his acknowledgement and approval, it would have been an empty victory.”
“ Are you analysing me now, Mr Russian Recluse?” Christie seemed to prickle all over, and Adrik knew he had hit on something. “Good luck with that.”
“ Where did that phrase come from – good luck with that?” Adrik wondered aloud. “Should we really wish others good fortune in undermining us? It sounds like it might be something the Chinese would say.”
“ It’s sarcasm,” Christie replied. “It means you won’t have any luck.”
“ But supposing your friend is starting a new job, and you say to him ‘Good luck with that’ – are you also implying that he is doomed to failure?”
“ Depends on the job,” Christie shrugged, and seemed to suppress a smile, hiding it behind her coffee-cup. “Depends on the friend. So – you want to undermine me, then?”
“ I had to work very, very hard for my inheritance,” he remarked. “Since my father decided I could not be trusted to keep an eye on a few valuables. I had to earn the business empire from scratch. From sizing nuts and bolts, up to works foreman. Had I put those diamonds in the bank as scheduled, I might have got away with a little desk work, seeing a few accounting spreadsheets, and shaking hands with new clients occasionally. But instead, I ran into you. And I was distracted. Goodbye diamonds, hello shipyards.”
Christie’s cup shook a little as she put it down, uneasily.
“So that’s how come…” She drew a vaguely descriptive outline in the air as her eyes skittered briefly down his chest, and then swallowed down whatever she had been about to say. “Never mind.”
“ Never mind what?”
She didn’t answer, and he grinned again, stretching, knowing that she was trying not to look at him.
“Hard work,” he said, and folded his arms, tapping his fingers on his biceps. “So you owe me.”
“ How much do you want?” she asked. “And before you ask, I can afford you.”
“ Good to know,” the waiter announced, as he returned with their food. “But you should wait for the bill first. And I always appreciate big tippers.”
They thanked him, and waited for him to disappear again.
“I’ll write you a cheque,” Christie continued, drizzling hot blueberries in syrup over her waffles. “I made plenty on that Malibu portrait last month.”
“ Not what I had in mind.” Adrik did likewise, and hesitated as they both reached for the cream at the same time, allowing her to go first. “I need a very public favour.”
Christie’s spoon stopped halfway to her plate, whipped cream in danger of sliding avalanche-style onto the tablecloth.
“Our engagement,” he clarified, still finding her responses amusing, and reached across to nudge her hand closer to the air above her plate. “It needs to be in the public eye. No holds barred, being seen out together, attending lots of events. And you’ll have to live with me. I don’t want to trip over any new baggage on my doorstep.”
“ In the public eye…” Christie repeated. Her expression was dumbfounded, as if nowhere in her range of comprehension did ‘public’ and ‘engagement’ have any correlation. “Um…”
“ I don’t want anyone to see through it. If anyone can spot a crack, they will try to jam their stiletto heels into it. I have even found cameras planted in my bedroom in the past.”
* * * *
Christie felt herself turning pale.
It was the kind of thing Derek had said to her previously – about people potentially hacking his home security CCTV, or his laptop and tablet webcams. But for him, that was a reason to keep her at a distance, to conceal their relationship.
What Adrik was suggesting now meant the opposite was expected of her.
The sudden sour-sweet tang of blueberry on her tongue made her aware that she had taken her first bite of breakfast without realising, and it was hot.
She took a gulp of cold orange juice.
“ You’re the shipyard welder,” she managed to
“ Are you analysing me now, Mr Russian Recluse?” Christie seemed to prickle all over, and Adrik knew he had hit on something. “Good luck with that.”
“ Where did that phrase come from – good luck with that?” Adrik wondered aloud. “Should we really wish others good fortune in undermining us? It sounds like it might be something the Chinese would say.”
“ It’s sarcasm,” Christie replied. “It means you won’t have any luck.”
“ But supposing your friend is starting a new job, and you say to him ‘Good luck with that’ – are you also implying that he is doomed to failure?”
“ Depends on the job,” Christie shrugged, and seemed to suppress a smile, hiding it behind her coffee-cup. “Depends on the friend. So – you want to undermine me, then?”
“ I had to work very, very hard for my inheritance,” he remarked. “Since my father decided I could not be trusted to keep an eye on a few valuables. I had to earn the business empire from scratch. From sizing nuts and bolts, up to works foreman. Had I put those diamonds in the bank as scheduled, I might have got away with a little desk work, seeing a few accounting spreadsheets, and shaking hands with new clients occasionally. But instead, I ran into you. And I was distracted. Goodbye diamonds, hello shipyards.”
Christie’s cup shook a little as she put it down, uneasily.
“So that’s how come…” She drew a vaguely descriptive outline in the air as her eyes skittered briefly down his chest, and then swallowed down whatever she had been about to say. “Never mind.”
“ Never mind what?”
She didn’t answer, and he grinned again, stretching, knowing that she was trying not to look at him.
“Hard work,” he said, and folded his arms, tapping his fingers on his biceps. “So you owe me.”
“ How much do you want?” she asked. “And before you ask, I can afford you.”
“ Good to know,” the waiter announced, as he returned with their food. “But you should wait for the bill first. And I always appreciate big tippers.”
They thanked him, and waited for him to disappear again.
“I’ll write you a cheque,” Christie continued, drizzling hot blueberries in syrup over her waffles. “I made plenty on that Malibu portrait last month.”
“ Not what I had in mind.” Adrik did likewise, and hesitated as they both reached for the cream at the same time, allowing her to go first. “I need a very public favour.”
Christie’s spoon stopped halfway to her plate, whipped cream in danger of sliding avalanche-style onto the tablecloth.
“Our engagement,” he clarified, still finding her responses amusing, and reached across to nudge her hand closer to the air above her plate. “It needs to be in the public eye. No holds barred, being seen out together, attending lots of events. And you’ll have to live with me. I don’t want to trip over any new baggage on my doorstep.”
“ In the public eye…” Christie repeated. Her expression was dumbfounded, as if nowhere in her range of comprehension did ‘public’ and ‘engagement’ have any correlation. “Um…”
“ I don’t want anyone to see through it. If anyone can spot a crack, they will try to jam their stiletto heels into it. I have even found cameras planted in my bedroom in the past.”
* * * *
Christie felt herself turning pale.
It was the kind of thing Derek had said to her previously – about people potentially hacking his home security CCTV, or his laptop and tablet webcams. But for him, that was a reason to keep her at a distance, to conceal their relationship.
What Adrik was suggesting now meant the opposite was expected of her.
The sudden sour-sweet tang of blueberry on her tongue made her aware that she had taken her first bite of breakfast without realising, and it was hot.
She took a gulp of cold orange juice.
“ You’re the shipyard welder,” she managed to
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