is one huge difference – the temperature. Jess might disagree with what I’m doing but she still cares, texting earlier to warn me not to pack thick jumpers because, according to the internet, the average temperature in Barcelona for this time of year is twelve degrees. Practically tropical compared to the minus numbers on the thermometer in our home city.
My attention flickers back to Alex as we stop at some traffic lights. He seems less stressed, idly caressing the steering wheel as he waits to pull away. Would he do the same to me if I asked him? No. Stop it. Stay focused. Business. Then I completely ruin it. ‘You really like this car.’
Broad shoulders loosening, he flashes me a wicked grin, kind of wolfish. ‘Wrong.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I don’t like this car, I love it.’
‘I can tell.’ Pausing, ‘I didn’t think you’d drive.’
‘Why, because I have Evan?’ He shrugs, long legs flexing on the pedals as he changes gear effortlessly and pulls away. ‘It makes sense to have a driver back home because I can handle calls and send emails, but on shorter journeys I prefer driving. It’s relaxing.’
‘Even on the wrong side of the road? Do you come to Barcelona often?’ I cringe as soon as it’s out there. It sounds like a cheesy pick-up line.
He doesn’t notice. ‘A few times a year, maybe.’
‘Do you travel a lot for work?’ Curiosity kindles. What’s life as a CEO really like?
‘I’m based in London and Corfu and spend about sixty per cent of my time travelling.’
‘That must be inconvenient for your wife or girlfriend.’ It just slips out.
‘What makes you think I have one?’ Alex throws me a questioning glance.
‘Well, someone like you is bound to.’
‘Someone like me? Elaborate.’
Dangerous territory, back away. ‘Nothing, it doesn’t matter.’
‘It does. I want to know what you were going to say.’
I puff out a breath, fringe ruffling up with the expelled air. Keep it simple. ‘You know,’ I shrug casually. ‘Rich, powerful, professionally successful.’
Alex lets out a harsh laugh. ‘Is that all you think I am?’
I’m not sure what he means. ‘Isn’t it enough? They’re attractive … attributes to some women.’
‘You sound like a politically correct adviser from a dating agency.’
‘Well, what would you have me say?’ I flash. ‘Top Ten Things to Look For in a Guy?’
‘If it’s the honest answer.’
‘Fine.’ I straighten, as much as I can in the tiny seat. ‘For some women—’
‘You included?’
‘What does that matter?’
‘I’m interested,’ he shoots back, ‘humour me.’
I sigh. ‘Okay. For some women those things would be essential, but I think sharing common ground, experiences and beliefs is more important. And I’m more impressed by intelligence, ambition and a good sense of humour than power or money.’
‘Isn’t ambition the same as power?’
‘No. Ambition is about making yourself a better person, wanting to get somewhere. That place doesn’t necessarily have to be somewhere you’ll hold power. What about people who study to become teachers?’ I think of Jess. ‘They’re ambitious enough to get a degree and qualified teacher status but it’s not necessarily about working up to a head teacher post, it’s being passionate about educating children, getting them ready for life.’
‘If you say so.’ He chuckles. It’s not a kind sound. ‘Still, going back to the things you value, you sounded more like an employment agency looking for staff than a woman looking for a man.’
‘You asked for my opinion, I gave it.’ I cross my arms. ‘Besides, I’m not looking, so it doesn’t matter.’
‘My apologies, how dare I suggest it.’ He glances in the rear-view mirror, signals and changes lane. ‘We’ll talk theoretically instead. If you were looking, you’re expecting me to believe those qualities would have priority over a man having a good job and fat wallet?’
Turning to him, I open my mouth to spit out an answer. His eyes are narrowed, bitterness twisting his mouth. He’s obviously had a bad relationship, and it’s made him cynical. I can’t help wondering what happened, who she was. The woman who texted him?
Whatever. It doesn’t mean he’s entitled to make assumptions about me. Breathing in deeply, I do my best to stay calm. ‘I’d rather be with someone who respects me and supports me pursuing my goals and who’s a struggling artist, than be with someone who showers me with gifts but has a massive ego and demands complete control.’
‘Is that a fact?’ he drawls as we roll to a stop at a junction.
‘Yes!’ I sigh again. ‘Maybe we should change the subject.’
‘No, come on, I’m interested.’ He glances both ways before signalling and pulling out with a low roar of the engine. ‘Not many people are so generous with their opinions.’
Crap. Rapid back-pedalling required. ‘If I’ve spoken out of turn Mr Demetrio—’
He cuts me off with a sideways look. ‘It’s Alex, remember? And you haven’t. So, are you saying money doesn’t matter at all? If you met two men, liked them both and the only difference was one was rich and one wasn’t, you wouldn’t pick the one with the money?’
There’s no right answer. Given his cynicism, I will look like either a gold-digger or a liar.
‘See,’ he mutters, ‘you can’t deny it. You’re as motivated by money as the next woman. The only difference is some admit it.’
‘That’s not fair,’ I shoot, shaking my head. ‘And I won’t admit to something that’s not true. The money would be a bonus but it wouldn’t be the deciding factor. I’m not one of those women who go out with the intention of bagging a billionaire.’ Attempting to lighten the mood, ‘Although if I were looking, a man with the ability to buy me a few more pairs of shoes wouldn’t be completely unwelcome.’
‘So it is important then.’
‘I was joking! It’s not about the money.’ But I’m a hypocrite. Part of the reason I’m here is cold hard cash. Though it’s got no link to any attraction I feel for him.
‘If you say so.’ He accelerates and I’m pressed back into the seat. ‘Let me put it another way. If you won the lottery, you’d take it?’
‘That’s not the same and you know it,’ I retort. ‘I’d be an idiot not to claim the money … and FYI I’d probably share it with my family.’ Crossing my arms. ‘Fine, you’ve got me. In the grand scheme of things, money is important, especially when you haven’t got any. Not that you’d know anything about that. But I’m talking about being able to pay the mortgage and put food on the table, not spending thousands of pounds on one item of clothing or blowing silly amounts on lavish parties.’
Alex nods as we pull up outside the hotel, yanking the handbrake on and cutting the engine. He shifts in his seat to look at me. ‘Not all of us draw huge salaries or are stupid about spending,’ he surprises me by saying, ‘but well done, very passionately delivered.’ He searches my face for something, then the shutters come down. ‘I could almost believe you.’ Climbing gracefully from the car, he leaves me frozen in my seat, mouth hanging open.
Did he just call me a liar?