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

  Rocking up to the towering office building down by Gramercy, where the Askie Corporation housed its most prized employees from around the world, Rosie patted down the simple white tunic dress, took off her sunglasses, and checked her canary yellow Dior carryall to make sure she had the new pair of prescription lenses purchased from a shop recommended by the bitch receptionist at The Roundhouse (you’d think paying full room rate and spending a fair amount on room service each day would qualify Rosie for a smile – but no).

  The fact that she had no idea whether it was accurate didn’t worry her – opticians make mistakes sometimes, don’t that? Okay, they almost never make mistakes, but whatever. Rosie sprayed herself liberally with Lou Lou, a fragrance that Georgia said reminded Cliff of his late mother.

  A mummy’s boy and fugly to go with it. What a prize. Georgia could do so much better that The Drip. For some, money must be a huge aphrodisiac. Rosie was all about the looks. If I guy didn’t smolder, no amount of money would get her in the sack with him.

  Her mobile vibrated in her pocket. Thinking, hoping, it was Alex, she snatched it up to find it was Felix.

  Crap.

  ‘Hi babe, just checking you’re right for tonight.’

  ‘If I give my word, Felix, I follow through.’ The words sounded straightforward enough, but Rosie tried to make them sound as sexy as possible.

  ‘Right, that’s great, thanks so much. I can’t wait. For it all.’

  ‘Ah hah.’ Rosie wasn’t giving anything more away. After the crack about the orgasm, she was careful to veer dramatically from further talk of sex. Simply sounding like a pornstar, however, was of course a totally different thing.

  Let him hear the voice, and wonder whether he’d imagined the words!

  ‘So, what are you doing?’

  Shit, he wanted to do the small talk thing?

  Give me a fucking break.

  ‘Working, actually, and I am about to meet a client so I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Right, see you later–’

  But she’d cut him off. Cliff Askie had just entered the building from his Roller, and Rosie had to get the reception desk before him. Running to the side entrance and pulling open one of the manually-operated doors, whilst Cliff approached through the revolving ones at the front, she managed to walk quickly, but not too quickly, to the dour man in uniform, sitting at a glass desk at that moment about four meters ahead of The Drip.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Dour man was dour no more at the sight of Rosie. She smiled a slight smile, knowing her red lipstick set off her naturally white teeth brilliantly.

  Today, she was little-miss-meek-and-mild. ‘Yes, please. I have a delivery for Mr Cliff Askie. From the In Eye Line opticians down on West Broadway.

  Totally bogus name, so fingers crossed Dour wouldn’t check it out.

  ‘Oh, well–’

  Suddenly, predictably, a voice at her side interrupted. ‘Don’t worry Milt, I’ve got this. I’m Cliff Askie, can I help you?’

  Rosie, blonde hair held demurely in place by a thin yellow headband so that the full extent of her exquisite features was visible, along with her cascading hair (back to its naturally wavy state), turned, eyes wide open.

  ‘Oh, Mr Askie. Yes, here are your new glasses.’

  But by then, the law of nature had taken over. Cliff Askie was ogling Rosie as if she was a medium sirloin and he hadn’t eaten in a week.

  ‘I, um, didn’t think I had, um, ordered spectacles.’

  ‘That’s what they told me. But, you see, the old man I work for can be a bit, well, you know–’

  She cast her eyes down. Reading last night that Cliff detested pushy women – his mother was apparently so quiet that often the family assumed she was out, only to find she had been pottering about in the house for hours, quiet as a metaphorical mouse.

  ‘Come upstairs to my office, dear, and we will sort this out.’

  ‘Mr Askie, we are due on four for a meeting with the ad agency about the new telePAR.’ A thin man with a worried expression and ill-fitting suit pointed upwards for emphasis.

  Cliff Askie shook his head. ‘You don’t need me for that, David. You handle it.’

