CHAPTER FIVE
For a moment she felt winded by that suggestion, and could not get her brain to engage gear. All she could do, in fact, was repeat stupidly, ‘D-Dinner? Tomorrow night?’ Then, even more stupidly, ‘With you?’
‘That’s the general idea, yes.’
The world rushed back in a blur of shock and fury and ridiculous excitement. She almost laughed at his nerve. Except she was trying too hard not to show how breathless that invitation had made her. He was only a man, she reminded herself, struggling with her biological imperative. A wealthy, influential tycoon with a lean body and looks that left most women drooling, yes, but a man like any other, nonetheless.
Nothing special.
God, who was she kidding?
‘No way.’ Then, before he could say anything else, she added, with a sudden burst of inspiration, ‘Unless I can bring my lawyer.’
‘The man from the other night?’
‘Paul, yes.’
‘Oh, come on, I thought you were joking about him being your lawyer.’
‘Why would I joke about that?’
‘Because you’re clearly banging the guy.’
Her cheeks were instantly hot. And not least because she had been thinking secretive naughty thoughts along those exact lines while his deep, sexy voice burnt her earlobe. Only about him, not lovely Paul. Who deserved it far more than nasty Nick Grimsby!
‘How dare you?’ she demanded. ‘I am not.’
‘Are too,’ he drawled.
‘Am not!’
‘Whatever,’ Grimsby repeated, sounding almost bored by this childish exchange. ‘Though that’s not what it looked like to me the other night.’
Her voice rose furiously. ‘I am not banging my lawyer!’
Rose became aware of a sudden silence, and turned to see Shantelle frozen in conversation with Mr and Mrs Tramontana. She managed a twisted smile, mouthed, ‘Sorry,’ at the elderly couple, and then turned away again, huddled over the phone.
‘Now listen here,’ she began in an angry whisper, but Nick Grimsby interrupted her.
‘Sorry, why are you whispering?’
‘Why shouldn’t I whisper?’ she demanded, still in a low hiss. ‘It’s a free country. There are no rules against whispering.’
Goodness, this man was so annoying, she thought crossly. Shantelle had been right when she said he sounded like he thought he was God. Rose glared out of the shop window at passing traffic, and imagined his enormous head being crushed like a grapefruit under a passing London bus.
If only she could crush his massive bloody ego like that.
But how?
‘Well, for starters,’ he said in a reasonable tone, ‘whispering makes it very difficult for me to hear you.’
‘That’s just tough.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I said, that’s just tough.’
‘What’s enough?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake … ’ She ground her teeth, then said icily, no longer whispering. ‘What exactly is it you want, Mr Grimsby?’
‘I told you. Dinner. You and me. Say, tomorrow night?’ His voice deepened, ‘After all, there’s still some unfinished business to discuss.’
‘I can’t imagine what business you mean.’
‘I know you have serious reservations about the redevelopment of Christmas Parade. I want a chance to address those concerns. Maybe turn it around for you.’
Corporate speak. How she hated it. And him.
Slick-talking son-of-a …
‘Well, hang on, let me just check my social calendar. Oh, wait … No, I don’t think that will be possible.’
‘That’s a pity.’ He hesitated. ‘I was hoping you could advise me.’
What the hell?
She looked at the phone suspiciously, then lifted it back to her ear. All her alarm bells were ringing again, and it wasn’t a cheery noise.
‘Advise you? In what way?’
‘You have a unique perspective on the local area,’ he said smoothly. ‘You grew up there. You know the community better than most. I have lawyers and advisors coming out of my ears, but you … You know more about Christmas Parade and the people who live and work around there than any of them.’
She could not deny the truth of that. She did know the locals, and felt instinctively that she knew what this area needed. And it wasn’t yet more unaffordable luxury flats!
But she did not want to give this horrid man even a sliver of satisfaction by saying yes. Not when it was probably a trap of some kind. She knew what Paul would say. Hang up on the clever bastard. He was trying to fool her somehow into giving up her shop.
‘I’m … erm … too busy to talk right now,’ she said, and picked up a piece of silver tissue paper, rustling it noisily next to the phone. ‘Wrapping something for a customer. I’ll have to go.’
‘Rose,’ he said deeply, and something in his voice made her stop, keeping the phone against her ear. ‘Come to dinner with me. It’s important.’
‘Not without my lawyer.’
‘For God’s sake … ’ Then he cleared his throat, and said more crisply, ‘All right, bring the lawyer. If that’s what it takes.’
