“Look, I know the party’s not your favorite event…”
“Try least favorite,” Susan corrected. The whole affair was an exercise in awkwardness for everyone involved. Smiling and making small talk with people like Ginger and Courtney. It’d be like the wedding times ten. “I was actually thinking of staying home this year…”
“You can’t. You’re a Collier. It wouldn’t look right.”
“I doubt people will care—they’re more interested in the free booze.”
“Susan…”
“Fine.” She noticed he hadn’t corrected her. “I’ll host the party.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there anything else or can I go back to dying now?” Her head was demanding coffee and aspirin before it could handle any more conversation.
“Die away,” her brother replied.
They said their goodbyes, and Susan tossed her phone on the cushion next to her. Five minutes, she thought as her eyes fluttered closed and her body fell sideways. Five minutes and she’d head to the kitchen for caffeine.
The phone rang again, the shrillness next to her ear making her wince. She fumbled for it without opening her eyes. “What did you forget?”
“Nothing that I know of,” said an unfamiliar voice. Deep and with a strong northern twang, it caused tingles to trip up her spine. “I was calling to see how your head felt this morning.”
How did this stranger know she had a killer hangover? “Who is this?” Susan pushed herself into a seated position—again.
“Lewis Matolo. The bloke who brought you home, remember?”
Remember? She was hoping to forget. Nearly bursting into tears, tripping over her own two feet. She’d worked hard her entire adult life to project an image of togetherness and control to the outside world…and Lewis Matolo had seen none of that.
She also remembered him being incredibly attractive. If you were into the cocky, athletic sort.
“How did you get my number?”
“I texted Hank and Maria and asked them.”
“You bothered them on their honeymoon.” Her heart actually fluttered at the idea. Why on earth would he go to that much trouble to track her down? Surely, not simply to check on her well-being.
“Don’t worry. They were killing time at Heathrow waiting for their boarding call. I’m glad to see you made it to your apartment safely. No tripping up the stairs?”
Thankfully, he couldn’t see how warm her face was. “I told you, the sidewalk was slippery from the cold weather,” she said.
“Uh-huh.” It was clear from the amusement in his voice that he hadn’t bought the excuse then and he still wasn’t buying it now. Susan blushed a little deeper.
“Since you didn’t fall and break your neck,” he continued, “how would you feel about lunch?”
“Lunch? With you?” A dumb question, she knew, but he’d caught her off guard. She needed a reality check before her heart fluttered again. Why would someone like him be asking her out?
“No, with Prince William. I have a…business proposition to run by you.”
How stupid of her. Of course he would be calling about business. Doing her best to hold back a sigh, she said, “New business ideas are my brother Thomas’s bailiwick. You’re better off calling him directly. I don’t get involved in that end.”
“You misunderstand. This isn’t about Collier’s. It’s about… Let me just say I think I have an idea that might benefit us both.”
Beneficial to her but didn’t involve Collier’s? He had her attention. “Go on?”
“I don’t suppose you’ve read Lorianne’s blog today?”
Lorianne Around London was the UK’s most popular gossip website. A treasure trove of royal, political and celebrity gossip, the blog was influential and widely read, even by those who claimed they didn’t. “The only thing I’ve seen today is the inside of my eyelids. Why?”
“You might want to check it out on your way to the restaurant,” Lewis replied. “There’s a “Blind Item” you might find interesting. Now, are we on for lunch?”
Susan ran a hand through her curls. Her hair was a stiff mess from being retro-styled and she still had a splitting headache. Without checking a mirror, she knew she looked like a plump, raccoon-eyed nightmare. Hardly suitable for public viewing.
On the other hand, Lewis’s offer intrigued her foggy brain. A business venture that benefitted her, didn’t involve Collier’s and was somehow connected to a “Blind Item” in Lorianne Around London? How could she resist?
“Where and when?” she asked.
The Christmas tree next to the fountain was decorated with pairs of miniature shoes. At night, it was lit with hundreds of rainbow-colored lights, but at midday all you could see were mini sneakers and stilettos. It was supposed to be making an artistic and social commentary, but damn if Lewis could figure it out. Walk a mile in another’s shoes, maybe? Guess he wasn’t sophisticated enough because he preferred the lights.
Still frowning, he turned his attention back to the restaurant. It was ten minutes past their agreed-upon time. Susan didn’t strike him as the kind of person who ran late. He’d done a little digging on her when he’d texted Hank and Maria. If anything, Susan was the kind of person who arrived early and grew annoyed when you didn’t too. She hadn’t been joking last night when she said she wasn’t very well liked at her company. In fact, Maria had used a very specific word to describe her, and for a second Lewis wondered if his plan was a good idea.
He caught the eye of a waiter who immediately approached the table. “Can I get another sparkling water?” he asked.
The young man nodded. “Of course. Right away.”
As the man walked away, Lewis noticed a handful of diners looking in his direction. The Mayfair restaurant was too posh a location for autograph seekers. The people who dined here were supposed to be nonchalant about dining with celebrities. That didn’t mean they weren’t above sneaking a peek when one was in their midst, however.
When he was a kid, places like this were a foreign country. They were for people who lived on the other side of the city, who drove nice cars and whose kids always had new clothes. They definitely weren’t for nobodies who bounced from foster home to foster home. Sometimes he pinched himself that he was really able to walk into a restaurant like this one and order whatever he wanted. Sometimes he masked his anxiety with extreme cockiness.
Sometimes—most times, in the past—he’d drunk to keep from feeling exposed.
It’s all right; you belong here.
For how long though? Celebrity was a fleeting thing. Washed-up athletes were a dime a dozen. If he couldn’t get a broadcast job, what would he do? Football was the only world he knew. The sport defined him. Made him matter. Made him somebody.
It’s your reputation, Lewis. That’s how his agent had put it after telling him he’d lost the BBC commentator job. People are afraid you’re going to pull one of your antics again. No one wants to risk waking up to see their studio analyst double-fisting bottles of Cristal on the front page.
In other words, he needed to prove to the world he had shed his Champagne Lewis persona for good. He’d been trying to deliver that message for the past nine months, but karma kept tripping him up. Like last night. He was surprised that the drink-tossing incident hadn’t made it onto Lorianne’s blog. The woman had spies