The Revenge Date/Ten Reasons to Say I Don't Bundle (Romantic Comedy) Page 3

  All Rosie wanted to do was lower herself into a hot bath and think about, well nothing. She certainly didn’t fancy a night on the town with The Super Wallet. Turning back to check-in, she begged the girl to help her out.

  ‘There’s an ATM just around the corner.’ Unimpressed by Rosie’s attempts to fob off a perfectly hunky man, there was further bad news when the only room available was a suite, at a cost of $1500 a night.

  Mother and Father would go ballistic. What was the credit limit on her card anyway? It had been paid off in full by the family accountant for as long as she could remember.

  ‘We might have a cheaper room available tomorrow. A couple who have extended their stay intimated they might leave earlier. I can let you know in the morning.’

  It would have to do. Either that to slink back to London, or worse, to Hugo. And those two options weren’t really options at all, not at this time of the day.

  Besides, she hadn’t had a chance to sample what New York really had to offer. Nodding her consent to the pricey room, she told The Super Wallet to wait in the lobby while she extracted cash from the ATM.

  A moment later she took out $500, the maximum the card would allow. It would do for a day or so, she told herself, even after paying for the taxi. As long as her credit card didn’t fail her, she was going to have the time of her life.

  And so were, in all probability, a number of tasty, hot, NYC specimens.

  Then she was back, paying her dues, and fobbing off the advances of a crestfallen hero. Or so he thought. ‘I saved your bacon, the least you could do is let me buy you a drink.’

  The least he could do was stop talking and leave her alone. The most he could do was to self-combust so that she never, ever, had to see his creepily perfect face again. She peered at him closely. Was that Botox and implants? And that chin dimple looked deceptively contrived. Yuck. She hated men who fancied themselves to the point of surgery. Rough and ready was a far better option. As long as there was no facial hair, that was.

  ‘Look, Mr–’

  ‘Rocky. Call me Rocky.’

  As if. ‘I’m sorry but I am exhausted and I have a date later on, so if you don’t mind, I’ll have to pass on that drink.’

  The lie about the date did it; The Super Wallet crept away with his supercharged libido slowly but surely losing its will to live.

  Men! Honestly. They really were good for only a very few things.

  And a lot of the time, sex wasn’t even one of them.

  Sighing, she grabbed the receipt of her insanely expensive hotel room, and went upstairs to indulge in some well-deserved splendor.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE ROOM, IT MUST BE SAID, was divine, but Rosie was too exhausted to really enjoy it. As she lay there, watching BBC News on mute, the Grey Virgin popped into her mind. Why, why? Go away! When the image of the sour faced therapist stayed with her, Rosie wondered what the old bint would make of all this: Rosie in New York, on her own, with no plan. And no man.

  It was a strange notion, being on her own, although she suspected that the minute she stepped outside in the morning to find a decent coffee there would be numerous offers to fill the void.

  And Rosie, being Rosie, would probably choose the best-looking of the offers, and make his day. Was it was a learned behavior, just like the Grey Virgin said? No, she was young, attractive, and enjoyed sex, as long as it was safe and there was no facial hair on either party!

  Sighing, she called Scarlet, although the cost would be horrendous. Oh well. Mummy and Daddy picked up her phone tab as well, and they had so much cash they wouldn’t notice a larger-than-usual bill from Vodafone for that month, would they?

  ‘Babe, how are you?’

  ‘So, so. How are the criminals?’

  ‘Worse that so, so. Never let your mother develop a crack addiction, leave you with your alcoholic father who gets so pissed one night he tries to electrocute you with a fork in a power point, which infuriates you so much you find his gun and shoot him through the head two weeks later in a carefully planned fake robbery. End result, five years in prison.’

  ‘Er, okay, I promise.’ Scarlet was so erstwhile. She should be living it up, like Rosie. Time enough for the serious business of earning a living later on. Although in Rosie’s case, a huge inheritance from her grandmother that kicked in at age thirty-five meant she had no intention of pursuing any sort of career, serious or otherwise.

