Her Convenient Christmas Date Read online

  “Then wipe your nontears with it before they make your mascara run,” he said. “And, I’m sorry. The comment was uncalled for.”

  “Yes, it was. It’s also true.”

  “I’m sure it’s...”

  “I’m in a bar getting drunk by myself and no one from upstairs has noticed I’m missing.”

  “I’m sure someone has noticed,” Lewis replied. Granted, she wasn’t the kind of girl he’d look for, but she was hardly forgettable. Her black dress was sexy in a naughty-secretary way—prim but tight enough to show she had curves. She had black curly hair that she’d pulled into a high ponytail—to match the dress he presumed. It worked together to give her a no-nonsense vibe. If there was such a thing as a no-nonsense sex kitten, she was it.

  “If it helps, no one’s looking for me either,” he said.

  “Of course they aren’t,” she said, dabbing her eyes. “You insulted two women.”

  “And here I’d gone five whole minutes without thinking of my stupidity.” Good to know her tears didn’t dull the bite of her tongue.

  “Now you know why no one’s looking for me, except my friend here.” She waved her half-empty martini glass, the red liquid sloshing against the sides. “Unless you want your reputation to get worse, you might want to slide down a few stools.”

  “Trust me, my reputation can’t get much worse, luv.” A drink in the face was nothing when everyone in the UK thought you were washed up. Maybe not everyone, he corrected, but the people who counted. Like the people at BBC Sport who thought Pete “White Noise” Brockton made a good commentator.

  “More likely, you’re going to mess up your reputation sitting with me,” he told her.

  “Whatever. Here’s to our rotten reputations. Oh, no!” The liquid had splashed over the rim when she’d waved her drink. Running down the stem, it dripped onto the napkin he’d tossed down earlier. “And she’d been such a good friend.”

  Her lip was wobbling again. Reaching into her space, he took the glass from her hand before she could take another sip.

  “Hey! What are you doing?”

  “I think you’ve had enough.” Personified drinks were never a good sign. From out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bartender hold up four fingers.

  “Why does everyone keep saying that?” She went to grab the drink only to pitch forward. Fortunately, her hand grabbed the bar rail, keeping her from falling completely.

  Without missing a beat, she continued. “It’s Christmastime. A girl should get as many wishes as she wants.”

  “Christmas Wishes,” the bartender supplied when Lewis frowned. “It’s the name of the drink.”

  “Well, you’re going to wish you didn’t have this last wish tomorrow morning. Why don’t we switch to water for a little while? Get you hydrated.”

  “I don’t need water. I’m fine.”

  “Trust me.” Lewis set the drink on the bar as far down as he could reach. If she wanted it, she was going to have to stand up and walk around him. “You’re an expert on soap? I’m an expert on getting drunk. You need water.”

  “Fine. I’ll have the water.” The way she huffed and rolled her eyes like a teenager proved his point. Lewis had a feeling she wouldn’t be caught dead making such an expression sober.

  “Thank you. Bartender?”

  Giving a nod, the bearded man poured two large glasses, minus ice. “Room temperature will go down a little easier,” he said.

  Good man. Lewis took the fuller of the two glasses and handed it to Susan. “Here, drink up. Then I’ll call a car to take us home. You’ll have to pick up your car in the morning.”

  “Don’t have one,” she said in between swallows. “Took a car service.”

  “Even better.”

  “Wait a second. You’re taking me home?” She looked up at him through her lashes.

  Wow. Her eyes were really pretty. He wasn’t sure if it was the sheen from the tears or the bar lighting but the hazel color had a copper center that looked lit from within. They were almost hypnotic.

  “I’m making sure you get home safely,” he told her. While he imagined she could handle herself, Lewis didn’t like the idea of sending her home alone—car service or not. “We’ll share a ride and I’ll have the driver drop you off first.”

  “Oh.” Her gaze dropped to her glass. “That’s very nice of you.”

  There was no missing the disappointment in her voice. He didn’t stop to think, but after going on about no one liking her, his dropping her off was probably a kick in the teeth. When she sobered up, she’d be really embarrassed.

  “Bad form to leave a woman alone when she’s been drinking,” he said. “Or, to take advantage of her.” Not that he would have taken her home, but he might as well take the sting out of his rejection.

  It worked. A tiny blush bloomed in her cheeks. “You’re a very decent person,” she said. “Even if you did forget those women’s names.”

  Lewis couldn’t remember the last time he was called decent. “Thank you. If you get a chance, spread the word. I’m in need of an image makeover.” A big one. Otherwise, he’d be stuck as “Champagne Lewis” for the rest of his life. Or worse, he’d fade into obscurity.

