Page 2 of Hit For Six
‘I put on my factor 50 this morning, but thanks for your concern.’
The thought of Julian moving an inch closer to her body made her want to throw up.
‘Suit yourself. You don’t know what you’re missing,’ his voice was tinged with irritation. ‘I stroke ever so nicely. Like amasseuse,’ he hissed the latter word, elongating the letters as if they were yearning to touch her.
Lola refused to flinch. She would not let him know that he’d got to her.
‘I said no, Julian. That’s it. Period.’
She took another sip of her drink, somehow managing to keep her hand from shaking.
‘Oh, lighten up, Lola for Christ’s sake,’ came Julian’s indignant reply several seconds later, as if he’d struggled to digest the sting of her rejection. ‘Don’t take everything so seriously. You really should try smiling a bit more. Obviously it was a joke.’ Now he was sounding even more unhinged, practically singing his words. ‘Or is your monthly making you extra emotional?’
Lola needed to channel the indifferent Anne of Cleeves from SIX. Not that romance was ever going to bud with Julian. Yuck. He was the epitome of a molesting Henry VIII, who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Like hell it was a joke. She knew Julian’s type. He’d sell his granny if he thought he could get away with it. And if he worked for the government, he’d hike up the tax on sanitary products by 1000%, not giving a toss about the trials and tribulations of a woman. Lola couldn’t abide him.
‘Refills all round?’ Julian said loudly as Harry turned back to take in the action on the pitch.
Like that wasn’t a sly attempt to make himself look even more invaluable to the boss. Lola covered her flute with one hand, gripping its stem for dear life with the other. No way did she trust Julian not to tamper with her drink. But everybody else seemed to love the two-faced guy; their orders flying in thick and fast.
‘I’ll come with you, mate,’ said Bobby, gripping Julian by the shoulder, strangely oblivious to his putrid perspiration. ‘You’re a gentleman and a scholar making sure we’re all looked after. Andyou can give me a head’s up on that bespoke birthday card range you need me to design for your client in Spain. Well done again on that mahoosive order! Now, remind me: do they want it with a confetti or glitter explosion?’
Lola gritted her teeth– and not just at the annoying mess the male designers would insist on adding to the interior of a greetings card so that some poor multitasking woman somewhere in the world had to get down on her hands and knees to clean it up.Tarjetas y Tartas(Cards & Cakes) washerclient.
Clare, Lola’s direct boss, had been on maternity leave when Julian had fed Harry a layer cake of a lie with all the cherries on top, claiming that Lola’s customer was branching out into English language stationery, which was under his domain, so it was best that he took over the account.
Unfortunately, Clare wouldn’t be fighting Lola’s corner any time soon. Her current ETA in the office was ‘some time in the New Year’. Andoh, purlease! Why couldn’t the others see through Julian like Lola did? Sure, Suzy was twice his age and (possibly) off his radar, but accounts bods were supposed to have commonsense! It beggared belief. Especially since Lola had heard rumours from her colleagues at the sister branch in Leeds from whence Julian had fled, that he was a nightmare for ‘racking up the expenses on fine-dining, nightclubs, and the rest…’ She really didn’t want to know what those ellipses entailed.
Determined to lose herself in the game, Lola flicked her eyes back to the pitch just as the second batsman lost his first over. He was quickly replaced by another Bath Beast, who hit a stunning shot that went to the boundary, earning the team four runs.
Meanwhile, Julian returned with a posy of beers. Lola practically gagged as he leant over her to pass one to Harry, who saluted him with his spare hand, only further riling her. Howshe’d be able to endure this nightmare until the second half of the game, let alone the grand finale, she had no idea.
Now the video wall zoomed in on another batsman putting on his pads and helmet ready for his turn in the spotlight. Oh! Maybe things were looking up? Why hadn’t Lola studied number six’s credentials before? Monty Beauchamp-Carmichael– according to the ticker tape– was a cutie of a team captain. Albeit his name was a bit of a tongue-twister.
‘Toff,’ sneered Julian, gulping down his drink and almost choking. Lola rolled her eyes. The guy was so predictable with his putdowns. ‘This T20 shit is for traditional rejects. It’s a hundred times easier than the real game.’
She ignored Julian’s robotic drone, and the disgusting burp that accompanied it, her eyes glued to the hottie on the giant TV. Admittedly, he did look out of her league– and not just in the cricketing sense. But he also had that gorgeously ruffled, just-got-out-of-bed hair. Strawberry blond. The type you wanted to run your fingers through. As Monty was right now. Ha, the mind reader. And his eyes, even from a pixelated distance, were giving off swoony cobalt blue. Typical that Lola was sandwiched in her seat next to prying eyes. She wanted to google him and uncover his life story. Just like she did when she got sidetracked watching a movie, whose secondary characters she recognised from one of the West End’s theatres. Boo. Now he’d stuffed his hair into his helmet, striding onto the pitch like he owned it.
Interest waning, Lola turned to Harry before Julian started up his crap again.
‘So then, pickleball: run me through the rules.’
Harry chuckled heartily at her request, shaking his head.
‘I know women are marvelous multitaskers.’ He pasted on a sympathetic smile and looked at her in earnest. ‘But I wouldn’t want to bombard you while you’re watching T20, my dear. You’ll only get confused. Best to stick to one sport at a time.’
As if to rub salt into the wound, a flying puddle of cold amber liquid splashed across Lola’s lap then, soaking her dress through to her undies. She gasped loudly.
‘You absolute…dick!’ she shrieked at Julian, caring not a jot if Harry heard her.
‘Gosh, I’m so sorry,’ the smarmy arse replied. ‘I was dodging a wasp. Dreadful time of year for them.’ He sniffed at the air, his nose leading his face ever closer to hers. ‘They’re probably attracted to your perfume. Here, allow me to dry it up for you.’
‘You will not!’ Lola gasped in disbelief again. Julian had a handkerchief at the ready. He’d staged the whole damn thing. That innocent-looking man bag of his held as many intimidation props as one of Mary Poppins’ accessories. ‘Didn’t you hear what I just called you? You’re a dickhead, Julian. A D.I.C.K head. Now leave me the fuck alone.’
Lola would never usually curse to such an extent, especially not around colleagues. She was incandescent that Julian thought he could get away with this. She tipped the pool of beer off her dress. Too bad if Harry stepped in it and went home with sticky loafers.
‘Accidents happen,’ Harry agreed, looking across and frowning heavily at the situation. Definitely too bad if he ruinedallthe cream-coloured carpets in his historic townhouse and had to face the wrath of his wife. ‘Fortunately it was beer and not red wine. But please refrain from using that kind of language, Lola,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve got acquaintances sitting behind us. It’s not really in the spirit of team building to bandy expletives about.’
That was it.
