steps.

“Damn,” she swore under her breath and dropped to the spot. She grabbed the wrap, dusted off the dirt and found that the blond man, who owned the Porsche, was suddenly by her side.

“If only I had that affect on all women.” His voice was low. “Falling at my feet and all.” The cheek of him.

She darted a glance in his direction. “You might increase your chances of women falling at your feet if you were…nice?”

His eyes widened. “Nice?” A mocking expression spread across his face. “I’m helping you aren’t I?”

“Not because you’re nice or a gentleman. You feel obliged.” She tore her gaze away. Whatever was she getting into? Besides, she had somewhere to be. “I’m letting you off the hook from any type of obligation here. It’s cool really. I don’t need help. I’m not that type of girl who always needs help.” She looked anywhere but at him, focusing onto the ground, grabbing two – three – four chocolate wrappers, shoving them into the bag.

“I’m making an extra effort to be nice now. Is that okay? Is this help okay?” he asked pointedly, his eyes twinkling, playfully. God he was irritating.

“That’s fine, I’m okay, thank you for asking,” she muttered. “But I can get everything, like I said, I don’t need help.”

“Everyone needs a hand sometimes.” He remained stubbornly crouched by her side. His hands reached, picking up her personal possessions. A mischievous grin crossed his face. “You like chocolate? Yet so skinny.”

“They’re for work.”

“Yeah, right. I know women, they can’t resist chocolate.”

She glared. “You see these wrappers,” she shoved one in her handbag. “All in the name of doing research for an advertising client.”

“Is that what you call it, ‘advertising research’?”

He was purposely trying to rile her. Yet she couldn’t help herself. “It’s true,” she said, with a little lift of her chin. Sophie saw a fifth chocolate wrapper, held the foil up to him. “This is precisely why you don’t understand women.”

“I’m trying hard.”

“I recently heard something memorable. I’ll repeat it. I’ll quote from a passionate person. ‘Make things happen. Don’t just
try
to do something.’” She repeated his words right back to him.

He grinned. “Can’t argue with that,” he nodded and handed over her hairbrush, looking like it had combed a horse’s mane. Her makeup bag. Her perfume. Her synthetic purple wallet, with surf patterns and a Velcro pocket.

He turned the wallet around in his hands and frowned. “A surf wallet?” He touched the canvas, almost tenderly. “I picked you as someone who liked chocolate, fast cars and adventure. Possibly even leather.”

Sophie shuddered almost involuntarily upon saying the word “surf”, she couldn’t stand the water, the very thought of it scared her. “I do like leather.”

He held onto the wallet. “Then why do you have this? It’s made of canvas.”

She reddened. “A gift from my niece Annie,” she explained. “She’s eleven or twelve.”

“So you like the beach and swimming? Is that why she bought it for you?”

“I’m not sure why she bought it. She’s twelve and I didn’t want to offend her.”

Her niece didn’t buy it because she liked water. Her whole family knew she hated swimming, or any water activity. “What I do know is she saved up her pocket money for it, thinking I would love it.” She snatched the wallet from his hand, and threw it in her bag.

He grabbed her apartment keys with the mini tennis ball figurine on the keychain. “Makes sense,” he replied.

Without thinking she took the keys from his grip, kissed the figurine for good luck and threw the keychain into her bag.

He passed her a colourful cardboard box. A tampon packet. Sophie threw the box into her bag, her neck felt hot, wishing the company spent more time making the box discrete than focusing on bold packaging. But the way he frowned, he was thinking of something else completely, not even noticing the box, or what it contained.

“I have a proposition,” he said.

“Oh?” She was ready for it, bracing herself. He was going to ask her out. A thrilling sensation soared through her, she’d just been kicked to the curb and she was getting asked out on a date. She would have to refuse, she was after all, still in love with Derek, wasn’t she? And there was no doubt in her mind that they would get over this hiccup. It was a mere bump in the road.

