Page 87 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
“I’ve got a room booked over near Kings Cross,” said Jim.
“What?” Kate found herself repeating.
“Don’t act coy, Kate,” said Jim. “We both know why we’re here.”
“But,” said Kate. “But.”
She opened and closed her mouth a few times as she tried and failed to formulate a response. She’d dealt with creeps on numerous occasions but never one who hid his creepy under such a gentlemanly façade. She was trying to keep her temper, but it wasn’t easy.
“I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression,” said Kate. “But this is just a date. Nothing more.”
“Oh, come on!” said Jim. “You’re my number eight, I was on a roll. Don’t make me miss my stride.”
“Did you switch places with your evil twin while I was in the toilet?” Kate asked.
“I thought we were on the same wavelength,” said Jim. “We’ve had a nice evening, we’ve got great chemistry, so why not?”
“Why not?” Kate blustered. “What about all that stuff about wanting to settle down and be in a team of two?”
“That was just to get you damp,” he said.
“You’re disgusting!” said Kate. Her temper was so hot she could feel her dinner roiling in her stomach.
“Oh great!” said Jim. “Just my luck. Another bird who watches rom-coms! I’ll let you in on a little secret. This is the TwelveShagsof Christmas, love! How did you think this was going to end?”
Kate blustered.
“With a good-night kiss and a second date,” she hissed. “You misogynistic arsehole!”
“It’s Christmas, darlin’,” Jim drooled. “Loosen your corset a bit, treat yourself!”
“I am not yourdarlin’!” Kate hissed across the table. She didn’t want to make a scene. “And sleeping with you is not my idea of treating myself!”
Jim seemed to be bringing out a Victorian side of her personality.
“You’ve got a high opinion of yourself, love,” sneered Jim.
“And you’ve clearly got a split personality!” said Kate. “Somewhere between courses I’ve wound up with Mr. Hyde.”
“I’d settle for an angry shag,” said Jim. “I’m not proud.”
“There isnothingthat would induce me to have sex with you,” said Kate.
“Right,” said Jim.
He stood up and threw his napkin down on the table.
“Well, this has been a complete waste of time,” he said. “I’m going to the bar to see if I can salvage a number eight. I’ve got money riding on this.”
He strode through the emptying restaurant and up the steps and settled himself at the bar next to a woman in a sheer, skintight pink dress, with no demonstrable knickers and an umbrella in her cocktail glass.
Kate was about to go and warn the woman, when the rep came over and bent to Kate’s ear.
“Can you come with me a moment?” she whispered.
Kate looked over at Jim to see him running his hand up the woman’s back. The rep saw her looking.
“Don’t worry about him,” she said. “We’ve got his number.”
