Page 112 of Lovers' Dance: Vol. 2

“Shut up.” I mumbled.

“We were two months late.” he reminded me.

“Shut up.” Harder this time.

“I told you to forward the information to our accountants-”

“Shut up.” I groused, embarrassed over that incident. “And it was only £375. We’re not going to be late this year. I think they double the fine if you’re late two years in a row.”

“And the rest.” Dante warned. “You’re forgetting a £5000 fine and being struck off the register.”

I growled loudly. “Then get my coffee so we can start. I swear you enjoy pressing my last nerve. Go.”

Dante sauntered out our office, humming under his breath. He was happy and I didn’t blame him. The possibility of what the future held for us and our dance company would be limitless if we went ahead with the filming. All I had to do was notify my extremely private husband about my decision. I mean, he dealt with the media all the time…but that was on the business front, not the personal one.

I worried my bottom lip again between my teeth. Matt would understand. This was the right business decision to make, I’d be stupid not to grab the chance that could potentially propel my small dance company onto another level of success. Matt was always going on about the bottom line, always chastising me for not looking at every financial avenue to ensure my company made a profit. In a way he was all about the money, and I couldn’t blame him for it. Running a multi-billion corporation demanded that sort of thinking. He would support my decision. Yes, of course he would. I had to do what was best for my company. Matt would understand.

“Madi, can I-”

“Late, Liam. I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now.” I gushed,pulling my fur-lined leather coat on and grabbing my bag up. Liam hovered by the office door as I hurried over.

“Can it wait until I get back?” I muscled him back before closing the office door.

“Yeah, sure.” He grinned and tugged on my haphazard pony-tail, thus loosening it even further.

“Liam! You-”

“Lanky streak of piss?” he suggested.

I stopped, then laughed out loud. “That’s a new one.”

“I’ve never used that one before?” He quirked his mouth in disbelief.

My gaze wandered over his tall slender frame. Yep. Perfect description. Another laugh escaped from me. Then I glanced at my new watch, a gift from Matt. Argh! I was going to be late. “Get out of my way,” I bustled past him. “And put my phone back where it belongs. Bye.”

I rushed out the building and waved at Gloria on my way. My Cayenne glistened, beckoning me over, but parking was a bitch in Central London and I hated paying the Congestion charge. I quickened my steps heading towards the main gates. If I walked fast it would only take twenty minutes to get to the station. The Cutty Sark DLR was closer, I could change at Canary Wharf, hop on the Jubilee line and arrive at London Bridge without breaking a sweat. Why Matt wanted me to meet him there I had no idea. I couldn’t think of any upscale restaurant he’d frequent, unless he was planning on taking me somewhere else. But then why have Rachel tell me to meet him there?

Or I could head to Greenwich station and get the Jubilee line right there. It would only take about 15 minutes, providing there were no issues on the line. I could park up at the station-

“Fuck.” I spun back around, quickly retracing my steps. It would take half an hour to get to London Bridge if I left from Cutty Sark. “Stupid woman.” I muttered to myself as I broke into a run. Heels and pencil skirts weren’t the best running gear, but hey.

Another quick peek at my watch as I jumped into the Cayenne caused the sweat to bead across my forehead. Matt was so anal when it came to being on time.

By the time it took for me to pull into the car park at Greenwich station and lock up I was already formulating my excuses. It didn’thelp knowing he would have to be told about the filming.

“Oh Jesus, help me.” I was walking and rifling through my bag at the same time. My freaking Oyster card. Where was it? A vision of it lying unused on the small but ornate table in the foyer at home flashed before my eyes. This was exactly why I didn’t like being chauffeured around. I’d gotten so used to either driving or being driven that I’d committed a grave error. Which bloody Londoner left the house without their Oyster card?

Picturing the scowl on Matt’s face, I bought a Travel card and finally got on the tube. There were no seats and a greasy looking man was standing next to me, bumping into my side when we lurched into motion. Great. I edged away and caught a glimpse ofhim. He stood down the carriage next to the other door. I sent him a tiny smile. He didn’t acknowledge it. We had never spoken and most times I forgot he was even around. My shadow, courtesy of my over-protective husband. He must’ve been close on my trail to get on the tube with me. I hadn’t even noticed his car following me to the station. I sighed, staring at my reflection in the glass windows. How weird was my life?

Greasy dude bumped into me again and I gritted my teeth, holding my bag tighter. There were quite a few people in the carriage blatantly flouting some of the unspoken rules of the Underground. Everyone knew there was a certain etiquette to follow. The guy pole-hogging, fail. That young lad man-spreading, fail. The woman staring me right in the eye at this moment, oh crap, double fail. What the hell? Who gives eye contact on the tube? Crazies, that’s who. Oh no, I was unconsciously returning the eye contact, quickly my gaze skittered away.

Next stop Canary Wharf.The lady’s distorted voice came through the audio system. Another bump from Mr Greasy and I grunted out my displeasure. Public transport, I used to enjoy the hustle bustle but not anymore. I urged the tube on, mentally speeding it along. Canada Water, then Bermondsey. The next stop was mine. When I got off, my shadow got off too. I wondered if it was allowed to actually talk to him. Matt had never explained what was expected. Sneaking a look over my shoulder confirmed he was on the escalator, seven bodies down. I tugged my hair loose and re-did the pony-tail. Would he run after me if I broke out into a run the moment I got to the top? What if I ducked into the WHSmith shopand hid behind an aisle? Was he packing heat? Ridiculous. Only the Armed response and criminals carried heat in the UK.

I giggled to myself…seriously, this giggling shit had to stop. The woman behind me shook her head and eyed me suspiciously. The vibration of my jacket pocket was not welcomed. I pulled it out as I stepped off the escalator.

“I’ll be right there, hon,” I said immediately. “I’m literally walking out the station.” I wasn’t, but Matt wouldn’t know that. My feet clicked faster.

---