Page 18 of Carbon

A giggle escaped at the thought of emailing Gregory to start a conversation. Would he get off on that?

He glanced up. “Did you say something?”

“No, just a tickle in my throat.”

At the restaurant, Gregory rested one hand on the small of my back as he held the door open for me to go through, forever polite. The maître d’ rushed over to take my coat.

“Mr. Fitzgerald, Ms. Fordham, how lovely to see you. Let me show you to your table.”

I’d imagined Gregory would have got the primo spot by the window, but a couple was already sitting there. Still, the maître d’ headed in that direction.

“The man on the left is Phillip Jefferson, consultant anaesthetist,” Gregory whispered. “I’m hoping to work with him in the future, so it’s important this dinner goes well.”

Wait a second. He’d brought me to a bloody business meeting? I clenched my teeth as Phillip rose to greet me with a kiss on each cheek, cursing myself for being made a fool of once again.

“Augusta, this is Phillip and, er...”

“Phillippa, my fiancée,” Phillip helpfully put in.

Phillip and Phillippa? I swallowed down the laughter that threatened as Phillippa pulled me into a hug. Well, at least I wouldn’t forget their names.

Nor did I forget the manners Mother had drilled into me as I made small talk over the starter and smiled blandly between mouthfuls of the glazed salmon Gregory ordered for my main course. But when he passed on dessert in favour of a cheeseboard, I struggled to maintain my façade.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to visit the ladies’ room.”

The men stood up as I put my napkin on the table and pushed my chair back, and when I glanced behind, I found Phillippa following. What was this? A group outing?

She started gushing as soon as the door clicked shut behind us. “Wow, this is so exciting! I mean, you and Gregory? And isn’t your sister that famous author?”

“Yes, Angelica writes books.”

“I’ve read, like, every single one. Do you think you could get her to sign my copies?”

I managed a tired smile. “Yes, no problem.”

“Ooh, you’re amazing.” She clapped her hands together. “And lucky—I mean, the way Gregory looks at you.”

Huh? “How does he look at me?”

“Like he wants to take you shopping and invite you to the opening night at the opera.”

Really? All I’d picked up was mild interest. “I’m more of a rock music girl myself.” When my mother and Angie weren’t around, I cranked up Bon Jovi and danced around the lounge.

Phillippa nudged me with her shoulder. “You’re so funny. But seriously, any girl would kill to marry Gregory. I mean, look at his ex-wife—he gave her bigger breasts, a new nose, and a facelift, all for free.”

The idea of going under the knife made me shudder. “I’m not sure that’s for me.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. He could smooth out all those little wrinkles.” She pointed at my forehead. “Botox doesn’t work forever, you know.”

“I actually just came in here to use the toilet.” Not be insulted by a wannabe Barbie doll.

“Sure, sure. I can talk through the door.”

Wonderful. I tried to pee quietly while Phillippa dished the dirt on Gregory’s ex, their divorce, and his return to England.

“Apparently it was irreconcilable differences, which we all know means she had an affair. Her personal trainer, I heard. My friend Belinda said Gregory’s wife complained he wasn’t meeting her needs, which is ridiculous because he bought her a new Mercedes coupé only a month before they split.”

“Maybe there’s more to life than money?” I said, muffled by the door.

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