“We can work on the trust issue.”
She anchors her gaze on the paperwork, skim-reading the pages.
“This will give you the protection you need,” I say confidently. “Page ten has my obligations. You’ll want to ingest the details yourself, but I’ll summarise for you. In the scenario that an employee of Madison Legal obtains information about our relationship causing your reputation to come into
question, I’m liable to pay damages to you of a sum of up to 150 thousand pounds.” Her jaw hits the floor.
“To cover professional reputation damage,” I add. “That’s your trainee contract salary covered and a bit more if you choose to leave. Does that appease you, Elly?”
“Let me get this straight,” she starts slowly, looking at me like I’ve grown an extra head. “If I go on a date with you and someone from Madison finds out, you will give me 150k in compensation?”
“Up to 150k. If it’s one of the cleaners at Madison, there might be a negotiation,” I say dryly. 150k is just enough to give her a security blanket and not enough to make her a fool not to take it.
She gapes at me. “Why?”
“Why?” I repeat, amused. “Because of this. The fact that you’re considering it.”
She shakes her head in disbelief. “Our three-day fling was worth 150 thousand pounds?” I chuckle. “I think I’ve spent more than that in all the minutes I’ve thought about you.” She opens her mouth and closes it. It seems I’ve blindsided her with this one.
Her brows form a deep frown as she studies the wording on page ten. “I feel like a hooker.” She snorts.
“That’s not the intention.”
“Has this NDA been developed by Madison Legal lawyers?” she gasps. “Oh my God, lawyers in the company know?”
“No. My personal lawyer produced it. The same one I used for my divorce. I don’t put personal matters through the company. For the same reason as you, Elly, I need discretion. I don’t need my staff to know my personal business.” I tap my fingers on the table, waiting.
She studies my face.
“Have you heard of the new restaurant, Asha’s?” I ask, watching her fight fade away.
“You are fucking nuts,” she says under her breath. It’s not a no.
“As an apology for what happened with my ex-wife,” I coax. “You don’t even have to talk to me.
You can sit at another table and the only person you need to talk to is the waiter.”
She’s wavering. Apprehension flickers in her eyes followed by something else, excitement perhaps. “I can’t be one of many.”
“I’m not asking you to be one of many.” “Fine,” she whispers. “One date.”
“Tonight, Elly,” I murmur, excitement swelling in my stomach and lower down. “I’ll collect you at eight.”
16
Elly
It’s just dinner, right?
Hell, who am I kidding?
My last date barely split the bill; Tristan Kane wants to date me so badly he’s drawing up NDAs. It might not be the most romantic gesture, but it is enough to convince me to take a leap of faith. That, and I’m so sexually frustrated, I might start humping his leg like a dog in the next Garcia meeting.
“It only looks good if I don’t move my head.” I study my face dubiously in the mirror. “When I tilt my head, it looks streaky.”
Megan is trying to contour my face based on instructions from a YouTube video. So far, she has used half of my sixty available minutes to get ready.
“I’m slightly regretting going straight into the advanced sculpting technique with multiple hues,” she murmurs as she adds yet another shade of grey powder to my cheeks. “It’ll look great in the end though.”
I disagree. I look like a freaking Picasso painting.
She tilts my face from side to side.
“What now?” I ask suspiciously.
“I need to add more layers.”
“You just keep adding layers?” I say doubtfully. “When do I have enough layers? I’m starting to resemble a stale layer cake.”
“Shall I give you bigger eyebrows as well?” she asks, taking my jaw in her hand and rolling my head around. I’ve never seen her look so serious.
“He only saw me a few hours ago.” I pull back from her grasp. “Won’t he notice if my eyebrows grow in size?”
“No chance.” Megan scoffs. “Men don’t notice these things. The guy I dated last year, Seanie, didn’t notice when I got my eyebrows tattooed.”
I shake my head. “No, I won’t mess with the formula. He seems okay with my existing eyebrows.” “I’m so glad you finally decided to give him a chance,” she says.
I sigh. “I just can’t believe I let it get so far in the elevator. I’m mortified. But no other guy has gone to this much effort to win me over.”
She flicks a brush up and down the middle of my nose to make it slimmer. Apparently.
“Maybe contouring only looks good in photos?” I frown.
She studies me for a long moment, tilting my head in all different directions to inspect cheeks, nose, forehead, and chin with meticulous detail. “You’re right,” she says solemnly. “Take it off. Take it all off. I think we need to start again.”
“Take it all off?” I glare at her. “Bloody hell, Megan, I don’t have time to do my whole face again.” I grab wet wipes from the dressing table and rub them on my cheeks. Thick grey powder deposits onto the wipes.
“Maybe we’ll stick to the natural look,” she suggests. “He liked you in Greece, and you barely put a brush through your hair there.”
“Fine. Just make me look less like the undead, please. Remove all the grey lines from my cheeks.”
“You’re very on edge.” She chuckles, massaging my cheek with makeup remover. “Admit it.
You’ve been pining after this man since Greece.” I exhale heavily. I can’t deny it.
“Who cares about your face? More importantly, are you ready down there?” She makes eyes at my crotch.
I roll my eyes, but I am so ready. Landing strip prepared for landing. Of course, I’m not planning to sleep with him. It’s just in case.
“It’s just dinner.” I brush her comment off. “He only wants me because I’m resisting him. He’ll get bored.”
“Are you sure about that?” She applies a tinted moisturiser to my face.
I hope I’m wrong.
“That’s better.” She nods at her handiwork then pushes my dress down past my right shoulder. It’s an oversized jumper.
“Why did you do that?” I frown.
“I read in an article that bare shoulders remind men of bare breasts,” she muses. “It must be to do with the shape.”
I’m not convinced. “Couldn’t you say that argument about knees then?” I ask sceptically. “You are seriously saying I show him a bit of shoulder socket rolling, and he’s putty in my hands?”
“Fine, don’t take my expert dating advice.” She tuts. “But you need to hone your flirting skills. At Venus Envy, you were like a viper with fangs out anytime a bloke came near you.”
I narrow my eyes. We said we wouldn’t talk about that night again. “I’m not sure I’m capable of flirting. My Crohn’s disease is playing up like it always does when I’m nervous.” I chew my lips. “I hope I don’t spend the whole date in the bathroom.” How many dates do you wait until you tell someone you have a dodgy bowel?