The Acostas Box Set. Susan Stephens
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CHAPTER FIVE
‘Mirror, mirror on the wall—’ Will someone cover the damn mirror!
Tonight’s the night. I am taking the playboy out to supper and I can’t decide what to wear. I realise that taking him out reverses the natural order of things—but then I am not the playboy’s natural order, if you take my meaning. I am more of a meagre side dish—the type of thing you order to try, and more often than not leave untouched. Me? Lacking in confidence? What makes you think that?
All right. I admit it. Every item of clothing I possess is on the bed, or on the floor. Carrier bags and sales tickets are scattered around like confetti, because, as it turns out, my wardrobe is full of nothing to wear. And, as I am constantly reminded by the playboy’s long-legged basque-wearing friends, sex sells. Not exactly my area of expertise. Consequently, I have decided that my next article for you will be a helpful piece on the subject of staying out of debt. At least that’s where my credit card provider told me I should be concentrating my thoughts.
I must admit the real crisis of confidence came when I tried to decide what to underpin my modest outfit with tonight. As I don’t possess a single basque, or hold-up stocking, should I chance a shocking-pink thong?
As my underwear is unlikely to receive an airing, that hardly matters, does it?
And the playboy? He’s acting as cool and as sexy as ever. Accompanying me to supper is nothing more than a workaday chore for him in order to keep in his sister’s good books. So at least I should be safe. And I should be glad about that—right?
TYPING up her column was a displacement activity Holly had hoped would take her mind off the fact that she would soon be sitting across a table from Ruiz—speaking to him, staring into his eyes—all the time pretending they were nothing more than friends. Her shopping had been more erratic than usual with her frantic purchases more suitable for a royal wedding than a casual supper in a local bistro and she was fast losing confidence in her ability to pull this off.
Closing the lid on her laptop, Holly glanced at the shoe box the unscrupulous Ruiz had left temptingly outside her door. It was on her bed now. She had been forced to bring it into the bedroom in case someone fell over it. But of course she couldn’t wear the shoes unless Ruiz allowed her to pay for them. And as that would take a whole month’s salary …
The dress she had finally chosen to wear was a sale-rail spectacular—A-line, with a flirty skirt and a high scooped neck. It wasn’t black, which was about the best that could be said for it, but at least it was the same soft blue as her favourite shirt. With her hair neatly brushed, lip gloss present and correct, and just a suggestion of smudgy grey eye shadow to complement the flick of black mascara, she was ready. And nervous.
What did she have to be nervous about? Eating supper was a harmless activity.
Sharing food could be very sexy.
Fish and chips?
Mating rituals like eating supper together and how to avoid them was another good headline for her column, Holly concluded as she shifted anxiously from foot to foot in the hallway, waiting for Ruiz. But seeing as there was no escape from tonight, fish was out—ditto anything like spinach that might get stuck in her teeth. Thankfully, she had identified a healthy-food café where they could nibble on crudités and drink sparkling elder-flower water. Perfect. She would keep a clear head and as the café was brilliantly lit with sensible, hard-backed chairs Ruiz wouldn’t want to stay for long—
And when they came home?
She’d plead tiredness and go to bed. Alone.
Just when she’d almost given up on him, Ruiz stormed back into the apartment like an avenging angel in a cloud of cold air and warm smiles with Bouncer panting vigorously at his heels. ‘Ready?’ he demanded.
‘Ready,’ Holly confirmed.
‘Where are you taking me?’ he said as he bent down to remove Bouncer’s leash.
‘I thought the little café down the road—’
‘The one where we met?’ Ruiz sounded upbeat as his lips pressed down with approval of her choice. ‘Hang on while I fill Bouncer’s water bowl—’
‘No … No, that one’s shut,’ she called out.
Ruiz sauntered back into the hall. ‘Tell me you’re not taking me to that place where they serve lentil soup, and you have to sit round a communal table on hemp sacks?’
‘What’s wrong with that?’ she said. ‘They do have private booths.’
‘Where you can sit on even bigger hemp sacks? No, thank you.’
‘So where do you want to go?’ she said irritably.
‘You’re letting me choose?’ Ruiz’s mouth curved in a grin.
Why couldn’t she learn to keep her big mouth shut? She would never be able to afford Ruiz’s preferred style of restaurant. ‘I’m sure I can find somewhere else you would like,’ she told him firmly.
‘I know somewhere you’d like,’ Ruiz countered. ‘It’s walking distance from here—and not expensive,’ he added when Holly’s eyes widened in panic. ‘Mid-week is all about economy, Ms Valiant.’
‘Are you mocking me, Señor Acosta?’
‘Would I?’ he said.
Holly’s look said it all. And now her mind was swinging wildly between the safe café of her choice and somewhere of Ruiz’s choosing—and how economical that would be in terms of their very different incomes. ‘Am I dressed okay for this place of yours?’
‘You’ll do,’ he said, holding her gaze with a raised eyebrow and a sexy grin.
‘It’s still my treat,’ she insisted firmly, trying to hang onto her composure.
‘Of course it is,’ Ruiz agreed. ‘Though I am prepared to make a deal with you.’
Why was he staring at her shoes? Her comfortable, clunky-heeled shoes? They were perfect if they were going to walk to the place Ruiz had mentioned. Did he need to look at them as if she had committed some terrible faux pas and make her even more nervous about stepping into Ruiz’s world than she already was?
‘This is the deal.’ Ruiz angled his disreputably stubbled chin in Holly’s direction. ‘I’ll pay for supper tonight if you wear the shoes I bought for you.’
The shoes he bought? Accept his gift? Take a totter on the wild side on five-inch heels instead of remaining safely corralled inside the magazine column on her clunkies? ‘I can’t walk in high heels. And, anyway, I already told you that I—’
‘Don’t accept gifts from men,’ Ruiz supplied. ‘I do remember.’
‘So, how does this work?’ Holly demanded. ‘I get the shoes and you pay for supper. Do you seriously think I’m going to go for that?’
‘I think you should,’ he said evenly. ‘I think if you had any sense you would.’
‘Well, clearly I don’t have any sense,’ Holly fired back, ‘because—’ Because what? Come on, come on ‘—because tonight is supposed to be my treat for you.’ Ah, yes, sweet relief. ‘Because you have to let me do something in return for allowing me to stay in the Acosta penthouse.’ Yes! ‘And as for wearing a pair of brand-new shoes that you could easily take back to the store and get a refund for—’
‘Oh, get over yourself,’ Ruiz flashed, raising the emotional temperature by a few thousand degrees. ‘You’re my sister’s best friend. If my friends were in London and needed accommodation I would expect Lucia to show them hospitality. This is a courtesy to my sister.’
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