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

  ‘What, someone who isn’t a total sycophant?’

  ‘Er, what’s that?’

  Dope. ‘A suck-up.’

  ‘Right, well, um, what was the question?’

  God, what a moron. He might be the only man she’d met with violet eyes, but his brain was a pretty good contraceptive. She had to move this thing along. Her other ‘job’ was about to address some internet conference down near Ground Zero.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Where what?’

  ‘Where do you want to meet?’

  ‘Starbucks?’

  ‘Where, genius?’

  ‘Wherever you want, babe.’

  ‘Tribeca, I suppose. West Broadway.’

  ‘Now?’

  Loser. ‘No, I’m busy.’

  Rosie thought quickly. What time would make it a nightmare for him, traffic-wise?

  ‘Around 5:00 p.m. And don’t be late, because I’ve got an appointment at 6:00.’

  By the time she’d hung up, Rosie guessed that Felix was a blithering mess. She couldn’t wait to tell Julia.

  This job was working out to be easier than she thought.

  Her mother called so many times that in the end, Rosie had to pick up. She might think her daughter was a sex addict, but Rosie still had enough sympathy for the state of motherhood to give away the fact that she was still alive and well.

  ‘Yes, Mother?’

  ‘My God, darling, are you okay?’

  ‘Clearly, given I am answering the phone.’

  ‘When are you coming home?’

  ‘Hugo cancelled my ticket.’

  That got a gratifying gasp of horror. ‘What? Then why didn’t you call? We would have bought another.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, Scarlet’s friend had a place to stay, in Queens, over a pizza shop.’

  Another lovely, lovely, gasp. ‘You can’t stay in Queens.’

  ‘Don’t be such a snob, Mother.’

  ‘Look, come home. We won’t make you work, as long as you keep seeing Doctor Rosswell.’

  Rosie snorted. Imagine if the Grey Virgin knew she was using her surname to entice a famous singer so that she could annihilate him. Imagine if her mother knew it, for that matter.

  ‘I’ll come home when I’ve raised enough money to fly.’

  ‘That’s not necessary, Rosie.’

  ‘Yes, it is. You told me I needed to grow up, and I agree.’

  ‘You’re not living with a man, are you?’

  ‘Not that it is any of your business, but no, I am not. I have a job, and I am living in a perfectly nice hotel.’

  ‘A job, what sort of job?’

  ‘Just temp work for a private investigations company: paperwork, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Rosie, you have a 2:1 from Bristol.’

  ‘And parents who deserted me when a guy both I and they barely knew told tales.’

  ‘Look, let’s start again, shall we?’

  ‘Mother, let’s not. I am perfectly happy in New York for a while, don’t worry, alright.’

  She didn’t really care whether her mother was worried, after what she’d done, but with this new job opportunity Rosie had discovered that she was beginning to develop some new emotions – sympathy being one of them.

  ‘If you’re sure . . .’

  ‘I’ll see you soon enough, back in London. I don’t have a proper work visa, anyway, so at some point I am going to have to sort that out.’

  Although, given Alex was happily paying her cash, as long as she didn’t overstay her holiday visa, Rosie couldn’t foresee any problems.

  The call, therefore, ended on good terms, and for the first time in a long time, Rosie felt proud of herself.

  And then Cliff Askie completely ignored her.

  She’d planned to walk past him, dressed in a tight skirt and white shirt and killer heels, and ask if he was the accountant she was supposed to meet about the lawsuit.

  But her first problem was that he was completely surrounded by a crowd of people, and it was impossible to get near him.

  Then, having to abandon the random question approach, she staged a fake fall, which brought every red blooded man running – except for Cliff.

  Then, when she’d noticed that Cliff was holiday a packet of Smarties, she moaned that she was diabetic and needed something with sugar in it. He came over and passed the tube to his assistant, casting a casual glance her way, then his phone rang and he walked away, engrossed in the call.

  An ambulance turned up, and Rosie had been shoved into it, and hit on all the way to the closest hospital by two paramedics who were so happy to see her they forgot to actually take her pulse or check her limbs for signs of damage.

  Biting the bullet, she’d rung Georgia to ask what she could be doing wrong. Nerds usually went for her in a desperate and pathetic way. The billionaire was just a nerd who got lucky. The usual rules should still apply.

  ‘Oh, he probably left his glasses at home. He has the worst vision.’

  Poor girl sounded so lovelorn Rosie wanted to kick her. ‘Well, don’t worry; I’m not going to let that defeat me. I have plenty more ways to get him to the alter.’

  Almost blind.

  That explained it then.

  But if he couldn’t see her, she was going to need a more intimate approach. But what?

  Deciding that she had worked far too hard over the last 48 hours, Rosie headed for Barneys to spend some of the cash she had stashed in the safe deposit box at the hotel. Two hours later, she emerged with numerous bags of designer delights, and a new plan to entice the super geek.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE TRIBECA STARBUCKS COULD HAVE been transplanted from any in London, at least when it came to the patrons. There was the usual eclectic mix: consciousness students with furrowed brows and grey pallor; gorgeous young girls dressed right on trend, to the point of looking ridiculous; suits having meetings; suits working diligently on laptops. And they all looked up as Rosie entered at 5:15 p.m. that evening.