  ‘How is Hugo the banker?’

  Hugo the wanker!

  ‘Who knows?’

  ‘What happened? Did you do a ‘fuck by’ again?’ That was Scarlet’s term for Rosie’s shag-and-run approach to dating.

  ‘Not exactly. I didn’t get to the fuck bit. We got as far as the hotel lobby and the thought of sleeping with him again was turning my stomach. So I left.’

  ‘What, as soon as you got there?’

  ‘Someone thought I was his wife, for God’s sake. As if I’d settle for him.’

  There was silence. Scarlet was probably thinking that it was unlikely Rosie would find anyone to settle for unless she stopped shagging people on the first date. She’d said it often enough.

  ‘I can’t help it, Scar, the thought of being with guys for a second time creeps me out.’

  Then Scarlet finally said it: ‘But it’s not normal, Rosie. You’ve got to know that.’

  A well of horrible black sadness rose up in her throat. Scarlet, of all people, had never judged her. Well, not seriously, anyway. There was a distinct Grey Virgin tone to the conversation that evening.

  ‘Rosie, are you there? I didn’t mean to upset you. I am just worried. You’re in New York, alone, and you’ve got no plan. What on earth are you doing?’

  That did it. Now Scarlet’s words had taken on distinct phrases her mother probably had copyright on. No plan. What are you doing? Get a job. Blah, blah, blaaaaah.

  ‘Look, I have to go. It isn’t cheap to call from Manhattan.’

  ‘Since when has that stuff bothered you? Look, Rosie, I didn’t mean to–’

  But Rosie had hung up. There was no point in continuing the conversation. Her only friend didn’t understand her; was just like everyone else in her life. Demanding she change and for what? To conform to some ridiculous notion that you needed a form of commitment to have sex. As bloody well if. They were all deluded, and jealous.

  People had been jealous all her life.

  Well, except for Scarlet.

  But now, it seemed that even her dear friend had succumbed to the popular sport of Rosie Matchall bashing. No experience or thought required.

  Rosie grabbed a heavy pillow and pulled it over her head. Fuck them all, she thought, closing her tired eyes tightly. I’m in New York, I’m young, and I’m going to have a good time. No matter what everyone in London says.

  Shattered, she surprised herself by falling asleep within minutes.

  Morning blew in far too early; that’s what she got for leaving the bloody curtains open. It was late spring in New York and the day was infuriatingly sunny and bright. The hotel was at a large intersection in Tribeca, and it didn’t take long for Rosie’s appearance (in thigh-length teal cotton dress, with a bunch of long, dangly necklaces, some cute dusty pink boots with kitten heels and knee-high patterned socks) to have it’s usual effect on the traffic.

  ‘Baby, oooh, yeah!’

  ‘Hot stuff, give it to me!’

  ‘You got it goin’ on!’

  The words of the hotel receptionist were playing on her mind: ‘Sorry Miss Matchall, but when we tried to place a deposit for the cheaper room on your credit card, the bank declined.’

  Declined? It hadn’t been declined the night before.

  ‘If you wish to reserve the room, we’ll need payment in advance.’

  ‘Payment in advance? Do I look like someone who won’t pay?’

  A brief look of confusion crept across the receptionist’s face. If the credit card was declined, then of course Rosie might well be someone who wouldn’t be able
to pay. ‘I am so sorry, miss. It’s hotel policy.’

  Rosie handed over enough cash for one more night; only $326 this time, telling herself that the $100-plus change she had left would last until she either figured out the card problem, or simply headed for airport and used the lovely first-class ticket Hugo had bought her to jump a plane back to London.

  A wolf-whistle brought her back to the present. A fucking ugly, fugly, guy with a bulbous nose and pock-marked face was leering at her from the back of a cab. She stuck her own aquiline one in the smoggy air and walked off. What did these foul specimens think? That she was suddenly going to have an epiphany, lose all sense of taste and race over to them, panting with anticipation?

