Beautiful Mess by Lucy V. Morgan Page B

me?”
    I nodded slowly.
    “You actually like him?”
    “Is it any of your business?”
    He squeezed my leg harder. “Yes. It is.”
    The waiter arrived and Joseph ordered for both of us. I hadn’t even looked at the menu.
    “Are you angry with me?” I asked finally.
    He smiled. Gulped down the Champagne. “No. A little surprised, maybe.” He released my leg, sitting back. “Why would I be angry with you?”
    “I don’t know what the rules are in this game. I don’t know whether I’m bending them or breaking them entirely.”
    “Who says we’re playing a game?”
    “That’s what it feels like.” I reached for my own glass and the bubbles burst sharply on my tongue. “I mean, feel free to enlighten me. Any time you like.”
    He smiled again, taking the glass from my hands and circling his fingertips over my wrist. “I like you. Can’t you tell?”
    “Yes, but…” I squirmed in my chair. “I’m not sure where this is going.” Please don’t offer to shack me up as your mistress. Please, please…it’s so unoriginal.
    “Me either, especially if you’re planning on running off with Matt as soon as I untie you.”
    I considered tugging my wrist away but his warm, warm skin…I loved the way it simmered against mine.
    He was checking my pulse. Measuring the snares. Jesus.
    “Should I be considering another offer?”
    “Consider whatever you like, Leila--just be fucking honest about it.”
    Our starter arrived--a pea and mint risotto--and I busied myself with the cutlery. Why was he being so roundabout in his proposition? What exactly did he think he’d bought?
    The food signalled a change of subject and we slipped into a discussion about my possible contract--the one I hadn’t officially been offered yet. It dragged awkwardly through the main course and, feeling both nauseous and guilty, I declined desert. The Champagne and its frosted loveliness made me doubt my own self-control.
    Our walk back to the office steered through a park where the trees swayed in the sunshine. Joseph reached for my hand. I should have pulled away, shouldn’t I? Friends could knot fingers, but that wasn’t what we were.
    Our palms warmed together. His thumb slid over mine. Cyclists pedalled past and he tucked me behind him--like we’d done this a million times.
    A group of sixth form school girls sat cross-legged in a copse of silver birch. Their green blazers and checked skirts looked fresh against the turf. They giggled, threw bits of paper at each other. One brushed another’s hair as they poured over a magazine.
    Joseph watched them.
    “You can blink, you know,” I teased.
    “I’m not looking.”
    “Liar.” I elbowed him in the ribs. “Maybe I’m looking, too.”
    “Oh?” He squeezed my hand. “So I’m looking. They’re hardly my type, though.”
    I thought back to the old uniform I had worn for clients on occasion, the one I would have worn with Aidan tonight. “You sure about that?”
    “Leila. Schoolgirls are like sports cars. They’re nice to look at, but they’re impractical. In the end, they don’t do what you need them to do.”
    I had to stifle my smile, he looked so serious. Then I stole a glance back at the lithe-limbed shadows beneath the trees. “Is that so?”
    “It’s true. They won’t let you take them up the arse. They’re rubbish at sucking you. You want to ride them at a hundred miles an hour, but you end up doing forty in the sixty zone because you’re too fucking scared of damaging them.”
    A giggle trembled to a riotous guffaw. I couldn’t stop.
    “You’re meant to be appalled.” He laughed.
    “Oh, I am--”
    “No, you aren’t.” Another hand squeeze, then he let it slip away. “Best not do that near the office.”
    I bit my lip and thrust my numb fist into a pocket. “No.” A beat. “Thank you for lunch.”
    “My pleasure. Now…back to the playground, hmm?”

    CHAIRMAN OF THE WHORED, and sequel THE WHORED’S PRAYER, available from www.lyricalpress.com