  “You and me both,” she replied.

  “Amen to that, sister.” Helping himself to the other water, he clinked the bottom of his glass against hers. “Amen to that.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  IF THERE WERE two things Susan detested, they were headaches and people bothering her when she wanted to be left alone. Saturday morning brought both: a blinding headache and a phone ringing loudly right next to her ear.

  Lifting her head from the sofa—where she’d collapsed facedown after stumbling from the bathroom—she glared at the caller ID, planning on killing the person.

  Just her luck, it was her brother Thomas. One of two people in the UK she couldn’t kill. He was also the only person whose call she had to take. As CEO of Collier’s, he was technically her boss.

  That didn’t mean she had to be pleasant though. “Do you know what time it is?” she growled.

  “Happy Saturday to you, as well. It’s ten o’clock in the morning.”

  Really? She pulled the phone from her ear to check. When she’d lain down, it was just before seven that day. “Sorry. Thought it was earlier.”

  It suddenly dawned on her why Thomas could be calling. “Rosalind didn’t have the baby, did she?” She pushed herself upright, ignoring how the blood rush made the room—and her stomach—sway.

  “Not yet. The doctor thinks she’ll go right on her due date, same as she did with Maddie. And you sound like dirt.”

  She felt like dirt. No longer having to worry about being alert, she slid down into the cushions. “Maria’s wedding was last night. I overdosed on sloe gin.”

  “Sounds like a good time.”

  “Not as good as you’d think.” And ending with her nearly falling on her face when she tripped going up her front steps—right after she’d insisted she was perfectly able to navigate the walk on her own. She could just imagine the look that had crossed Lewis Matolo’s face when he caught her by the waist. A combination of smugness and disgust, no doubt. At least he was gentleman enough not to say anything out loud.

  “Is there a reason you’re calling?” she asked. “Because otherwise, I would like to go back to dying.”

  “Actually, there are two reasons, if you can stave off your demise for ten minutes.”

  “I’ll try, but I’m not making any promises. What do you need?”

  “The first thing isn’t a need, it’s an invitation. Rosalind and I were talking last night. About how fantastical the last eighteen months have been. Between her accident and last Christmas...”

  Fantastical was a good word for it. Eighteen months earlier, Rosalind had disappeared after her car plunged off a bridge in Scotla
nd. She had reappeared last Christmas hundreds of miles away with amnesia of all things. Rediscovering their relationship had been a challenge. Susan liked to think she helped the cause by sharing some hard truths Thomas hadn’t been willing to tell his returning bride.

  Of course she was the only one who thought so at the time, but the three of them had put the issue behind them.

  “We thought, with the baby arriving soon, it would be the perfect time to reestablish ourselves as a family,” Thomas continued.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve decided to renew our vows on Christmas Eve. Nothing huge. Just family and a few close friends.”

  “That sounds...lovely.” Susan hated the tiny knot of jealousy that twisted in her midsection. Her brother had fought hard for his life and family; a proper sister wouldn’t envy his happiness.

  Especially when his voice hummed with a bashful excitement. “Maddie’s going to be the maid of honor,” he said. “She’ll be heartbroken if her favorite aunt isn’t there.”

  “I’d be heartbroken if I missed seeing her,” Susan replied, the knot easing slightly. The prospect of seeing her young niece dressed like a princess was too charming to resist.

  “So you’ll be there?”

  “Of course.” It wasn’t like she had Christmas Eve plans.

  “Great. I’ll let Rosalind know. The other reason I called...” On the other end of the line, Susan heard the clink of a teacup. “I’m going to need you and Linus to host the Collier party again this year. I promised Rosalind I would take time off when the baby was born so we could bond as a family.”

  Susan groaned. Not again. Collier’s had been holding a company Christmas party for its employees ever since the days of Queen Victoria. What was once a show of largesse toward the workers had morphed into a fancy cocktail party hosted by the CEO. Last year, Thomas had begged off because of Rosalind’s amnesia, leaving her and Linus to play the benevolent owners.

  “Can’t Linus host by himself?” Everyone loved Linus.

  “I’d prefer both of you to be there. Especially since Linus has been...”

  “Unreliable?” She thought of how he’d left her in the lurch last night.

  “Distracted,” Thomas replied. There was a pause, during which she imagined him studying his cup of tea while he thought of the right words. “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 wa
iter 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 everywhere.

  Reading today’s item, however, made him realize a few things. First, that he was damn lucky, and second, that if he wanted the world to know he was a changed man, he needed to do more than simply give up drinking and stay home. He needed to give the public proof, something splashy, that would convey the message for him.