  A couple of blocks away she came upon a suitably trendy nook to enjoy her morning brew.

  ‘Double decaf skim latte, thanks.’

  The young barista, a boy about twenty, with the hugest ears she’d seen that weren’t on an elephant, winked suggestively. ‘You want cream with that?’

  Great, now she felt ill. ‘No thanks,’ she managed to spit out. ‘I’ve very choosy about what goes in my cup.’

  Almost dropping the stainless steel milk jug he was holding, the boy quickly turned back to the coffee machine, whilst the two other servers – girls in their teens – sniggered to each other at his embarrassment.

  Grabbing her coffee, she tipped in a couple of sweeteners and was stirring the coffee self-consciously, feeling every pair of eyes in the café on her, when a seat became available out front, in the fresh-ish air.

  Settling in, she lifted her face to the morning sun and tried not to think about Scarlet, the Grey Virgin, Mother or the judgmental hotel receptionist.

  Behind her, a deep voice spoke. ‘Not everyone here is so crude, you know.’

  Oh God, here we go again. Honestly, couldn’t she just sit in peace without being harassed?

  She turned to tell the guy to piss off.

  And saw the most devastatingly handsome specimen she had ever come across. Think a young Roger Moore-Rob Lowe mix, with a dash of Justin Timberlake thrown in; dusty blond hair (her favorite sort); blue-grey eyes, masculine, pretty-boy face with a distinct chin dimple. He was yum in a rather rundown suit. And made Pierre from Daddy’s Christmas party look like elephant ears’ cousin. Rosie felt the familiar pang between her legs, and crossed them self-consciously.

  ‘Can I make a suggestion?’

  Hah? That didn’t sound good. If fact, he sounded rather stern. Ooh, maybe this guy played games; she loved it when they played games.

  ‘If you must.’ No point in joining in the game too early. Rosie never behaved in a way that indicated she wanted anything from a man.

  Until he was servicing her, that was.

  ‘If you dressed more demurely you might attract less attention.’

  Rosie choked on the latte. Was he serious? Checking his expression – solemn, unblinking – it seemed so. No man had ever suggested she dress down. Besides, the harassment wasn’t restricted to when she wore short skirts – even sweaty and decked out in a tracksuit the comments and admiring glances were constant and abundant.

  She hadn’t been dragged though years of the best education her parents could buy to allow this cheap-suited, sexist pig to speak to her like that.

  ‘Believe it or not, the attention is entirely unrelated to the mode of dress.’ Her cut-glass vowels were like ice and turning away from her coffee, she picked up her cup and looked out across the slowly filtering traffic as if he didn’t exist.

  Rude prat.

  Suddenly, he was standing in front of her. ‘It wasn’t meant to be an insult, I was trying to help.’

  Total and utter honey or not, Rosie was not going to put up with that!

  ‘Do I look like someone who would need help from you?’ The emphasis on the ‘you’ was accompanied by a look of distaste at the cheap polyester suit.

  ‘You look like you have no direction.’

  Was he for real? Given the mood she was in that morning, she would have stabbed him with a bloody teaspoon if she’d had the good sense not to leave it at the sugar station.

  ‘You look like you have no idea what women think.’

  He smiled at that. A quirky upturned grin that belied the dismal suit. Rosie thought he belonged on a beach, tipping his hat at bikini-glad females – not lurking about in cafes in Tribeca, annoying the tourists.

  Sitting down without an invitation, he replaced the sunglasses that were sitting on his head (Raybans, she noticed, so he had some taste, despite the cheap suit), and tut-tutted at her grim expression.

  ‘Let me guess. You think you’re too good for me, or anyone, for that matter, and right now you are wondering why I don’t respond to your obvious requirement to be rid of me immediately.’

  ‘Excellent powers of deduction,’ Rosie snarled. ‘Perhaps you could see if your legs work equally well and leave me alone.’

  ‘Not before I ask you something.’

  This was going to be good. Hang on, no it wasn’t. If she didn’t want to be spoken to, she wouldn’t be. Rosie stood up, slung her bag over a well-toned shoulder and hit the pavement, moving away quickly.

