Who's That Girl (37 page)

Or I've got a crush.

My insides do a loop-the-loop.

And this time we're not talking a fantasy I-fancy-Olly-the-young-barman crush: we're talking a proper I-fancy-him-now-he's-Oliver-and-all-grown-up crush.

Shit.

'So, um… would you like to sit outside?' I say, walking briskly through into the kitchen and opening the French windows that lead out on to the small wrought-iron balcony.

'Wow, it's so pretty out here,' he says approvingly.

'Thanks.' I smile. 'Though I can't take credit - I have a gardener to do the plants.' I gesture to the medley of blue, yellow and pink flowers that I don't know the names of that climb up trellises and spill over the balcony. 'That's my contribution.' I gesture to a string of fairy lights that I've wrapped round a plant pot.

'I think your contribution probably makes it,' he replies, his lips twitching with amusement.

'It does!' I laugh in protest. 'Just you wait till it gets dark!' And then I suddenly realise what I've said and feel my cheeks prickle. That sounds as if I'm going to keep him trapped here until nighttime, doesn't it? Like I'm some kind of brazen hussy and I'm going to try and have sex with him or something.

OK, scrap that thought. I can't believe sex just popped into my head like that. I only invited him in for a cup of tea and here I am thinking about sex. Except I'm not thinking about sex. I was thinking—

Oh, who am I kidding? I was thinking about sex.

'So, I didn't see you the other night…'

I snap back to see Oliver looking at me expectantly.

'I thought you'd stood me up again,' he says, then smiles. 'Just joking.'

'Oh, no, I had to stay in and…' I'm about to say 'pack up all Miles's things', but I quickly change my mind. Then I really
will
look like some brazen floozy, inviting a man back to my flat when it's still warm after my last boyfriend. 'I had to do some stuff,' I finish, wandering back into the kitchen. Flicking on the kettle, I set about making tea.

'Yeah, me too,' he says from the balcony, where he's taken a perch on one of my garden chairs. 'I got back pretty late from my granddad's. There was loads to do. We were packing for ages.'

The kettle quickly boils, and pouring water on to the teabags, my hand trembles and I feel my insides clench with dread.

'Poor guy, he was pretty cut up,' he continues, anger seeping into his voice. 'And then to top it all off, he had some people over at his shop today, talking about how they were going to rip the whole place apart.'

OK, this is it. I've got to let him know about Larry Goldstein, about the shop, about me. My heart thudding loudly in my ears, I grasp the back of my neck, trying to brace myself.

'You know, you should really put some ice on that.' Oliver's voice makes me jump and I turn round to see him standing right behind me. 'Your neck will feel a lot better.'

'Oh, no, it's fine,' I say hastily.

'You won't be saying that when you wake up tomorrow and can't move.' Without further discussion, he tugs open my freezer. I watch wordlessly as he takes out the ice-cube tray, spreads out a tea towel and lays it on the countertop, then deftly cracks out the cubes and ties them up in the tea towel.

'You look as if you've done that a few times,' I say after a pause.

'Yeah, well, I've had a few knocks in my time. I used to like to think of myself as a bit of a boxer, but I wasn't very good. I gave it all up five years ago when this happened.' He gestures to the scar running above his top lip. 'You know, I used to be pretty handsome before.' He smiles ruefully.

'You're handsome now,' I protest, then realise what I've said and blush like a schoolgirl. I hadn't really realised just how sexy he is, but now I have, I can't seem to think of anything else. 'Why?

What happened?' I ask, quickly changing the subject.

'A mean left hook, twenty-two stitches and a broken nose.'

'Ouch. Did it hurt?'

'Hurt?' he repeats, and looks at me as if I've affronted his masculinity. 'I cried like a baby,' he confesses.

I laugh, then wince as my neck twinges painfully.

'OK, now go and sit outside,' he orders, picking up the icepack.

'But what about the tea?'

'This will only take a minute.'

Without arguing, I dutifully walk outside and sit down on one of ray garden chairs. As he moves behind me, I feel a stab of anticipation.

'Right, you need to pull your top down a little,' he instructs firmly. Dutifully I pull down the collar of my blouse.

'No, more than that.'

