“To my beautiful, talented little sister Charlie.” He raises his glass as one arm snakes around my shoulders.
I roll my eyes. “The only guy I’ve ever written a song about is my brother. How pathetic am I.”
“He’s a very lucky guy,” Danny says, his voice thick. I look over, and something akin to pride flickers over his face.
***
There’s an annoying buzzing sound demanding attention. I shuffle in the bed, ignoring it. It keeps going.
What the hell? I peel my eyes open confused. Has Cat come home and started playing music?
It can’t be my alarm; it’s too dark to be morning.
I force myself up in the bed and look around for the source of the sound. My phone is lighting up on the bedside table.
Who is ringing in the middle of the night?
My bedside clock says ten past midnight. I must have fallen into a deep sleep as soon as I hit the pillow. A food coma from Tristan’s.
I grapple at the phone, cursing the fucker on the other end. They aren’t giving up.
Sharp green light stings my eyes, and the caller flashes across the screen. My heart goes from resting to racing in the space of seconds.
“Hello,” I whisper, bringing the phone to my ear. I’m wide awake now. There’s a long pause.
“I need to see you.”
His voice takes the breath from my lungs. “You saw me at the party.”
“It’s not enough.” His deep voice replies. “Look, I don’t know what this is, but I know I don’t want to keep playing this game of cat and mouse with you.” I listen.
“I come round to yours, we go too far… but it’s nice, I don’t have regrets then you flip and kick me out. Then less than a week later, you’re out with some bloke. I don’t know where I stand with you.”
“You can talk.” I retort indignantly. “Says the guy who’s tomcatting his women around London.”
“Tomcatting? Seriously Charlie?” He lets out a long sigh. “My reputation precedes me, don’t believe all you hear.”
“Oh really?” I summon a deep breath. “In that case, when was the last time you slept with someone?”
“Jen. The night when you saw me in the restaurant.”
“That was a few weeks ago.” I calculate in disbelief. “You expect me to believe that? What about the girl on Wednesday?”
“The girl on Wednesday..” His voice trails off. “I’m assuming you are talking about the Brazilian lady that took a liking to me at the after club. So it seems the employees do talk.”
“Yes. Her.” I mutter dryly. “And yes, you were the talk of the office.”
“Nope.” He replies in a level tone. “I get hit on a lot. It goes with the territory. It doesn’t mean I always act on it.”
We fall silent.
“Can I get a car to collect you?”
“Charlie.” He repeats, his voice is gravelly. “Did you hear me?” “Yes.” I choke out.
“Yes, you heard me, or yes, I can send a car?”
“Yes to both.”
“Good girl,” he growls, triggering a rush of heat between my legs. “Oh, and Charlie?”
“Yes?”
“The offer doesn’t extend to your little waistcoat friend this time,” he chuckles. “The car will be at your’s in about 15 minutes.”
The phone goes dead, and I collapse onto the bed.
Charlie
I eye the driver suspiciously in the rear-view mirror. He greeted me immediately outside my flat like he knew what I looked like and who I was.
Knowing Danny Walker, the guy has seen my dental, medical and financial records before collecting me.
Besides the courteous greeting where he opened the door for me and offered me refreshments, we’ve been travelling in silence for 45 minutes.
Is he at Danny’s beck and call 24/7? Is that his job, collecting and dropping off random women at his house? I wonder how many women have come through this car in the wee hours of the morning.
Danny lives in Richmond, across the other side of London. At this rate crawling through London on a Saturday night, it’ll be morning before we get there.
The streets get wider and greener as we drive towards Richmond, with trees lining the pavements. Suddenly we are bumping along the road, and I feel like I’m travelling down a country road rather than a posh London suburb.
“Sorry for the potholes. The road is private; the residents own it.” He smiles at me in the mirror.
“They don’t maintain it so that cars don’t take shortcuts down it.”
We pull into a private cul-de-sac, and he stops in front of a very intimidating house. “This is us.” I gawk out the window at a dwelling similar in size to Somerset House.
“You’ve never been here?” He opens the door for me and watches me in amusement. I shake my head.
“It’s a Grade 11 listed building.” He explains as I get out of the car.
It’s a gigantic detached three-story Victorian mansion. No, scrap that. Palace.
I count three windows on either side of the magnificent projecting porch with fluted columns, six large windows on the second floor, and some sort of roof terrace on the top.
There’s even a small pond in the front garden, immaculately groomed.
Two cars sit in his driveway, the Aston Martin and a Range Rover.
This is the opposite of what I was expecting. It looks like a family home. Does he live with anyone? I’ve never asked. I realise I don’t know much about his private life in London.
Maybe it’s secluded for his loud orgies.
While I stand clueless on the lawn, he opens the door, a smile spreading across his face.
“Charlie.” That deep sexy voice hits me, and a shiver runs up my spine. Every time. I want to bolt back into the safety of the car.
He’s changed into a t-shirt with holes in it, jeans with paint on them and no socks. The t-shirt hangs over his sculpted chest perfectly. He’s never looked more handsome.
“Hi,” I say awkwardly.
“Are you going to come inside?” He raises his brows, signalling for me to come through the door.
“I was expecting a butler to greet me.”
“I’m your butler.” he chuckles, making the notion somehow sound filthy.
“Just a minute” He brushes past me, squeezing me around the waist, and strolls over to his driver.
They mumble something inaudible as I stand stiffly on the porch. Peering into the hallway makes me even more nervous. To no surprise, the interior is just as opulent as the exterior.