  ‘Hang on, you don’t understand,’ the leech called out.

  ‘Oh, yes I do. You’re not the only one who can made accurate deductions. Come near me again and I’ll call the cops.’

  She hadn’t made it down to the end of the block before her mobile rang. Must be Scarlet, apologizing for being a total cow. But no, it was Mother, and she was pissed.

  ‘Tell me you didn’t leave poor Hugo in the lobby of the Four Seasons?’

  Poor Hugo? Since when were her ex-shag and her mother so intimately acquainted?

  ‘Rosie, are you there?’

  A deep intake of breath was required before Rosie could reply in a voice that didn’t reek of irritation. ‘How do you know about that?’

  ‘Hugo called me. He was worried about you. Said you weren’t acting normally.’

  ‘A man repulses me so I walk away. Pretty normal so far.’

  Now it was Mother’s turn to breathe deeply.

  ‘Mother, are you there?’

  ‘This is it, Rosie. You’re twenty-six, and still behave as if you’re a teenager. No job. No steady relationship. No idea as to how to run your life.’

  ‘You told me it wasn’t necessary for me to get a job.’

  ‘Because I wanted you to do charity work. I thought you could do something for the community.’

  ‘In Kensington? Who for? The poor souls unable to afford their second Bentley?’

  ‘This isn’t funny, Rosie.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. If you want me to work, fine. I’ll go work at the bank with Dad. But the next time one of my, er, male acquaintances calls you, at least have the good grace to be on my side.’

  Her mother sounded as if she was hyperventilating. ‘Don’t you dare speak of good grace, young lady. Your father and I spend thousands on you each and every year because you are our only daughter and we prayed that you would one day realize the error of your ways. That’s good grace. Not jumping into bed with everyone who crosses your path, refusing to get help for it, then dropping the men so profoundly that they come to us to complain.’

  ‘Slam the door on them, Mother. Just tell them to go away.’

  ‘If you continue in this vein, Rosie, then maybe we will do that to you.’

  Oh, this was rich. They were going to abandon their only daughter. Rosie knew they wouldn’t dare – how would that look to the Smiths-Jones and Winston-Phillages and all the other toffy-nosed friends they hung out with. Those with good breeding did not leave their precious genetic heritage to the wilds of the street. No matter what.

  ‘Fine, do it. See if I care.’ She’d call their bluff. See how Mother liked it.

  ‘We have already started doing it, Rosie, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’ve cancelled your credit card. You’ve no choice but to come home. Wher
e you’ll be expected to get a job immediately, or we will get one for you. After which, you will need to find alternative accommodation.’

  ‘I can’t believe you!’

  ‘Ditto, Rosie. Now, we will see you in within 24 hours, I imagine, given your financial state.’

  ‘I could just find myself a New York sugar daddy, Mother. Is that what you want?’

  ‘Actually, that would be a major improvement on behaving like a two-bit whore. And a free one at that.’

  Unable to take the complete and utter crap spewing from the phone any longer, Rosie hung up. Fuck her. And Dad. If they thought they could just threaten to disown her, and she would suck it up and behave, they had another thing coming. She was a grown woman, and there was no way she was going to be dictated to like that.

  Of course, there was the very minor point of her momentary lapse in liquidity.

  She needed some money, and fast.

  Wait a moment? She had a first class air ticket in her name. Unrestricted travel. Maybe she could swap it for an economy and pocket the difference. Did airlines do that? Well, it was worth finding out. Anything was worth not having to go back to London and see her parents again.

  If only Scarlet hadn’t been such a judgmental bitch yesterday. She could call her and ask for some cash. As it was, there was no one in the world she could ring for a loan right now.

  A brief flicker of sadness at the limited state of her social circle nudged her heart, but Rosie ignored it. Having spent too many hours on one-night stands, she had managed to alienate most of the girls she had known through school; along with any guy she’d shagged (and who had an ounce of self-respect) as well.