My heart beating fast, I undo the top buttons and shrug it down, revealing my bra straps. It's hot in the late-afternoon sun and I feel a prickle of perspiration on my chest.

'OK, I'm just going to move these…' Gently he hooks his fingers underneath my bra straps and lets them slide down my arms. .

I can feel my breath quickening, my ribcage rising and falling.

'Where exactly is it sore? Here?' His fingers brush against the nape of my neck.

'Um… a little lower…' My throat has gone all tight and my voice comes out in a whisper. His fingers gently trace underneath my hairline, down my vertebrae, circling lower and lower.

'Here?'

I can barely speak. 'Yes, there,' I manage. A tingle rushes down into my groin, all the way down my legs. A tugging, like a thread running between us. I never even came close to this with Miles. It's so erotic. I feel more excited than I've felt in years. If
ever
.

'Now, this is going to be a little cold.'

I let out a gasp as he presses the freezing-cold ice against my neck.

'Sshh,' he murmurs, sliding his arm round my shoulders as my body gives a little shudder. 'Hold still.'

I do as I'm told and breathe in, sucking in the air between my teeth and holding it tight inside me. Every sense seems to be on full alert, every sensation. I can feel the cold ice melting against the heat of my neck, see the dark hairs on his arm, smell his body close to me, hear his breath by my ear…

The moment is suddenly broken by the sound of my home phone ringing inside.

'Do you want to get that?' asks Oliver, his voice husky.

'No!' I cry before I can help myself. 'It's, um… probably a wrong number,' I add, my mind fumbling around for words, when all I can think is, I don't want this to stop. I don't
ever
want this to stop.

The answering machine clicks on. I hear my voice on the outgoing message - '
Hi, this is
Charlotte Merry weather. I'm not here right now, but if you'd like to leave a message
…'

followed by a beep.

'Hi, it's Beatrice. Sorry to bother you at home, but your mobile and BlackBerry aren't switched on.'

'Oh, it's OK, it's just my assistant,' I dismiss. It's probably about that goddamn press launch again, I curse silently, willing her to hang up. 'It's nothing.'

'Well, if you're sure,' he says quietly, running his fingers across my collarbone.

'I'm sure,' I reply, feeling a tingle down my spine.

'I just wanted to call you and say I'm so sorry for getting into such a frightful panic earlier.'

The icy water is dripping down my back. He moves the icepack, sending a trickle down my chest and between my breasts.

'Thank you again for coming to my rescue and sorting everything out with the caterers. You're a total star! But of course you know that already. Oh, and by the way, Larry Goldstein's people called, to say how delighted they are about the new space…'

I stiffen. Oh, no.
Oh, no
. I jump up. 'Sorry, actually, I think I do need to get this.' I rush through the French doors.

'… and I have to say, Charlotte, what a brilliant idea of yours! Notting Hill is a perfect place for the first Star Smile. Gosh, you are
so
clever. I can't believe you didn't tell me what you had up your sleeve.' She tuts loudly.

I race for the phone, but Welly is in the way, and as I lunge for it, I trip over him.

'Oh, and apparently they're going to try and get the current chap out a bit earlier, so they can start the renovation as soon as this weekend. Apparently, there's loads to do. They mentioned it was a junk shop or something and a frightful old mess.'

My whole body contracts with horror.

'So, just to confirm, the exact address for the press release is…'

I scramble for the receiver, but it's too late. Behind me I hear Oliver's voice in stereo with Beatrice's.

'… number 114 Portobello, London W11 69P.' Fuck.

'Anyway, got to run, it's salsa tonight!'

The line goes dead and there's silence. Frozen, I stare at the phone, my mind whirling. Until slowly I turn round. Oliver is standing in the doorway, just looking at me. His face is white with shock.

'I can explain,' I manage finally.

'You?' he says in disbelief. 'It was you.' He's staring at me as if it doesn't make sense, his brow furrowed in confusion. 'Granddad said he thought he recognised one of the people who came into his shop. A girl. Blonde. I thought he was getting confused…' He trails off, his mind joining up the dots.

'Yes, it was me,' I admit quietly, my whole body suffused with regret.

'You're the reason my granddad's lost his shop?'

His voice may be quiet, but the accusation stings. 'It's not like that,' I say quickly.

'So what is it like?' he replies. There's an edge to his voice now.

