Just One Night. Part 1 (3 page)

That crumpled paper is the only thing marring the perfect harmony that is my office. I flick it with the end of my pen, but it doesn’t flip over towards the bin like I want it to.

“Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” Leaning over, I push the paper open, smoothing it out over the surface of the desk. “And who exactly are you, that you warranted a blind date with William Stratford?” It’s possible the late hours I’ve been keeping are making me a little loony. It’s the only explanation I have for even opening this paper, let along talking to myself about it.

‘Single, attractive and successful businesswoman seeks very short-term, intimate and discrete affair. No strings, no commitments, no second dates.’

I frown. This is supposed to be my date?

A whirlwind of emotions slides across my consciousness. My first reaction is to be impressed. Ms. Meechum has been paying attention. Maybe I shouldn’t fire her.

I read the ad three more times.

My second reaction is annoyance. Does she honestly think I need to resort to online ads to find a date? My gaze flicks over and catches the charity ball appointment on my calendar. Maybe I should take the solicitor from the fifteenth floor.

I shake my head immediately. No. She’d expect something after that, a second date, a third date … and we work in the same building. That would be awkward. Too many complications.

Life is all about minimizing complications. I don’t have the time or the inclination to share my life with anyone, to have obligations outside of my work, to become entangled in some relationship with an emotional basketcase of a woman who’s desperately seeking her Prince Charming.

I read the ad again.

Of course, Ms. Meechum is right about one thing; networking is much more effective when done with an attractive woman at one’s side, and the ad does in fact say that she’s attractive.

But that could mean anything, couldn’t it? She could look like Medusa and I’d never know until it was too late. I’m quite sure networking with a woman ugly enough to turn a man to stone would hinder the effectiveness of my networking. It’s probably a terrible idea to pursue this person.

It says she’s a businesswoman too, but these days people think working at a coffee shop qualifies. How could I be sure she’s telling the truth? I couldn’t, that’s how. People lie all the time. People tell you who they want to be, not who they really are. And honestly, I’ve never met a woman who truly wanted a one-night stand. They all go into the arrangement with hope for the future, diamond rings on the mind and all that nonsense.

What strikes me about this ad, though, is that I don’t believe this person is looking for those things, mainly because she specifically says so. She had the forethought to attack the very arguments I’ve come up with for looking the other way. For some reason, I can almost believe this woman means what she says. It’s a revelation to me. A woman who doesn’t even want a second date.

Knowing my assistant has access to my emails, I pick up my phone. I have the perfect solution to my dilemma. First, I’ll phone this person and have a short conversation, chat her up a bit. If she sounds relatively normal, I’ll arrange to meet for a cuppa. Then, if she passes muster, I’ll suggest she accompany me to the charity event. Done and dusted. I am nothing if not decisive.

I smile as the call rings through. Things always have a way of working out exactly how I want them to. There’s no reason to suspect that this will be any different.

CHAPTER THREE

Jennifer

I’M SITTING AT MY TINY dinette in the kitchen when my personal ad phone rings. This will be the tenth call I’ve taken since I bought it yesterday. My ad has apparently struck a chord with the local male population. Too bad the last nine callers haven’t passed my psycho test. I don’t think I’m being too cautious, but at this point I’m starting to doubt myself. Is it possible that there aren’t any non-sociopaths out there searching for a casual one-night thing?

“Hello?” I grip the phone tightly, hoping beyond hope that this is the one.

“Hello,” he says. “Is this … the lady from the advertisement?”

My blood pressure goes up just the tiniest bit at the accent. He said ad
ver
tizment. He’s British or Irish or something. Visions of Colin Firth, Hugh Grant, and Mr. Darcy buzz through my brain. This guy is already looking way better than the other candidates.

“Yes, this is me. I’m her.”
Play it cool, Jennifer. Don’t get too excited. There’s still time for his psychosis to make an appearance.

“Excellent. Listen … I thought perhaps I could suggest a meeting … over coffee?”

“No, sorry.” Mood deflation activated. He already doesn’t get the whole point behind the ad. He’s looking for a girlfriend.

“Sorry?” he says.

“Why are you apologizing?” I ask.

“In fact, you’re the one apologizing, not me.”

I think about it for a second and realize he’s correct. Kind of. “Yes, well, so did you.”

He pauses. “Oh, right. I meant to say … excuse me? What did you say? I thought you said no to the coffee.”

“I did.”

“Right. Indeed. So I haven’t made the cut, then. Quite stringent with the rules, aren’t you? What was it that put you off? Was it the accent?”

