Page 38 of Another Lucky Number

Before I can answer, Amber hijacks our interaction with a gleam in her eye. ‘What a lovely offer, Sébastien. Isn’t it, Emma? Off you go then.’

Chapter Seventeen

Sébastien looks at me expectantly, gesturing towards the other dancing couples, and before I can properly register what’s happening, I’m getting to my feet. With the current song coming to an end, I’m hoping the next one will be a bit more upbeat, but instead the band transition seamlessly intoLet’s Stay Togetherby Al Green.

Oh god.It had to be one of the most romantic songs ever written.

Lola warbles the lyrics, eyes closed, face all mushed up in that soppy kind of way, and I can’t help wondering if she’s picturing Sébastien. Sébastien, meantime, has slipped one arm around my waist, clasped my right hand with the other, and is sweeping me round the makeshift dancefloor with skills to rival the contestants fromStrictly Come Dancing.

It turns out that I had nothing to worry about regarding my dancing abilities. I’m basically his puppet, and he has total control over my movements. The whole experience is quite overwhelming. The lyrics make me blush, especially when we make eye contact. Then there’s the feeling of Sébastien’smuscular back through his shirt, him being so close that I can feel his breath on my neck and the wafts of his heady fragrance mixed with his natural masculine scent. I feel like I might spontaneously combust. It’s too much doing this with the man who will be putting me through my professional paces on Monday.

Then Lola opens her eyes, and my discomfort reaches a whole new level. She shoots me one of the filthiest looks I’ve ever seen; a stark contrast to the romantic soulful melody she’s projecting to the room. Now Iknowshe was fantasising about Sébastien – and is probably thinking about how she’d like to kill me with her guitar.

Sébastien continues to shimmy me around the floor, while I attempt to block out Lola’s murderous looks and Amber’s smug face across at our table.

‘Ça va, Emma?’ Sébastien seems to tune into my discomfort. ‘You are OK?’ I can feel his smouldering eyes on me.

‘Yeah… I’m fine.’

‘I am sensing that you are not at ease with the dancing.’

‘Oh, no. It’s nothing like that.’ I attempt a wave of my hand and he course corrects me, keeping us in time with the music. ‘It’s just… you’re going to be interviewing me in a few days’ time. Whatever way that goes, it kind of makes me feel like I’m dancing with my boss.’

‘And it would be a problem for you to dance with your boss?’

‘Us Brits are awkward about this stuff. You know, “stiff upper lip”, that kind of stereotypical nonsense that has some truth behind it.’

Sébastien chuckles. ‘It is good then that I am not British, and I can spin you around this dance floor with no qualms whatsoever.’

‘I suppose, but also… us being seen dancing like this, and then you assessing me quite publicly for the job. People could make assumptions.’ I regret this comment the second it’s out of my mouth.

‘Ah, OK. You are concerned that my staff and guests will think that I am favouring you for the role, and if you are successful this will be the reason for it.’

‘Well, yes.’ This didn’t actually dawn on me until I said it but it’s quickly becoming my main concern.

Sébastien chuckles again, and performs a slick dance move that involves twirling me away, and pulling me back into him in one smooth snapping action. He then draws me even closer.

‘I will share a secret with you, Emma,’ he says. ‘I do not care what anyone thinks. The decisions I make are for the right reasons, and I do not need to justify them.’

His breath tickles my ear, which on top of the proximity of our bodies, sends my pulse racing, and I briefly wonder if he might kiss me. Feeling ever more self-conscious, my eyes scan the room as Sébastien continues to sweep me round in circles. I can see Cat and Amber’s delighted faces, the bar staff giggling and whispering to each other as they watch us, Lola shooting cruise missiles in my direction, and James looking shocked and horrified by the entrance to the bar.

Wait…what? James?I try to glance back towards the entrance, but Sébastien (unknowingly) thwarts this attempt by performing another of his fancy dance tricks. The movement and the confusion make me feel dizzy and I stumble, prompting Sébastien to bring us to a halt.

‘Emma, you are looking off colour.’ He takes my face in his hands.

‘I’m… um, yes… I think maybe I’m dehydrated again.’ My eyes dart to the entrance but there’s no one there.

Imustbe dehydrated if I’m now hallucinating. James isn’t here.Of course he’s not.He’s in the US with his mates, probably celebrating his first night of holiday freedom by drinking toomuch – a move he’ll likely regret in the morning. I make this assumption because that’s exactly what I did.

Sébastien signals to the waiting staff to bring some water and leads me back to our table.

‘What’s wrong?’ Cat gets up to help me into my seat. ‘You’re really pale, honey.’

‘I’m OK, don’t worry.’

The water arrives and Sébastien practically force feeds it to me. ‘Pardon, Emma. I apologise if the dancing was too much.’

‘I think it’syouthat’s too much for her,’ Amber mutters under her breath and winks at me.

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