I delivered the painting myself. It was a gift to her and she was going to keep it whether she wanted to or not.

I had been so sure she’d say yes to staying. I needed to know what had made her change her mind.

I didn’t get chance to tell her about Tomlinson’s land, about how I was going to rename it after her. I wanted to take her up the mountain, sit and look at the view with her by my side.

I didn’t care about drilling for oil anymore. I cared about making her happy.

I wanted so much more than that. I wanted a family with her. I wanted lots of babies and a marriage and a life together. All that wasn’t easy when she’d run from my house without even telling me why she couldn’t look at me properly anymore.

It felt quite strange driving from my house to her apartment with a hundred million pounds worth of art spread across the back seat. It had only just fitted in and every bump in the road made it judder in place, knocking a few hundred thousand off the value.

I parked outside and looked up at her place. It wasn’t the roughest area of the city but it also wasn’t where she deserved to live. She’d left before I even had chance to arrange paying her the million. It was like she’d suddenly become disgusted with me and I needed to know why.

I hit the bell but there was no response. I hit all the bells. Someone had to be in.

It wasn’t her that came down and opened the door. I had expected someone to talk through the intercom but the only noise it made was a high pitched squeal when I touched each button.

“You must be Annie,” I said as the woman glared out at me. “Jodie’s best friend, am I right?”

“Let me guess, you’re the douchebag who took my best friend’s feelings, crushed them into a tiny little ball and then threw them out the window. Am I right?”

A shadow fell over her shoulder. “I can fight my own battles, Annie.” Jodie had appeared. She looked out at me. “What are you doing here, Mr Stempel?”

“I brought your painting. You forgot to collect it from the auction house. Thought I’d drop it round for you.”

“You’re not serious?”

“You want me to bring it up for you?”

“Tell me you aren’t carrying a hundred million pound painting in your arms in broad daylight in this neighbourhood.”

“Think someone might steal it?”

“I think you’re insane.”

“So do you want to take it?”

“No, I can’t have it here.”

“Then where do you want it? It’s yours.”

“I don’t know. Give it to a museum or something.”

“That’s not a bad idea. I tell you what, I’ll hand it over to your museum if you agree to go on a date with me.”

“Aren’t you busy drilling for oil?” Annie asked, her voice cold.

“What? How did you know about that?”

“So you’re not denying that was your plan then.”

“Listen, Jodie. I admit that was the idea but I changed my mind. You made me change my mind. I want to leave the site the way it is.”

“So you’re happy to pay hundreds of millions for land and get nothing back from it? Is that what you’re telling me? One more lie on top of all the others. Just tell me the truth for once.”

“That is the truth. I’ll get a lot back from the land without touching it. I’ll know it will look like it does in your favourite painting and I’ll know you’ll be happy with it remaining that way. Now do I get a date or does the painting go in that dumpster over there?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Watch me.” I started walking but she grabbed my shoulder before I’d gone more than a couple of steps.

“All right. I’ll go on a date with you. On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“That you make me this famous spag bol of yours. I want to know just what’s so special about it.”

“Done. I will see you at eight tonight at my place. I’ll send my driver to pick you up.”

“Of course you will. Now get that painting out of here. You’re making me nervous.”

She pulled open my car door and watched me load it in. “I’ll see you tonight,” I said, climbing into the driver seat. I watched her going back inside, not setting off until she was out of sight. Only then did I start to think properly.

How did she know about the oil? Who might have leaked the information to her? There were so many people involved in the scheme, it could have been any of them. That explained why she left without the money, why she didn’t want to stay at mine any longer.

I would soon fix that. After my spag bol, she’d never want to eat anywhere else again. Then when we were done I would have something else to taste.

Her.

I spent an hour at the museum dealing with their eternal gratitude for loaning them the painting. It went straight into their vault while they started making the arrangements to display it and I got to drive home faster.

Once I was there, I headed for the kitchen. “Carl,” I said as I walked in. “Take the night off. I’ll be cooking my own dinner.”

“Of course you will,” he replied. “I don’t even know why I bother buying ingredients. Want me to show you how the microwave works? Where the takeaway menus are? In this drawer here. Chinese, Indian, Pizza. Not like I can make those, is it? I only trained under Auguste Gusteau himself, you know?”

I ignored him. “And tell Gwyneth to spread the word. All staff to take the night off and the night out. I want the place to myself from eight. No one here but me.”

She arrived at ten to eight. The doorbell went several times before I remembered there was no one to answer it. I was in the middle of cooking so I ran out to let her in. “You look good,” I said as she walked inside the entrance hall. “Very good.”

“Where’s the painting?” she asked. “Somewhere safe?”

“You’ll be pleased to know it’s in the vault of your museum while they make the security arrangements for displaying it. They told me something else as well.”

“What was that?”

“That they’re willing to get your educational tours on the go as soon as you get in touch with them.”

“You mean I have my job back?”

“If you want it. You’ll be in charge of the entire education arm, their way of showing their gratitude for the donation. Reckon you’re up to talking about Flambert all day long?”

“And Dickens too. We’re not just an art gallery.”

“Oh yes, that reminds me. I need to look in the attic for you, see if I can find those things.” I sniffed. Burning. Coming from the kitchen. “Shit.”

“Dinner’s going well, yeah?” she said as I ran back towards the kitchen.

I shoved open the kitchen door to a wall of black smoke. “So that’s ruined then,” I said as she tactfully tried not to laugh. “How about a takeaway, my Michelin starred chef showed me where the menus are kept.”

“Pizza suits me as long as it has a lot of olives.”

“Really? I thought I was the only person who liked olives on pizza.”

“Don’t go stealing mine.”

“You’ve got a million pounds to come your way. I think we can splash out and get a pizza each.” I picked up the menus and headed out of the kitchen, getting away from the smoke.

“I haven’t got a million,” she replied, following me into the hallway.

“I know, I need to write you the check.”

“No, your lawyer told me I don’t get it because I didn’t spend the full week here.”

“Well what if you spend next five days here?”

“I don’t know. Will you be cooking?”

“I might let Carl have his kitchen back. There’s too many knives in here to keep antagonising him. Think you can handle a few more days of me telling you what to do?”

“I might.”

“Then let’s start now. Keep still.” I walked up to her. “Close your eyes.”

When she did as she was told, I placed her cheeks in my hands, planting a soft kiss on her lips. “Don’t move,” I whispered, running my hands down to her chest. I slid over her breasts, feeling the nipples harden under my touch. Her breathing changed as I tugged them through her top, becoming more labored. She even let out a little moan as I continued to toy with her.

“Bend over that table,” I said, turning her around before she had time to think. With her ass pointing towards me I had planned to strip her out of those jeans but I couldn’t resist spanking her. She was too smackable. I raised my hand in the air, ready to begin.