Page 14 of Resisting Mr Black

A knock raps at the office door and Kelly’s head pokes round. “Art, there’s an estate agent at reception asking for you,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes.

I frown as he unfolds his long limbs and slides to his feet, straightening his white top. He flickers his eyebrows up and gives me an easy smile, as if he knows exactly what’s going through my head, before he strolls out of the room.

Reconsidering my arse!

Since Magda’s phone call, I’m completely distracted. Instead of working up a timetable for next Saturday’s wedding, I spend the morning trawling estate agent websites looking for anything that’s remotely in my price range that isn’t in an extremely undesirable area and doesn’t look as though it needs to be fumigated before a human steps foot inside. Turns out there isn’t.

By the time mid-day rolls around, it’s time for me to go and check the final arrangements for the baby shower but my head’s aching from too much screen time and I’m feeling thoroughly depressed.

I spend a few moments checking the room is ready for the baby shower, which is going to be a low-key affair. The blue balloons I decorated the tables with remain upright, and the blue and white banner is thankfully still attached to the white tablecloth. The waiting staff have laid out the silver buffet serving cloches ready for the food along with plates and cutlery.

Olly is pouring orange juice into champagne glasses on a round black tray. “My favourite wedding planner.” He flashes a cheeky grin as he sees me approaching the bar. “I’m just going to take these through ready for the guests' arrival, but while you’re here there’s something I’d like you to try.”

He puts down the carton of orange juice and turns round, reaching into the low-level fridge behind the bar.

The murmur of voices makes me look up. Art’s standing in the entrance way talking to a blonde woman. His hands are pushed into the back pockets of his chinos and his brow is furrowed. He looks pissed off. An unsettling feeling takes hold of me as I take in the woman. Ridiculously high, black peep-toe heels bring her face level with his. Long, tanned legs stretch upwards and disappear beneath a very short, tight black dress. She’s definitely not an estate agent. The woman flicks her shoulder-length, platinum blonde hair over her left shoulder and I can see her red lips are moving very quickly. Although I can’t hear what she’s saying, she doesn’t seem happy either. A lovers’ tiff. The woman oozes sexual confidence and jealousy snakes its way into my thoughts as she runs a hand down his left bicep.Maybe she’s the trophy girlfriend to go with his flash car,I think bitterly.

“Try this.”

I turn to find a tumbler full of ice, clear liquid, and mint leaves on the bar in front of me. Olly rubs a hand through his wavy hair and smiles proudly. “Virgin Mojito.”

“Is this another one of your experiments?” I ask, closing my hand around the ice-cold glass. He leans forward on the bar. “Go on, Soph. You’ll like it. I promise.”

I shoot him an uncertain look and pick up the glass and take a sip. It’s cold but refreshing and just right for a day like today.

“You know, that’s not bad actually.” I nod, placing the glass back down. “That could be a winner.”

Olly breaks out into a pleased grin, but it’s short-lived as it quickly fades, and he straightens as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. I’m about to ask him what’s the matter when I feel a large firm hand rest on the base of my spine andI nearly jump out of my skin. Art sidles up beside me. Every inch of my body tingles from his touch.

“Starting early?” He looks at the glass on the bar in disapproval.

“Do you want to try it?” I offer.

He shakes his head and frowns as though it’s a heinous idea. “No, I don’t drink.”

I didn’t expect that.

“It’s non-alcoholic,” Olly enthuses.

Art’s frown remains in place as he regards Olly’s enthusiasm with disdain. “No,” he replies flatly. “I want two coffees. Bring them out to us on the terrace.”

Olly looks crestfallen as he gives a weak nod and turns to the coffee machine.

This guy is so rude!

The heat from Art’s palm is warming my back through the thin cotton of my dress and jumbling my thoughts. He leads me outside and it takes me a few seconds to realise that when he said "us", he meant me and him.

He steers us outside onto the slabbed area of the empty terrace, guiding me over to a cast iron table at the far end and doesn’t remove his hand from my back until I’m at my chair. Although I’ve relished the feel of his touch, I can’t help but think what the other staff might think of this.

I sit down and cross my legs. “I haven’t got time for this, there’s a baby shower starting very soon.”

He pulls the chair to the right of me a little closer, so we’re sitting side by side and sits down. “The difference is the guests can manage without you; I can’t.”

What the fuck did that mean?

My stomach does a 360 flip and I stare out at the sunny rose gardens to distract myself from reading too much into it. “Why are we out here?”

“Like I told you yesterday. I want to get to know you better.” He rests his elbows on the arms of the chair and stretches his long legs out in front of him.

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