  There was a shocked silence, and Rosie could guess why. Cliff Askie was also supposedly a control freak, and didn’t allow any spending of major business bucks without his exacting perusal.

  ‘But they need sign off, sir.’ This time, it was a female version of David, almost identical, down to the bad jacket and trousers. Obviously, Askie liked to surround himself with the hugest geeks the world had to offer.

  She waved a hand in mock horror, all trace of yesterday’s polish removed. Cliff Askie liked his woman to dress plainly.

  But, considering Georgia and his first wife, he also liked his women to sport big boobs.

  And Rosie was happy she could oblige in that department.

  ‘No, Mr Askie, don’t worry,’ she said in a soft monotone. ‘This is my last day but I am sure that my boss will send the other junior, Howell, back tomorrow with an explanation.’

  As Rosie fully suspected, The Drip clocked the words ‘last day’ and not being a nonce like Felix Hastings, realized his chance was now or never.

  ‘No, no, come up. These boys and girls can manage without me. That’s what I pay them for.’ Cliff’s smile was crooked and yellowing.

  Nice.

  Luckily, her plan for him didn’t involve any nocturnal fumblings. She’d have to be off her face to fuck someone like him.

  A few minutes later they were on the 50th floor, passing a startled looking secretary who stared at Rosie as if she were an alien.

  ‘Your fiancée called, Mr Askie,’ she said, still looking pointedly at Rosie. ‘Wanted to know if you were okay for lunch.’

  But The Drip’s mind was elsewhere. ‘What, oh, er, I don’t know. Tell her I’ll call her back to confirm.’

  The fiancée was Deely McCawley, an actress from a defunct sitcom who looked like a pretty little school mistress, but, according to what Cliff had told Georgia, enjoyed his sexual predilection for wearing nappies.

  Nappies, for fuck’s sake. What the hell is that about? No way was she going there, which is why she’d worked out a plan that kept her away from any form of naked activity.

  The view from Askie’s office was predictably incredible. Rosie couldn’t give a rat’s arse about views – after all, she’d grown up with money and had seen more impressive European vistas than a German WW2 pilot.

  But the meek, mild version of Rosie had to express delight. ‘Wow, Mr Askie, look at that.’

  Walking over to the window, she provided the billionaire with her own lovely vista – legs and bum to die for. Quite literally, if she got her way.

  Bring him to the point of suicide, that was the brief from Georgia.

  Honey, I’ll do my best, Rosie promised to the view she was looking at. It’s the least I can do to make up for you having to fuck this weasel for years and then being ditched like trash.

  ‘What’s that perfume you are wearing?’

  Pretense continuing, Rosie acted as if wasn’t expected the question. ‘Lou Lou. It was my mother’s favorite. She died young. Cancer of the throat.’

  The Drip’s eyes widened. ‘My God, that’s virtually identical to my own mother.’

  Really? What a surprise.

  ‘It’s sad,’ Rosie said, looking downcast.

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  There was a moment of silence, then the billionaire asked if she was hungry.

  ‘It’s only 10:30, isn’t that too early for lunch?’

  ‘The place I have in mind will take some time to get to.’

  He smiled knowingly at her. Rosie wished he’d back off. He was standing so close she could smell his eggy breath.

  ‘Yes, some hours, at least.’

  ‘Really?’ Fuck. Not Paris.

  ‘I thought we could take my plane to Paris.’

  Oh, the predictability of it all, she thought yet again.

&n
bsp; Then she remembered: Rosie had a hot date with Felix Hastings, and she couldn’t break it.

  Hang on, maybe she could?

  Bump him for a night?

  Make him want her even more?

  ‘Oooo, Paris. I’ve only been there once,’ Rosie said, lying through her teeth. She was so familiar with the French city she could act as a human satnav for the place.

  ‘Do you have a passport?’

  Luckily, Rosie had in on her. She always carried it about when she traveled, just in case she had to make an airport run to escape some loser guy. The irony was, this time she needed it to go with some loser guy.