‘And my dad.’
‘Your … Sorry, are you insane? You want to bring your dad to this dinner?’
‘He owns half the business.’
Another short silence. Then he sighed, and said more levelly, ‘Okay, you win. Dinner for four. Tomorrow night. I’ll send a limo for you at closing time.’
A limousine?
If he thought he could win her over with flash cars …
‘My dad will be at home tomorrow. I can ask Paul to meet us there, but my dad and I can take the bus, thank you,’ she said, and swivelled on one foot, reaching blindly for the notepad and pen on the counter, ‘if you could just give me the address.’
‘It’s a long journey by bus, frankly. Besides, you’ll be tired after work and want to change first, and that could delay things.’
She looked down at her habitual jeans. ‘Is there a dress code?’
‘Smart casual should be fine. Look, my driver will take you home after work tomorrow, so you can change, and then drive you and your father to the restaurant.’ He paused. ‘How about that?’
Rose blinked at his smooth way of manipulating people into doing his bidding. No wonder he was so obscenely successful as a businessman. But she was thinking hard too. It would be interesting to hear what Grimsby had to say, even if she had no intention of accepting even a higher offer on the property. She owed it to her dad to hear him out though. Besides, he might have changed his mind by tomorrow night. He was unlikely to want dinner with her once he discovered what she was planning, after all.
But perhaps she could keep her plan under wraps until then. She knew her dad would enjoy meeting this ogre in person – and possibly giving him a piece of his mind.
‘My dad’s in a wheelchair. I hope there’ll be good access at this restaurant.’
‘Absolutely.’
She considered it, chewing her lip. Then she said reluctantly, ‘Fine. So where is this place? And what time should I tell Paul to be there?’
Grimsby gave her the address of the restaurant, and she wrote it down quickly. It was in Mayfair, and sounded like a posh, exclusive place where jeans would be a no-no. And the booze would be flowing. She was determined to have Paul meet them there, in case she and Dad ended up getting a bit tipsy and agreeing to some nonsensical offer on the shop. With her lawyer at the table, that kind of mishap was less likely to happen.
Hitting the red button to disconnect the call, Rose turned to find Shantelle so close behind her, the two women bumped foreheads, both recoiling with a cry.
‘What the hell … ?’ Rose muttered, rubbing her forehead painfully.
‘Ouch, shit!’
‘Language!’
Thankfully Mr and Mrs Tramontana had gone, she realised, her head aching as she turned to survey the empty shop.
‘Sorry, boss.’ Shantelle made a face of excruciating pain, which was surely exaggerated, and added irritably, ‘But how was I to know you was going to turn round so damn quick? I was only trying to listen in, hear what that Grippley bloke had to say.’
‘Grimsby.’
‘Him too. Look, I thought maybe he was offering you more money. You know, for the shop? Or offering you something even better, eh? I heard that bit about dinner.’
Her assistant winked, and nudged her arm so violently that Rose stumbled backwards, nearly knocking over a bucket of chrysanthemums, the water slopping onto the floor.
‘For goodness’ sake, Shantelle, be careful.’ She bent carefully to right the bucket, then frowned up at Shantelle. ‘Wait, were you gossiping about me to a customer?’
‘No, of course not,’ Shantelle said rather too quickly, and then bent her head, examining one of her long false nails. ‘Oh my God, I think it’s broke.’ She pointed it accusing at Rose, as though it were her fault. ‘That’s them alliums. Working the spray can for like an hour. Press. Press. Press.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘And that was my fav sodding nail too.’
‘Language!’
‘Oh, whatever.’
Shantelle stormed off into the back of the shop and left Rose staring after her in silent fury. That girl! Still, Shantelle was about seven months pregnant now, and had been suffering back pains recently. Not to mention having to face the daunting prospect of raising a child alone, on her wages as a florists’ assistant, with only her own mum’s help at home. Assuming she didn’t lose her job here if the shop had to close …
Small surprise, perhaps, that she had been freaking out quite regularly in recent weeks.
But before Rose could go into the back to console her, her mobile phone rang, and she grabbed it off the counter, recognising the name on the screen.
‘Paul,’ she began in a rush, ‘I hope you’re free tomorrow night, because –’
‘Where the hell are you, Rose?’ he interrupted her grimly, and not without reason, she thought, suddenly noticing the time on the wall clock. ‘The meeting at the library is about to start. Which is fantastic, given that you called it and nobody else knows why on earth we’re here!’