  Wearing one of her new purchases – a cute black mini by some fabulous New York designer she had never heard of – and black Dolce pumps, her blonde hair was a shining sheet of gold – thanks to a quick hairwash and meticulous application of the best hair-straighteners money could buy.

  Her natural good looks meant Rosie didn’t usually spend too much time cultivating them, but when a couple of finishing touches were applied, she knew her usual allure was magnified greatly. Well, Felix deserved to see the best of what he could never have, didn’t he?

  Grabbing a Frappuccino for a change of pace from her usual latte, she accepted the freebie muffin the salivating youth on the counter offered.

  Then, finding a table in the back (let Mr Superstar walk all the way through the place to get to her!) she stretched out her legs, took a copy of Moby Dick, Felix’s favorite book, according to Julia, and pretended to read.

  Apparently the book was the one thing he remembered sharing with his late father.

  Rosie grinned. Poor Felix. He had no idea what horror was soon to befall him, did he?

  Her plan involved maximum humiliation, and for $25,000, it was only what Julia deserved.

  Female solidarity and all that.

  Besides, Felix’s initial rude come-on was proof he was a prick and an arsehole, wasn’t it?

  A man deserving of retribution, if every she’d seen one.

  Suddenly, there was a huge commotion at the front door.

  Rosie looked up to find half the patrons who were sitting quietly a moment ago now had their noses pressed up against the glass of the coffee shop.

  ‘Here we go,’ Rosie said to herself, forcing her eyes to look down at the book again. It wouldn’t do to let him see her watching. That might imply she gave a crap. Which, of course, she didn’t.

  Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the crowd moving back to their tables, but there was still an electric silence.

  Then she heard his voice.

  ‘A coffee.’
>
  ‘Sure, wow Mr Hastings, this is a real honor.’ Free Muffin Boy’s voice was clear and high-pitched. He sounded like a mating cat.

  ‘Whatever, kid, just a coffee. Bring it to that table down the back, will you?’

  Right, so he’d seen her, then. Rosie, feeling an overwhelming urge to start laughing, warned herself to hold it together.

  Everyone was still silent. Rosie noticed a number of white flashes from the front of the café – people taking photos on their camera phones, no doubt.

  Shit. Should have thought about that - she didn’t want to end up on YouTube or something. Turning away so that he face didn’t show, she decided Felix would have to stop get the staff to put a stop to the photos.

  Suddenly, that smell of strong aftershave and soap was so strong that she finally allowed herself to look at him.

  ‘Babe, so glad to see you.’

  She smiled tightly, as if she couldn’t stand him. Which she couldn’t.

  ‘I only have a few minutes, but you need to stop them taking pictures.’

  Thinking again how stupid she was not to have bloody considered it – it wouldn’t do for her to be seen with Felix, if she was trying to entice Cliff to the alter. Although, she hadn’t actually met the billionaire yet, so, on the other hand, it might add some kudos to the situations – dating a famous rockstar.

  ‘On second thoughts, don’t worry about it. It’s just that the flashes give me a headache.’

  Free Muffin Boy scurried over with Felix’s coffee, insisting that it was on the house. There wasn’t room in the rockstar’s skin tight leather trousers for a dime, let alone a wallet, so Rosie assumed Felix hadn’t planned on paying, anyway.

  Which reminded her: ‘Don’t bother about asking me what I want, will you?’

  Looking shocked at his faux pas, Felix jumped up. ‘Of course, shit, sorry, what do you want, babe. A cappuccino? Another muffin? I’ll buy you the whole fuckin’ store if you want.’

  ‘It’s actually part of a huge international corporation, so that would be impossible.’ Rosie shrugged. ‘And don’t worry, I’m okay. Just pointing out what a rude bastard you are.’

  Felix Hastings didn’t know what the say to that. He gawked at her, taking in the long, subtlety tanned legs, the dramatic contrast between her fair hair and the black mini.

  ‘You look even more amazing than the other day. Thought that would be impossible.’

  Rosie yawned and looked at her watch. She snapped Moby Dick shut, and Felix stared at it.

  And stared.

  And stared.

  ‘It must be fate,’ he finally said.

  Flippin’ hell. This was so easy.

  ‘Moby Dick, actually.’

  ‘That’s my favorite book; incredible!’

  ‘More incredible that you can read,’ Rosie mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear.

  ‘Look, Rosie, will you come to Rome with me next week? I have a concert–’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No, I won’t go with you.’

  The baby-smooth face (Botox, definitely, she reckoned) creased into a frown. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I hate your music, and quite frankly, you haven’t shown me any personal attributes to lead me to believe you as a person are any better.’

  ‘Look, all this shit about being a singer, that’s not me.’ He pointed to the book. ‘This, this is me?’

  ‘What? You’re a whale?’ She was enjoying being purposely obtuse.