  ‘Yes, in fact, I have it right here.’ She patted the Dior carryall. ‘I was using it as ID for my application for Columbia.’

  Smart was important to Askie too, Rosie’s Google searched had revealed – although she sensed that she could have been a total halfwit and he would still be eyeing her up and down as if she were something on display in a deli window.

  ‘Really. What are you planning to study?’

  Ah, the pièce de résistance!

  ‘Medicine. I’ve already got a degree from Bristol in England.’

  At least that was true.

  Not that she cared about lying to Cliff Askie.

  If he was letting his dick to the thinking, that was his problem, not hers.

  ‘My God, really?’

  His smile was now so wide that he resembled a seaside attraction – if she had some of those white balls she might be tempted to stuff one in his clown-like mouth.

  ‘I will need to be back tonight, though,’ she told him, looking straight into his watery brown eyes. ‘I have an interview at Columbia at 10:00 a.m. tomorrow.’ And she didn’t want to break her breakfast meeting with Alex, even though she was canceling Felix.

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame.’ But he didn’t question it. Any man who had made a billion should understand the importance of obligation. ‘Let’s get going then, shall we?’

  Rosie nodded. ‘Let’s.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  FELIX DIDN’T TAKE IT WELL. Her call dragged him out of some expensive recording session (according to his manager, who picked up the phone). ‘You’re having me on. We had a date.’

  ‘My father is sick.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I’ll hire him a nurse.’

  ‘I don’t know if you heard correctly. My father is ill, really ill. I don’t want some nurse looking after him.’

  ‘Oh. So, can we reschedule?’

  ‘How about same venue, lunch tomorrow instead?’ The sooner Felix was shamed and over with, the better.

  ‘Um, okay, I might have a TV thing but I’ll move it.’

  ‘You do that then. See you at 1:00. Rainbow Room.’

  ‘Yeah, okay, good–’

  Confident her needar was working as well as ever, told him she had to go.

  ‘But–’

  And once again, she just hung up on him.

  This guy is such as tool he had to be a dud fuck. If she could be bothered, she’d even lay bets on it. No doubt there would be good odds at the bookies, too. Felix Hastings was known as an incredible shag.

  But Rosie Matchall just didn’t believe it.

  Someone with an IQ that low couldn’t possibly know how to please a woman.

  The plane was unattractively decked out in the billionaire’s favorite colors. Puck-inducing, Rosie decided, as she surveyed the grey, yellow and white striped leather interior. Reminded her of what she imagined a rotten-egg explosion might look like. Sadly, in her white shift and yellow carryall, she blended in well.

  ‘What do you think?’ Cliff smiled broadly.

  That you need to see a dentist?

  The Drip hadn’t left her side since he’d met her, and she was thinking she might have to sleep in the plane’s toilet to get some fresh air. The man stank. What was Georgia Kettle thinking? To say nothing of the Keely person who was next in line to the altar?

  ‘Cliff, it’s really, well, wow.’ It wasn’t too difficult to pretend to be naïve, Rosie decided. Easy not to think, when doing this job.

  She’d let Alex know where she was going, in case Cliff Askie turned out to be a closet serial killer as well as a nappy wearer.

  Yuck. She’d better not be exposed to that. Her eyes might never recover.

  ‘So, which way is the lavatory?’ She asked a thin hostess with penciled-on eyebrows.

  ‘Sorry, miss. You have to stay seated until takeover.’ She indicated a pair of leather seats to her right. Cliff Askie was already sitting in one by the window. He patted the place next to him happily.

  Wondering how long she could possibly hold her breath for now, Rosie forced herself to smile brightly as she buckled the seatbelt.

  $25,000, she reminded herself.

  For that much, she could learn to breathe through her mouth, couldn’t she?

