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A starburst of pleasure erupted in my chest, knowing he included me in that ‘high standard’. I said eagerly, ‘I think Peter would be ideal. His referees both remarked on his attention to detail.’
Jeremy’s eyes dropped to my Cherry Blaze lips and said thoughtfully, ‘Hmm, I still think Lucy would be better. She ticks all the boxes.’
Grrrr. No!
‘I don’t agree,’ I said pointedly, and Jeremy looked taken aback as I didn’t normally challenge him.
‘Why?’ he asked.
I didn’t have a good answer to that other than ‘I’ve finally gotten you to notice me. There’s no way in hell I want Irish Lucy stealing your attention’.
I opened my mouth and shut it again.
There was a short but tense silence as I battled to find a suitable reply that would suffice. During this time, Jeremy was displaying a rather pertinent interest in my dress, especially the keyhole bust area. I hadn’t experienced this level of attention from him before. It was strange and somewhat unnerving. A slow flush of heat washed over my body. Jeremy’s eyes flicked to mine, and I caught my breath, drowning in twin aqua cenote pools. Dear God. He truly was too beautiful to bear.
‘I trust your d-decision. Well, I … I should get back. Lots of work to do,’ I stuttered.
‘Right. Yes, me too,’ he said in a clipped professional tone.
Hastily, I got up and skedaddled towards the door. ‘Good luck with the ...’ I said, turning and managing to catch him staring fixedly at my retreating bottom. ‘Interviews,’ I finished weakly.
Shutting the door behind me, I leaned against it, feeling slightly faint. Bloody hell. If I’d known Jeremy Trelawny was a sucker for a little black dress, I could’ve saved myself two years of anguish!
After the encounter in his office, I couldn’t concentrate. I was meant to be cross-referencing some data, but all I could do was stare at my screen blankly, replaying how Jeremy had undressed me with his scorching eyes.
I felt his presence smouldering down the hall, like the end of a lit fuse slowly sparking its way towards a pile of dynamite. Was he really going to overstep the boundaries of our working relationship and ask me out? I could hardly believe it. But the heavy anticipation in the air lent a sharpening to my senses. Something was going to happen.
At half past four, there was a ping as an email dropped. When I saw it was from Jeremy, with the subject line ‘Wednesday evening?’, I almost had a heart attack. The fidget spinner I’d been playing with flew out of my hand and hit the opposite wall with a bang, just above Becca’s head. ‘Jesus!’ she exclaimed. ‘What’s with you? You’ve been jumpy all afternoon.’
‘Sorry,’ I muttered.
I waited until Becca had left for the day and clicked on the email. My heart was thumping so hard I could feel it in my throat.
Anna, are you free Wednesday evening? I thought it might be nice if we had a dinner discussion for once. There’s a nice little French bistro not far from here. Let me know and I’ll book a table.
A joyful squawk, not unlike a seagull would make upon discovering a half-eaten packet of fish and chips, emitted from my lips. I left a suitable amount of time before I replied (six minutes and six seconds), then typed back in a flurry,
Hi Jeremy,
Yes, I’m free Wednesday evening. Ooh Italian, sounds wonderful, I’m totally up for it!
Can’t wait,
Anna
I promptly deleted that message before I accidentally sent it. I sounded like a right eager beaver! No, the sensible thing to do would be to reply tomorrow morning and make him sweat all night, wondering what my answer would be.
But would that leave him enough time to book the table at the bistro? What if it filled up between now and tomorrow morning, and he decided that it was too much effort to book somewhere else and changed his mind? I knew I’d be kicking myself for not replying straightaway.
Fuck.
So I typed,
Yes, I’m free Wednesday evening. Sounds good,
Anna
Then I sent it before I could overthink it.