A million reasons of how to reject him, all in the nicest possible way, came to mind.

“I want to buy your wallet.”

She froze. Guess she wouldn’t need to reject him. “What?” Her mind whirled with questions. Was it the tie? Had she gone too far with the tie?

His eyes were blank, serious. “I want to buy your wallet,” he said a second time.

Her cheeks reddened. How could she have ever thought he’d asked her out on a date? Derek dumped her after all their time together, and Derek really knew her. Like really knew her. Her flaws. Everything.

The man was watching her intently. She could barely meet his gaze. “I wouldn’t have anywhere to put my things?” She realized she was contemplating the crazy offer.

“Okay,” he said, his brow furrowing. “What about a trade, I’ll trade you my leather wallet for your surf wallet. I’ll also give you one hundred pounds. What do you think?”

She wasn’t thinking straight because quite frankly, she didn’t understand, didn’t how to respond. “Gosh, what an interesting offer.” Then clarity slapped her in the face. “Too strange for me, I’m afraid.” She stood up, holding her bag.

“On hundred quid and a wallet swap. It’s an excellent offer. Come on, live on the edge. Stranger things have happened.” He proceeded to empty the contents of his black leather wallet, stuffing his personal things in his trouser pockets. He held the wallet up, fanning out the compartments, showing them to be empty. He held a one hundred quid note out towards her. She’d never seen a one hundred quid note before. Didn’t know they even existed. “Surely your niece wouldn’t mind? Even a twelve year-old knows the value of one hundred quid.” He handed her the wallet, and the money.

She turned the leather over in her hands, focusing her attention at the quality. It was expensive, she could tell. Her mind was working in overdrive, thinking about his strange proposition. What if he called the police, and said she had stolen his wallet? He was well dressed, in a tuxedo, and arrived in a Porsche. She didn’t really need a men’s wallet, or a surf wallet either, for that matter. With one hundred quid, she’d be on her way to buying something designer. A niggling thought crept into her mind. If he really wanted a surf wallet, surely he could buy one? He had the one hundred quid.

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?” he insisted, shifting on his feet. “Take a chance on me. I took a chance on you.” He touched the tie around his neck.

Her head darted around the hotel driveway. There were probably security cameras monitoring their every move. There would be camera footage if anything went wrong. “We’re strangers.”

“We’re not really strangers,” he said, standing up, his gaze upon her. “After all, I know everything you’ve got in your bag.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” She thrust his leather wallet and the money back into his hands. She turned away, rushing from him, up the stairs, getting far away.

“You could make a man very happy, just by doing a simple, profitable trade.”

“Not going to happen.” She went toward the entry.

“Maybe I’ll see you round,” he called. “You can sleep on it?”

Sophie dared a glance over her shoulder. “I doubt it,” she said. He was still watching her, what a creep. But worse, what a fool she’d been, to think anyone would ever fancy her.

She tried to put him out of her mind as she entered the grand hotel. An unfamiliar sensation shot up her body as she checked the canvas wallet was still in her handbag. Imagine if she’d taken his leather wallet? The man was probably a thief, a criminal, and she’d end up in cuffs because the wallet was a piece of evidence from a crime scene. Or something….

She focused her mind on the signs, following the cardboard arrows to the London Annual Advertising Awards. She walked through the corridor, trying to forget the stranger. He’d asked for her wallet. Strange. Quirky. Unforgettable. She needed to think of advertising ideas just like that encounter.

The arrows took her to the hotel ballroom, where a small table was set up outside. She could hear the music inside. A band was playing a familiar tune. Behind the table an assistant sat, tapping her long, manicured fingernails.

“I’m Sophie Smart and I should be on the guest list.”

The assistant looked at her watch. “Smart, Smart, Smart.” Her nail ran down the register.

“Table 94.” The assistant gave Sophie a nametag.

“Thanks,” Sophie nodded. “Do you know if Matthew Silver’s here yet?”