'I'm in PR. I represent a client.'

'But it was your idea.'

'I might have made some suggestions about the location, but I wasn't specific'

'So who's your client?' he demands, his shock fast giving way to anger. 'Don't tell me, it's going to be another coffee shop,' he gasps in disgust, before I can answer.

'No, he's a cosmetic dentist. He's going to open his first UK clinic: Star Smile.' Hearing myself say it, it suddenly sounds ridiculous.

Oliver looks at me incredulously. 'My grandfather's antique shop - sorry,
junk shop' -
he spits angrily and I blush hotly. I've never used that phrase, it was Larry Goldstein, but suddenly by association I'm as guilty as he is - 'is going to be a fucking dentist's?'

'A cosmetic dentist,' I correct, and then by the look on his face wish I hadn't. 'I was going to tell you,' I try again.

'When exactly?'

'I don't know…'

'Before or after you spent the afternoon with my granddad?' he says coldly. A shiver runs down me and I'm suddenly aware that my blouse is still unbuttoned and my bra straps are pulled down. I quickly shove them back up again, feeling vulnerable and foolish.

'I didn't know until today. I just found out too. Look, I'm sorry.' I reach out my hand to touch his arm, but he wrenches it away.

'Yeah, I bet you're sorry,' he retorts, his face set hard. 'Sorry all the way to the bank.'

'That's not fair,' I exclaim. 'You're being unfair!'

'
I'm
being unfair?' he cries acerbically.

'Well, it's not like I killed someone,' I gasp, feeling a snap of impatience.

'You might as well have. It was my granddad's whole life.'

All at once I feel a wave of anger. I feel guilty enough without him going on at me. 'How dare you stand there and judge me? You've got no idea,' I reply hotly. 'You've got no idea the pressure I'm under, or the impossible situation I'm in! I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't plan it, but when a big client's involved, there's a lot at stake. It's not just about me any more. I have a job to do, a business to run, wages to pay.'

'Please, spare me the sob story,' he tuts scornfully.

That does it. I feel a burst of renewed outrage. 'Oh, silly me!' My voice rises, shrill and angry.

'How could you possibly know what it's like to run a business?'

His eyes flash furiously. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Well, how could you?' I gasp, my words tumbling out in a torrent. 'You've never done anything with your life. You're still just a barman!'

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to stuff them back in. But it's too late.

Oliver visibly recoils in shock, a whole range of emotions flitting over his features, before recovering. He looks at me, his jaw set hard. 'And you're a bitch,' he says coldly. It's like a slap in the face.

For a moment we both stand there in silence, our ribcages rising and falling, the air thick with insults and anger, and in that moment I wonder how we got here, how this happened, how I can turn it all back and start again.

But I can't. What's been said can't be unsaid.

'I think you should go,' I say finally, trying to keep my voice steady. He nods tightly. 'Trust me, I'm already gone.'

And with Welly following, he turns and strides out of my flat, slamming the door behind him.
Chapter Thirty-five

Grabbing the brass door knocker, I hammer furiously. There's the sound of footsteps and the door is flung open by my younger self, who takes one look at me and gasps, 'Oh my God, are you OK?'

This time there are tears streaming down
my
face. In between gasping snorts, I nod vigorously.

'Yes… fine…'

Like I said, I've always been a crap liar.

'What on earth's happened?' she asks anxiously.

Blowing my nose on a crumpled tissue, I shake my head. 'We had a huge row,' I manage between sobs. 'He called me a bitch.'

'
He called you a bitch?''
she exclaims. 'Who did, your ex?' Her face flashes with fury. 'Just you wait, I'll sort him out.'

'But I am a bitch,' I sniffle, tears splashing down my cheeks.

'You're not a bitch,' she protests indignantly.

'I am, I am.' I'm wailing now, really quite loudly. In fact I'm making such a scene a couple of people from next door have popped out to see what all the noise is about and are staring at me open-mouthed. Which would usually be more than enough to douse me in self-consciousness and set me alight with shame, but not now. Now I don't care one jot that I'm making a total fool of myself. I don't care if complete strangers are pointing me. All I care about is Oliver. As the thought hits me, I freeze for a moment, stunned by my admission; then I let out an even louder wail.