Page 26 of Is She Really Going Out with Him?
“Absolutely,” says Will, then he turns to me. “We could drive up together if you like, save on petrol.” His mouth is all friendly smiles, but his eyes are a gloating green.
“I’ll have to check my schedule,” I say evasively, feeling myneck prickle with heat. There’s a snapping sound and I look down to see it was the nib of my pencil, pressing too hard into my notepad.
—
After the meeting,Steph finds me in the loos washing my hands in cold water, trying to dampen my inner rage.
“It wasn’t a cold call, you know, this person who offered Will the gig in Hay,” she says, handing me a paper towel.
“Oh? What was it then?” I ask. If there’s gossip to know, Steph will know it.
“Some woman who fancies him. A friend of a friend introduced them in London. He wasn’t interested, until he found out she worked for the literary festival. The panel is being livestreamed; he probably sees himself as the next host of BBC’sBeneath the Covers.” Steph shakes her head, then sighs. “I bet he’ll get it too.”
“He’s unbearable,” I mutter.
“Hot though, right?” she says, winking at me, and I flick my wet hands at her until she starts laughing. “By the way, Kelly, Karl, and I are going out tonight. You want to come?”
“I can’t. But thank you.”
“Anna, you never come out,” she says, then puts her hands together, pleading with me. “Next time?”
I pause, realizing I just said no as a reflex. “Maybe,” I say, then give her a genuine smile.
—
As I’m leavingthe office, Will intercepts me at the door.
“Shall I pick you up from yours tomorrow morning?” he asks sweetly, as though he’s suggested taking me on a picnic to Cotton Candy Land.
“I’d rather drive separately, but thanks.”
“That’s interesting,” he says, looking like someone who’sabout to make a winning move in a game of chess. “Only because I seem to remember a column you wrote that highlighted people’s reluctance to car-share as one of the main reasons we have a traffic problem in Bath.”
Checkmate. Damn him.“Fine, we’ll go together, in my car. I will drive,” I say.
“There’s more space in mine,” he says.
“I have a Volvo estate, so I doubt it.”
“Okay, my car is nicer,” he says, his mouth curling into a boyish grin.
“I don’t want to be stranded if you decide to leave early.”
“We’ll come back whenever it suits you. And we can brainstorm next week’s column in the car.”
I rack my brain for another excuse, but nothing is forthcoming. “Fine,” I say, relenting. “I’ll text you my address.” He saunters away, and my gaze is drawn down to the curve of his firm physique in the perfectly tailored trousers he’s wearing. Snapping my eyes away, I chastise myself for such an inappropriate eye line.Why is it always the biggest arses who have the most incredible arses?Someone’s probably written a thesis on it, where gluteal firmness is inversely proportional to agreeableness of personality. Either way, I’m not relishing the prospect of spending a two-hour car journey with such a perfect arse.
Google searches:
What time does “the sun pass over the yardarm”?
What’s a yardarm?
Do Paul Hollywood or Sam Heughan narrate any audiobooks?
Chapter 10
That evening, as I’m puttingdown food for Katniss, I get a message from Neil.
