Getting Red-Hot with the Rogue. Элли Блейк
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the nice barman had added a sugared strawberry to the edge of her glass, and an umbrella for good measure. He also gave her a long smile.
He was terribly cute. She was pathologically single. And obviously in need of some mollifying male company if her performance that afternoon was anything to go by.
But there was a kind of puppy-dog softness about the eyes that told her he was a boyfriend kind of guy. Girlfriends shared stories of family and past folly as pillow talk, something she’d never be able to do, which meant she’d never be a girlfriend kind of girl.
She gave him a short nod, then turned her body away from the bar and towards Hannah, who was grinning at her over her Fuzzy Navel.
‘Wynnie has a new little friend,’ Hannah sing-songed.
‘Wynnie has no such thing.’
‘Give him another five minutes and he’ll be back with a rose between his teeth and a mandolin. Better yet, you order the next round of drinks and save us twenty bucks.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘And why not? A new man for a new town. After the hours you’ve put in this month you deserve to let your hair down some.’
Wynnie raised a hand to her hair, which she’d pinned up off her neck while at the doctor’s surgery, sliding her butterfly clip above her ear to hold back her fringe. ‘It was down today. And look where that got me.’
‘Ah,’ Hannah said, with way too much of an inflection.
‘What does “ah” mean?’
‘It means so that’s why you’re all down about the mouth when considering the success your day has been you should be as high as a kite.’
‘I’m not high because I’m not the one on my fourth cocktail,’ she said out of the side of her mouth.
Hannah waggled a wobbly finger in her general direction. ‘First my little recruit has proven herself professionally, making me look shiny and fabulous for insisting she be hired, and now she has gone and got herself a little crush on Mr Dylan Tall Blond and Handsome Kelly. I’m celebrating!’
Wynnie’s naked feet pointed hard at the floor as some kind of strange physical response shot through her at the mere mention of Dylan Kelly’s name.
She opened her mouth wide to deny everything, but suddenly she was too exhausted to bother. ‘It might have been nice to have a heads up that he is that gorgeous.’
‘I thought the fact that I had to wipe drool from my chin every time his name was mentioned in passing during strategy meetings was giveaway enough.’
‘Not nearly enough. You do know he’s stunning. Matinee-idol, suit-model, high-school-crush, knee-weakening, supermodels-only-need-apply stunning.’
‘Did your voice just crack a little?’
‘It did not,’ Wynnie shot back. Then for some unknown reason added, ‘But it’s not just his looks. He’s sharp, and focused, and canny and funny when you don’t expect it.’
‘So I’ve heard. But I am a respected lawyer, you know. I must show some decorum. Did you? Show decorum?’
Wynnie’s hands went straight to her eyes to rub them again. ‘I might have become a tad tongue-tied on more than one occasion, and made inferences that I wanted to go to bed with him, but that’s it.’
Hannah’s laughter turned heads the whole way around the bar. ‘So are you gonna ask him out or not?’
Her hot hands dropped to cup her blissfully cold glass. ‘For what purpose?’
‘Um, dinner, a movie, the horizontal tango?’
‘Han! He’s the only mark. The one who can make or break this deal.’
‘And that’s why you won’t ask him out?’
‘No. Yes! Well, that and the fact that he’s probably got a line-up of women wiping drool from their chins.’
Hannah’s answering smile was most unfriendly.
‘My working hours are far too full on right now to even think about starting up any kind of anything with any man.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yeah, he’s just a huge flirt. He flirted with me, every female reporter within eyeshot, some of the men, and a pot plant on the way into his office. It’s pathological.’
‘Finally something I understand! Now this isn’t the kind of thing you would have found in the stuff the researchers gave you, so here goes. The stories do circulate that he is… How do I put this?’ Hannah tapped her chin and looked to the heavens. ‘He’s a man with a limited attention span.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Never appears to date the same girl twice. Though they are all beautiful. All fabulous. All about as warm as ice sculptures.’
Wynnie blinked. ‘And you think I might be interested in being one of those girls of the week, and that I fit that description? I’m not sure which part of that I should be insulted by most.’
Hannah slapped her on the arm. ‘Stop trying to be offended and think about it. You’ve found time this month to come bowling with me, to go out for drinks, to see a movie, a bunch of DVDs. I could sacrifice a little of that down time for the sake of your love life before you start sleeping in the office to get a head start on the working day and unknowingly muttering carbon emission averages beneath your breath.’
Wynnie shook her head. ‘It feels like things have fallen into place for me for the first time in a really long time. I believe in the organisation with every fibre of my being. Their philosophy is my very lifeblood. To be their advocate is an honour and an obligation. Every hour I spend working for them I feel like I am contributing, and helping and redeeming…’
She shook her head hard and let her voice drift away.
Of all the people she could have talked to about her acute need to make amends, Hannah was it. She’d been with Wynnie the day Felix had disappeared—even finding her a great lawyer through her professors at school. But even after all this time, saying the words out loud felt too raw.
‘I’m not asking Dylan Kelly out. Okay?’
She sipped at her drink. All of the excuses were fine but they didn’t come close to her main reticence. She’d been known to do stunningly self-sacrificing things for men she regarded highly, and the only way to never let that happen again was not to put herself in the position where it might.
There were only so many times a girl could change her hair, and her name, and leave town. In comparison, putting up with a little sexual tension was small fry.
Hannah leant her elbow on the bar and her head on her hand. ‘You done?’
She nodded.
‘So you wouldn’t mind, then, if Dylan Kelly and I became hot and heavy.’
Wynnie gripped the straw between her teeth. ‘Not in the least,’ she fibbed.
‘What about me and the bartender?’
Wynnie all but bounced on her bar stool. ‘Oh, do! He seems nice and sweet, the ideal complement to your rabid cynicism. And he could make you cocktails every night. He’s perfect for you!’
Wynnie’s bottom bouncing came to a halt when she realised Hannah had been pulling her leg about the bartender to get a true answer about Lady Killer Kelly. And she’d given it in surround sound, with Technicolor and subtitles.
‘I have to go,’ Wynnie said, finding her shoes with her feet. ‘The local farmer’s market closes at eight and I’m all out of kumquats.’
She grabbed her battered travel purse from the bar, slid her feet back into her shoes, hopped off the bar stool and pressed