Page 2 of The Middle-Aged Virgin (The Middle-Aged Virgin 1)

Chapter One

‘Aahhhhhh,’ I said as I sank my head back into the pillow. ‘This feelssogood!’

Nothing beats the sensation of climbing onto fresh sheets and snuggling up under a warm duvet on a cold January evening. Well, taking your bra off at the end of a long day comes a close second, as does devouring a slab of sticky toffee pudding with creamy M&S custard. But right now, this was utter bliss.

‘Another busy day at the office?’ asked Rich as he scrolled through some floor plans on his iPad.

‘Definitely,’ I sighed, sitting up and turning to face him. ‘It was non-stop.’

‘Go on, then,’ said Rich, gazing into my dark brown eyes. ‘I can tell you’re dying to tell me all about it.’

I chuckled. ‘You know me so well.’ I took a deep breath, ready to rattle off a lengthy list of today’s activities. ‘So, this morning I had a breakfast meeting with the beauty director ofVogueand lined up some great features for our clients. Then I went back to the office to finish going over the launch activity proposal for the new limited-edition lipsticks MIKA Cosmetics are bringing out with two massive influencers this summer—’

‘Remind me of their names again?’ asked Rich, putting his iPad on the duvet beside him to give me his attention.

‘Céline, the beauty director ofAspiremagazine, and then Amelia, the mega blogger I was telling you about before, who has 5.5 million Instagram followers. Ringing any bells?’ I asked, scanning his crumpled face.

‘Um, not really,’ he replied, ‘but carry on…’

‘So then I had to rush over to Mayfair to Daniel’s new flagship salon—’

‘Who’s Daniel again?’ interrupted Rich.

‘Daniel!’ I huffed. ‘You know? The celebrity hairdresser who just opened his salon on Mount Street? We organised the massive launch party in November?’ His face still remained blanker than a fresh sheet of paper. ‘He does all the A-listers and models? Adele? Kate Moss? Jourdan Dunn? Charges five hundred pounds for a haircut?’

Good God. Richmustbe tired if the penny hadn’t dropped by now. We’d spentmonthsworking on that launch, and literally every newspaper, magazine and website had covered it.

‘Ah yes!’ he replied finally. ‘Bloody hell! He really charges five hundred pounds for a haircut? Does he use solid gold scissors and sprinkle your hair with diamonds afterwards?’ He laughed, clearly amused at his own joke.

‘Ha-ha. Very funny, Rich. Daniel is legendary. He’s styled the hair of every superstar you could imagine, has a career spanning over four decades and isstillat the top of his game…’ I saw Rich’s eyes beginning to glaze over.

‘Carry on, Soph,’ he said. ‘I’m still listening.’

‘After that, I had dinner at The Shard with the CEO of an Australian beauty company. Then, when I got in, as you might have heard, I was on the phone to Viktor, the president of Purity Skincare in Canada, as we had to discuss some amendments for Ava’s contract…’ Yep, I’d lost him again…

As a partner in a top architecture firm and bona fide ‘man’s man’, Rich had about as much interest in celebrities and popular culture as an arachnophobe has in cosying up with a giant tarantula. But despite this, as part of our evening routine, he always tried to listen to the updates of my day at the office, even if, as tonight proved, what I told him often went in one ear and out the other.

‘Ava is the hot new star who’s tipped to win Best Supporting Actress at the Oscars and is into green, clean living,’ I clarified as I reached for my brush and started running it through my glossy black shoulder-length hair. Nope. His expression still remained empty. ‘Well, Ava is becoming the new face of the brand, which isreallyexciting.’

‘I’ll have to take your word for that, Soph,’ replied Rich. ‘And exhaustion is a small price to pay when you’re running London’s most successful beauty PR agency.’

‘Yeah, you’re right.’ I reflected on what we’d achieved. Last year had been our most successful yet, and even though the new year had just begun, I was confident that we would do even better in the next twelve months. ‘I love what I do—there’s no way I’d work all these long hours otherwise. But after a fifteen-hour day, having the chance to relax in bed is like heaven.’

‘I bet it is,’ said Rich.

‘After my meeting with Daniel, Idid, however, make a quick pitstop to buy this,’ I said, putting my brush down and peeling the duvet back slowly to reveal my new black silk nightdress, which clung suggestively around my toned size eight figure. ‘What do you think?’

‘Oh…erm,’ stuttered Rich as he quickly grabbed his iPad and fixed his gaze firmly on the screen. ‘It’s nice…but I…I better get back to these plans and then go straight to bed,’ he said, stretching his arms out towards the ceiling and feigning a loud yawn. ‘Early start in the morning and all that.’

Well, that went down like a lead balloon. Not really a surprise, as I was used to the excuses by now, but it was worth a try. Maybe it was for the best anyway, considering how tired I was.

I pulled the covers up to my chin and turned around. Then, just as I was about to attempt to go to sleep, the phone rang. WTF? It was 11.30 p.m., which was already a good half an hour past my scheduled bedtime.

‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ Rich barked, clearly irritated about me taking another late-night international call in bed.

I picked up my iPhone from my mirrored bedside table. As Henri’s name flashed across the screen, I realised it wasn’t a client call after all. My stomach tightened.

‘Salut, Sophia. Ça va?’ he asked.

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