Page 25 of About Last Night
Leaning down, she sniffed the beautiful fragrant bouquet, delighting in the heady mixture of scents as they wound through her nostrils. No one had ever bought her flowers as grand as this before and they certainly hadn’t gone to the trouble of leaving her a message to puzzle out.
Standing up, she shook herself. She really shouldn’t let a few stems and a jigsaw turn her head so easily. It was important to remember that he needed something from her and there wasn’t any kind of romance in the gesture. It was purely mercenary on his part.
She took herself off for a shower, mulling it all over, and just as she got out there was the loud rasp of the buzzer again.
Hurrying to the door in just a towel – praying it reallywasn’tTristan this time – she pulled it open to reveal a tall, lanky youth with a brown cardboard box in his hands.
‘I have a delivery for Tallulah Lazenby,’ he said, desperately trying to keep his gaze averted from her dripping wet, skimpily towelled body and looking somewhere off to the left of her head, his eyes wide and the skin on his neck flushed a deep red.
‘Thanks,’ Lula said, taking the box gently from him. ‘Where has it come from?’
‘I work at The Magic Store on Oxford Street. A customer gave me fifty quid to come over and deliver this to you in my break.’ He still couldn’t meet her eyes and she decided to be kind and put him out of his misery. ‘Thanks very much.’ She gave him a nod to release him and he backed away quickly and ran off down the hallway leading out of her apartment block.
She opened up the box right there by the door. It looked as if there was a glass ball inside. Lifting it out carefully, she examined it. It sat on a wooden base and the whole thing was heavy and solid, the glass thick.
It took her a few seconds to realise what she was holding. It was a fortune-teller’s crystal ball.
Shaking her head, she laughed to herself.
Nice.
He’d remembered her flip remark about how being able to see into the future would be a useful skill. It reallywouldhave been on the night they’d met. None of this mess with Tristan would have happened if they’d both known what was about to unfold.
Carrying it into the living room, she put the ball on the sideboard and turned her attention back to the box. There was an envelope taped to the top of it, which she tore open, shifting the cardboard box under one arm so she could hold up the note and read it.
Once I realised, I wanted to let you know…
Once he realised what? That he’d been an arrogant arse for not even listening to her side of the story before jumping to conclusions?
That he liked her a lot more than he was letting on and wanted to see her again in a non-work capacity?
Even though the thought of that gave her a warm flutter in herbelly, she knew she needed to quash it quickly. There couldn’t be any more sexy times with him – she wasn’t going to sleep with someone she worked for ever again.
No.
Not going to happen.
Tossing the card onto the table, she went to get dressed and dry her hair.
She was in the kitchen making herself a cup of tea when the buzzer went for the third time.
Fishing the tea bag out of the cup so as not to stew her drink, she went to answer the door again.
Since the last note had arrived, she’d turned the question of what he would write next over and over in her mind, spending rather more time than she should have thinking about him.
The guy knew exactly what he was doing – she had to give him credit for that.
A tall, raven-haired lady with a bright-red-lipsticked smile waited patiently on the other side of her door. Lula recognised her from the cafe round the corner – the place that did the most amazing breakfasts.
The smell of the bacon sandwich the woman was now proffering hit her nostrils. Lula’s stomach rumbled and her mouth filled with saliva in anticipation of the intensely sweet, salty taste of the bacon and the glorious soft bloomer roll. She took the sandwich and thanked the still beaming lady, who waved away her offer of money. ‘It’s already been taken care of,’ she said, giving Lula one last knowing grin.
She only noticed the writing on the greaseproof wrapper – which appeared to be in different handwriting to the rest of the notes – after she’d shut the door. He must have got the lady from the cafe to write it.
It read:
Right or wrong – wrong as it turns out – I thought I was making things right…
Huh.
