Rebecca’s eyes flick up from my phone as she reads. “Did you really look at his dick?”
“No,” I scoff again. “He’s dreaming. I’ve got better things to do at work than look at his stupid trouser snake.”
Daniel and Rebecca burst out laughing.
“Where do you come up with these analogies, Kate?”
“Growing up with my brother, Brad.” I shrug. “I know every name there is for a dick. Lizard, schlong, rhythm stick,” I mutter dryly as I sip my wine. “You name it, I’ve heard it.”
“Hit me with your rhythm stick,” Daniel sings. “Isn’t that a great song; they need to bring that shit back. Why isn’t someone remixing this? I swear I should be a record producer.”
“Do they even have record producers anymore?” says Beck. “I mean there are no records, so what’s that job called now?”
“Good question,” I agree.
“Here you are.” The waitress smiles as she arrives with our meals and places them down in front of us.
“Thank you.”
She makes her way to the back room and we all begin to eat.
“Oh, and on Saturday night we’re going out.” Daniel cuts into his steak.
“Where to?” Rebecca asks.
“Club 55 are having an opening at their new venue. I’ve got four VIP tickets.”
“Four tickets? Can I bring Brett?” Beck asks.
“Yeah, sure, why not,” Daniel says as he chews his food. “Don’t forget we’re going work-clothes shopping tomorrow, Kate.”
“We just got new stuff on the weekend?” I say.
“Yes, but now the ante has been raised, your hot boss wants to fuck you. We need to make his balls so blue that they fall off . . . until he’s begging.”
“He’s not going to beg.”
“Oh yes, he is.”
I roll my eyes as I bite the food from my fork. “Great. The way you’re spending my money I really do need to earn a bonus.”
“Do it on your knees,” Daniel says with a raise of his glass. “Earn that dirty money, girlfriend. Tell him you’ll swallow for a company car.”
“Stop.” I laugh. “Will you shut up?”
“Just saying.” He shrugs.
I try to hide my smile as I chew my food.
I’d swallow for free.
I sit in the café and stare across the street at the black Bentley parked out front of the Miles Media building. It’s just six-thirty, and from the way that the driver is out of the car and leaning on the side as if on standby, I know he must be leaving soon.
I sip my coffee as my mind runs away with itself.
Does he always have a driver?
“Is this seat taken?” somebody asks as they pat the stool next to me.
“Oh, no.” I smile. “That’s fine, take it.”
My attention goes back to the building-I wonder where he lives? I take out my phone and for the first time ever, I type “Elliot Miles” into Google.
Elliot Miles is the third son of media mogul George Miles and his wife Elizabeth.
Listed along with his three brothers in the USA rich list, he has an estimated wealth of seven hundred million dollars.
“What?” I whisper.
No stranger to publicity, and true to family tradition, Elliot Miles has been linked to some of the most beautiful women in the world.
Affectionately nicknamed Casanova Miles by the press due to his apparent ability to get women to do anything he wants, he’s previously been linked to Emmaline Howser, the renowned pianist, Heather Moretti, the acclaimed art director for US Vogue, and more recently, Clarissa Mulholland, the human rights lawyer for the United Nations.
He likes his women intelligent and interesting, beauty a very close but obvious third.
I click on images, and rows and rows of pictures come up with him and women-black-tie events, yachts, nightclubs, opening nights.
He’s like a fucking rock star.
I bite my lip and raise an unimpressed eyebrow. Ugh, Casanova Miles . . . give me a fucking break.
Who cares. I click out of images and go back to the main page.
I read on.
His art collection is one of the best in the world, estimated to be worth over two hundred million dollars, and is housed in a private gallery in New York. It is understood that his most intimate pieces are kept in his London home.
I screw my face up.
“Private art gallery, you are kidding me?” I mutter under my breath.
I look up at the Bentley, completely rattled.
What the ever-loving fuck?
Elliot’s words come back to me from the other night. He isn’t looking for hot.
He’s looking for extraordinary.
I bite my thumbnail as I think about what that means.
Given all of the beautiful women from around the world that he’s dated.
Extraordinary.
Even that choice of word is strange.
And when I meet her, I will know.
I go back over our conversation.
I believe in love at first sight, when our eyes meet. We will both know.
I bite my lip to stifle my smile.
The doors open and I see Elliot stride out, every step purposeful.
Briefcase in hand. Back ramrod-straight. He doesn’t have to assert power, it comes naturally. Down to his bones, Elliot Miles is a born leader.
He nods and says something to his driver as he gets into the backseat. The door closes.
The car pulls out into the traffic and I watch as it drives away.
When our eyes meet. We’ll both know.
I smile softly.
Elliot Miles still believes in magic.
And I know it’s not me that he’s waiting to meet.
I’m not extraordinary.
We didn’t have that breathtaking eye-lock moment and we most definitely don’t get along.
This isn’t a grand love story.
I’m just an ordinary girl and his crush is horizontal.
I lean my chin on my hand as I stare out of the window.
But that’s okay.
One day a man is going to walk in here and sweep me off my feet and we’ll ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after.
I smile wistfully. I guess Elliot Miles and I do have one thing in common.
I believe in magic too.
We climb out of the car as cameras flash, and Daniel grabs my hand and pulls me in through the fancy black doors. “See.” He smiles proudly. “This is why you have to look good at all times. The paps are here.”
I tip my head back and laugh out loud at his delusion. “They aren’t here to get us, you idiot, they’re here to snap the actual celebrities. And please don’t say the word paps, you sound ridiculous.”
It’s Saturday night and we are at the opening of some swanky club.
Daniel flashes a broad smile as he adjusts the straps on my dress. “Hey, we are on the guest list.”
“You’re on the guest list, I’m just the slummy sidekick.”
“And don’t you look fabulous.”
I smile nervously as I run my hands down my thighs. “Are you sure this isn’t too much?”
He links my arm through his as we progress in the line. “Darling, there’s no such thing as too much.”
I giggle as I glance down at myself: I’m wearing a hot pink, fitted minidress with little capped sleeves and nude strappy stilettos. My hair is out and tucked strategically behind one ear, and for the first time ever, I’m wearing pink lipstick. It kind of looks like I just stepped out of a high-fashion sixties magazine, and I hate to admit it, but I do look good.
We arrive at the front of the line and Daniel hands over our tickets. “Pity Rebecca didn’t come.”
“I know, she’s in such a rut lately. She won’t go anywhere,” I reply.
Daniel scrunches his nose up. “This is why I’m not falling in love any time soon.” He leads me into the club.
“Why, because you’re not boring?” I ask.
“Precisely.” He chuckles.
My eyes widen as I look around. “Oh wow.”
The ceilings are so high that I can’t even see the roof; it’s dark and glamorous, with staircases around the edges that lead to the upper levels.