Page 21 of You Had Me at Chateau
‘No problem,’ Caleb tells him. ‘Have a great day.’
‘Thanks,’ I mutter, feeling my cheeks flush. Caleb is the last person I expected to be my knight in shining armour – well, in black jeans and a Valentino T-shirt, but you take my point.
‘You’re welcome,’ Caleb says with a grin as we head for the lift. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’
Yesterday he was feeling me up, and today he’s offering to buy me a drink. What’s next? I don’t know what he’s up to, but it’s something, and it’s weird.
‘I’m okay, thanks,’ I say plainly.
‘Ah, come on,’ he replies.
‘Look, I don’t know what your game is, but I didn’t appreciate you touching me yesterday, I didn’t need you to save me today, and I don’t need you to buy me a drink, okay? You’re not the main character here, not everything is about you, is it?’
I cringe – inwardly, so he can’t see – at my out-of-character outburst. It reminds me of when I was in Year 6, at a school disco, and a boy that I really fancied asked me to dance with him, and in my panic, I told him to piss off… only for it to turn out that he was asking my friend, not me. I clearly have no idea how to act around seriously attractive men (or boys in my class who, looking back, were awful creatures).
Caleb just laughs at me, his eyes dancing with genuine amusement. I feel like there’s a joke I’m not in on here.
‘I know not everything is about me, but today it is,’ he says, his grin widening. ‘It was me who sent you the flowers, calling you in for a meeting. A meeting with me.’
I’m stunned into silence for a moment. It’s him who wants to see me? Surely not.
‘You sent me the flowers?’ I check – not that it isn’t totally fucking obvious, but I don’t know what else to say.
‘Yes,’ he replies. ‘Sorry if I wasn’t clear when, er, I just said that I did.’
‘How did you find out my address?’ I ask, frowning.
‘I asked around upstairs,’ he explains. ‘My editor asked your editor, I think.’
‘Don’t you think that’s kind of creepy?’ I clap back.
‘Oh, absolutely,’ he replies with a grin. ‘And kind of sexy.’
I’m not sure about it. It’s a GDPR nightmare, if it’s anything.
‘So, why did you send them?’ I ask, cutting to the chase.
‘To meet you,’ he says simply. ‘So, can I buy you that drink?’
I might be rushing to the point but Caleb is still taking a leisurely stroll.
‘They have a really nice café here – I think it’s only supposed to be for people who work in the building, but they let me use it,’ he explains. ‘Everyone here is working, so they tend to be professional, and leave me to my lunch in peace.’
‘Erm, okay, yeah, why not,’ I reply, bemused. I’d be lying if I said my curiosity wasn’t getting the better of me. What on earth could Caleb Carney want with me?
Caleb and I step into the lift together. I can’t believe I just said that. Caleb Carney, and me, getting into a lift, together. What the fuck?
‘I promise I won’t get handsy today,’ he jokes, raising his hands in mock surrender.
‘Thanks,’ I reply dryly, trying to hide a smile.
It’s not that I’m opposed to it, in concept, because I’m only human, but something strange is going on here.
The Cactus cafeteria is far from your average work canteen. It’s more like an upmarket café with prices to match – bloody hell, imagine working somewhere like this. Even the pastries look like they have great pensions.
The pièce de résistance, though, has to be the gorgeous roof terrace attached, which must be like a dream in the summer. Unfortunately, it’s too cold to venture out there today (although I am tempted), but through the big windows, I can see practically every notable landmark in London, from the Shard to the London Eye.
Caleb turns to me with that infuriatingly charming smile.
