Resisting Mr. Kane (London Mister #2)(42)
She wrinkles her nose. “Like how passengers are separated from drivers in taxis?”
“Exactly like that,” I say. “Except this one is soundproof.”
She stops mid curl. “It sounds like it’s built for murder. You know he basically had you in a cage?”
“A woman starved of sex caged in with a guy she wants sex from.” I grimace. “I’m extremely proud of my restraint.”
I yelp as she pulls my hair back.
“There.” She places a mirror in front of me. “Sexy. Mr. Fuck-me Kane doesn’t stand a chance.”
It’s not bad. The curls bounce loosely over my shoulder. I nod approvingly.
Her lips twitch. “You have to admit, it’s pretty hot that he’s your boss.”
“No.” I frown. “This could ruin my career before it’s even started.”
She waves the curlers dismissively. “Stop being so serious, Elly. Enjoy the attention! Besides, it might actually help your career.”
I snort. “I’m not climbing Mr. Fuck-me Kane to climb the ladder.”
She rests the hot tong on my shoulder.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry. But you want to sleep with him, don’t you?”
“That’s irrelevant.” I shrug. “That’s the issue, I’m not programmed to handle just sleeping with him. I can’t just be a fling then see him in the office and pretend everything is okay.”
“He’ll move on if you don’t act,” she warns me, fixing some final breakaway strands. “Guys like that don’t hang around.”
“Well then he didn’t like me that much.” My chin tilts in defiance although I know deep down, I would be gutted if he gave up our game of cat and mouse.
“What if it’s been so long it’s closed over downstairs?”
I give her a withering look. “It’s not a wound. It’s a dry patch,'' I reply defensively. “I went on a date with that chef a few months back. And the sexy cyclist before that.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t get past first base with either,” Megan points out.
“I have no solution. I want Mr. Fuck-me Kane but I can’t sleep with him. And I can’t sleep with anyone else because I want him.” I sigh. “Any word from Damo?” Damo had gone silent on Megan the past few days.
“No.” She tuts. “A week ago, his responses were real time. Now? Tumbleweed. I’ve got texting anxiety. I’m doing irrational things like restarting my phone and Wi-Fi. Just in case it’s the phone. I stalk when he is last online. Then when he is online, I start typing in case he sees that I’m online and thinks that I’m stalking him. Which I am.”
“Forget him, Megan,” I say firmly.
Her eyes go wide. “But I need to know why. Why, why, why? Ghosting is a form of torture they should use on inmates.”
I bite my lip. “You’ll never know why. Let’s look at some new profiles tonight. You once told me to get back in the saddle, remember? The stud farm in London is huge.”
She giggles. “Enough bucking bronco innuendos. I get the point.”
“Let's focus on your exhibition,” I say excitedly. “This is amazing. I’m so proud of you.”
Tooting council is putting on an exhibition for local artists and Megan has managed to get a small stand at it.
“It’s in a library,” she scoffs. “It’s not exactly the Tate Modern or MoMA.”
“So? It’s still your first ever exhibition!”
She can’t contain a smile. “Yeah, it’s cool.”
Downstairs the fire alarm goes off.
She looks at me in the mirror. “Takeaway again?”
“I think we’ll have to eat it in our bedrooms.” I groan. “Let’s order something then look at some house porn of where we could be eating dinner.”
***
Tristan doesn't talk to me for the rest of the week, even during the second meeting with Maria Garcia. The woman still makes me uneasy. What with Maria Garcia giving me the chills and Tristan Kane giving me hot flushes, I'm starting to wonder if this is what menopause will be like.
In fact, he was so professional on the second trip that I suspected the previous car journey was a dirty dream I had mistaken for reality. Instead, I'm treated with the polite detachment that a junior lawyer would receive from a partner.
Perhaps he realised he had made a mistake. Did he regret propositioning me? Or had he already moved on to the next conquest, like Megan said? Has the cat found a new mouse?
The guy is a mind-fuck.
So tonight, in an attempt to revive my dire love life, I have joined millions of lonely and/or horny Londoners in the online dating minefield. Megan said that there was no need to spread myself across all the dating apps; eighty percent of entries are the same.
This evening is a date with Chris, twenty-eight, from Yorkshire. According to his profile he spent two years teaching English in China before moving into coding and is now a senior developer at Nexus.
Yes, the same Nexus Group that Tristan Kane's friend Danny Walker owns, but that's irrelevant.
We've arranged to meet in the top bar at the Regency Hotel, an exclusive restaurant in London Bridge near the Nexus HQ. Apparently, the Nexus staff get discounts. It better be ninety per cent off. I checked the drink prices before I came out, and they are freaking hideous.