  ‘No, I mean– Shit!’ He rubbed his eyes frantically. ‘I’m not explaining myself very well, I mean that you are someone who might be able to get me, the real me.’

  ‘It’s all about you then?’ Gosh, this was fun. Like a cat playing with a trapped mouse. Any other self-respecting guy would have told her to fuck-off by now, but Felix, she knew from Julia, had never been rejected. He picked up his first guitar at ten, had his first hit song at sixteen. Before he even understood what sex was, girls had been throwing themselves at him. Even Julia, a huge star herself, had made the approach.

  So the fact that Felix was chasing Rosie was a first.

  She decided to throw him a bone – it was about time to bring this job to an end, anyway.

  ‘How about a date tomorrow night. One chance for you to show me what you’ve got.’

  ‘Rainbow Room?’ Felix suggested immediately, moving his chair in closer.

  ‘A cliché, but okay.’

  ‘I’ll pick you up at 8:00?’

  ‘No, I’ll meet you there.’

  Once again, his face crumbled. Another bone might be in order.

  She leaned over. ‘But if you don’t manage to put me off my dinner, I might treat you to the most mind-blowing orgasm you’ve ever had.’

  Given she’d been so aloof from the moment they had met; this comment had an immediate, and obviously uncomfortable effort on Felix’s nether regions. The bulge in his stupid leather pants was unmistakable.

  Rosie wanted to laugh, but she stopped herself. No yet. In order to fully maximize Julia’s pleasure, any further humiliation needed to be duly recorded. Which reminded her, she needed to get along to an electronics store before the shops closed; get herself a little video camera.

  Alex hadn’t suggested it, but Rosie felt that it was the very least she could do for her clients.

  And besides, it might be a good way to keep them in line in case one of these boys decided to sue.

  The threat of a YouTube blockbuster would put them off that idea – forever!

  ‘Gotta go,’ Rosie stood up, and began walking away.

  ‘Wait, not yet.’ Felix’s voice was plaintive and a few of Starbucks’ patrons began sniggering.

  Rosie walked back to him. ‘Do yourself a favor, and walk out with me. You look pathetic sitting there alone.’

  So, with one of the world’s biggest stars following her like a lapdog, the two of them headed for the pavement.

  Alex called just as she was heading home from the electronics store, $1000 worth of equipment in hand. As usual, her lower half reacted violently to his voice. Stop it. Bloody stop it. Be professional, will you!

  She updated him briskly, fully expecting him to be ecstatic at the news that Felix had already seemed eager to arrange a further date, but Alex didn’t seem all that interested.

  Seemed quite curt, in fact.

  ‘So, you think the Hastings’ job will be over soon?’

  ‘Tomorrow night, hopefully.’

  ‘Hmm. That was quick.’

  ‘Is everything okay?’ Rosie asked.

  He ignored the question. ‘What about Askie, any joy there?’

  ‘Georgia failed to mention he has a problem seeing past his nose when he isn’t wearing his glasses. And apparently he doesn’t like wearing them because his vain. I mean, that’s nuts. Clearly he hasn’t seen his hair.’

  Rosie didn’t usually attempt to humor men in any way – she figured that was their job.

  So why was she doing it with Alex?

  You like him, that’s why. Rosie pushed the thought away. I’d like to fuck him, she conceded to herself. That’s different.

  ‘So you’ve his itinerary for the next few days?’

  ‘It’s in hand, Alex. Mr Billionaire is holed up in his office block for the next few days. Then he leaves for Australia. But there’s plenty of time.’

  ‘Australia’s not in the budget, Rosie. You’ve got to get to him before that.’

  Still sounding very rude.

  ‘I will, don’t worry. Besides, I assumed these jobs might take weeks, not a week. So far I am making incredible progress.’

  ‘Yes, yes, you are.’

  ‘Then how come you sound so grim?’

  ‘Just ex-wife troubles that’s all. Why don’t we meet up for breakfast after your date with Felix, I’ll buy you some eggs or something to make up for it.’

  ‘Gosh, you know how to treat a girl.’

  Finally, his voice displayed a sign of life. ‘Oh bel
ieve me, I do, missy!’

  When she’d rung off, Rosie went straight upstairs and after scrubbing her face free of all makeup – it wouldn’t do to breakout now! – she lay in bed and when she found her hand creeping southwards, it was of Alex, and not her usual, Pierre, that she found herself fantasizing about.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE ASSAULT ON CLIFF ASKIE BEGAN in earnest in the morning. If a man had trouble seeing, then at some point he had to wear glasses (or contacts, but given the comb over, she didn’t see that vanity played a large part in Cliff’s mode of operation).

  This time she wasn’t going in, puns aside, blind! She’s spent a good hour online last night in the hotel’s business centre, trawling through personal interviews with Cliff – whom she had christened ‘The Drip’ on account of his boring, pathetic, whiney ways. For example, the man insisted, insisted, on visiting the poor at some shelter every other Saturday, but then sacked any employee without ceremony who refused to dress in one of the company corporate colors of white, green and yellow. Yellow, for fuck’s sake – what a loser. At least choose a color that didn’t make people appear to have jaundice.