  It was bloody hot in Paris, and unprepared and consequently without deodorant in her bag, Rosie was forced to make a quick sortie into the nearest loo at the private air terminal to spray some Lou Lou under her arms. It wouldn’t stop the white dress staining, however – and sweet patches weren’t exactly the look she was going for. Oh, never mind. The way Cliff was behaving, he was unlikely to notice anything like that. So far he had maintained a steady offensive gazing at her chest, even though it was demurely covered up.

  A quick limo ride from the airport and they were entering a famous restaurant near in the Opera district. Naturally, the guy had no imagination, where else would he pick?

  There was a queue out front but the chauffeur led them straight to the front door. Rosie was feeling decidedly ropey from the plane and car journeys – she’d suffered from terrible motion sickness as a kid and usually had to take pills for it.

  The maitre d’ took her bag.

  ‘Do you have something for a headache?’ Rosie asked in whispered French. She didn’t want to appear too sophisticated and blow the inexperienced student persona out of the 19th century glass windows.

  The man nodded solemnly and brought some pills the moment they were seated (quiet nook looking over the Opera – the proposal table, no doubt – Rosie noted with amusement).

  ‘Have you been to Paris before?’ Cliff asked, clasping her hand. Took about a fast mover. That bode badly for his performance in bed – not that she was about to find out!

  ‘Once, with my poor mother. I can’t really remember.’

  ‘Shame.’

  ‘Yes.’

  The Drip had lifted his eyes from her tits and was staring into her eyes intently.

  Oh fuck!

  ‘Perhaps I could call Columbia and have them reschedule? We could stay a few days. I went there myself – donated quite a bit over the years. I’m sure they wouldn’t say no.’

  All of Rosie’s instincts were screaming at her to tip the ice-bucket over his semi-balding head and get the hell out of there, but she owed it to Georgia (and of course, Alex) to go through with the job.

  Act like a professional, Rosie.

  And don’t forget to breathe through your mouth.

  ‘I’m sorry Mr Askie, but I am not the sort of person to stand people up. My father brought me up properly.’

  ‘Call me Cliff, honey, but I must say, I am very disappointed.’

  She let the disappointment sink in and then added the whamo!

  ‘Besides, I couldn’t stay with you anyway. I am, um, saving myself for marriage.’

  If Scarlet heard that, she would choke on her afternoon mochaccino. Given her fond memories of her favorite fucks, including Pierre, Rosie herself had trouble getting the words out.

  The revelation that she was a virgin had the desired effect. Cliff began to cough and cough without stopping until the maitre d’, obviously concerned the famous billionaire might die in the place and forever taint its reputation, slapped his back hard.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Rosie opened her eyes to the huge setting and put her face
as close to his as she could without passing out. The bloody aspirin or whatever still hadn’t kicked in yet, and her headache, combined with the stench of The Drip, was almost paralyzing.

  Suddenly, from the corner of the room a loud smash broke the ambiance. Rosie looked over. Staring straight back at her was Hugo bloody Collins.

  Fucking hell. What was he doing here?

  What if he came over?

  What if he told Cliff about them?

  She’d told Cliff she was a virgin. Job done. Now, it was time to get the hell back to New York.

  ‘Cliff, you don’t look well, and to be honest, and I should have told you this before – but I was so excited by Paris and all – I get motion sickness and I think I might pass out.’

  To his credit, The Drip immediately sprang into action, snapping his fingers for the limo driver and the meal to go.

  ‘We can eat in the plane – and I think I have some travel pills onboard too, so don’t you worry.’

  Rosie saw Hugo heading towards them and felt herself become faint. Cliff noticed and grabbed her hand. ‘Come on, let’s get you some fresh air.’

  ‘Rosie, what are you doing here?’

  Too late.

  Fuck.

  ‘Oh, Hugo.’ She sounded weak. Because she was.

  ‘Are you a friend of Rosie’s?’ Cliff asked, looking him up and down.

  ‘Are you kidding? She is a Class A bitch. Sleeps with me, then ditches me like trash.’