“Why? Is it fake?”

“Hardly. I was born and raised in Hammersmith.”

“Oh. Well, no, it wasn’t the accent. That’s a point in your favor, actually.”

“Brilliant. So what’s the problem, then?”

“There’s no problem. I just don’t want to meet for coffee. I thought the ad was pretty much self-explanatory.”

“Indeed, it was succinct and to the point. I must say it was intriguing enough to have me phoning, even though I didn’t mean to be reading the advert in the first place.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it means that I read it quite by accident, really.”

“How does a guy from Hammerstown read a personal ad by accident?”

“It’s Hammer
smith
, part of the London Borough of Hammersmith and Fulham, west of Charing Cross. And it so happens that the advert was printed out for me by my assistant. I meant to throw it in the bin, but it was being quite stubborn with me.”

“Who was being stubborn? Your assistant?”

“No, the advert.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. This is the most confusing phone call I’ve ever had. “That makes no sense.”

“You are entirely correct. So am I in or am I out?”

“Wow, right to the point, huh?”

“I’m merely following your lead. Shall we go for coffee? Ladies choice. You tell me where to go and I’ll simply show up to pay, sugar, cream, stir, and sip. And I shall bring my accent with me since it’s served me well so far.”

“No, no coffee.” I feel totally saucy right now. It’s like we’re dueling with words. “I said that already, right?”

“Yes, well, you can’t be serious now, can you?”

“Of course I can.” My pulse has picked up speed. Verbal sparring with a man who I’ve now decided looks exactly like Hugh Grant is definitely exciting, even if it isn’t going anywhere past this phone call. I wonder if he’s wearing a suit. A song filters through my conscience.
Every girl’s crazy ‘bout a sharp-dressed man.

“You want to have one night of debauchery with a man you’ve never met even for a single coffee?”

Even though his question makes me feel more than a little stupid, I square my shoulders and answer confidently. “Yes, that’s the plan.”

“Brave girl.” His voice warms at that for some reason, which in turn makes me like him more.

“I know what I want and I’m not afraid to ask for it,” I say.

“Okay, so there will be no pre-debauchery coffee, then.”

“Nope.”

“Cuppa tea?”

“Nope.”

“How about … a photograph?”

Suddenly I’m wary. “What do you mean?”

“Could you send me a photograph?”

“Why would I do that?” I’m nervous enough to start sweating. Do I want to expose myself like that? My plan has major holes in it, apparently, since I hadn’t considered this eventuality.

“Well, you can’t expect me to just take your word for the fact that you’re attractive.” He sounds like he’s joking.

“Does it really matter that much?” I know the answer to this question already. I’m only asking to stall for time, because I’m not yet ready to let this guy go. His accent is slaying me, as is his sense of humor. Although I’m not quite sure he’s even trying to be funny.

“Not to be indelicate, but when you’re asking to cop off with a man, it’s usually a tad important that he find you somewhat appealing to look at.”

“Right, yeah, okay. I get it. But I’m sorry, that’s not part of the deal. You’ll just have to take my word for it. I’ve been called attractive by many men.” I want to bang my head on the table. I’ve never sounded so stupid in my entire life.

He pauses long enough that I start to wonder if the line has gone dead. But then he speaks again, and I find myself breathing out a sigh of relief that I haven’t yet lost him.

“I suppose a bit of mystery might be exciting.”

I grin like a fool. “That’s the spirit.”

“And if you were to select me, and I you, what exactly would you like to do on this one-time-only event? Straight to the bedroom or something more … shall we say … involved?”

My hands are trembling. I’m getting close to making a decision about this guy. I could actually be setting up a one-night-stand with a man I’ve never met or even seen, who sounds like Hugh Grant.

“By involved you mean …?”

“Well, involved, in the context of your rules, would be dinner, a movie, or a … charity ball perhaps?”

I laugh. Those Brits and their sense of humor. “Yes, okay, it should be more involved in the scheme of things. But not more involved in the way of commitment.”

“Brilliant. I believe this arrangement could suit me nicely. So what do you say? Fancy a roll in the hay with a somewhat newly arrived Brit?”

“I’m not sending a picture first,” I warn, not believing I’m actually considering doing this. Mia was right. This is totally insane.

“As you’ve said. If you change your mind, I’d be happy to send you my email address. Otherwise, I accept your proposal. Assuming of course that you’re making it to me.”

I hold the phone away from my head and take several deep breaths to calm myself. Thank goodness I’m too young to have a stroke. When I put the phone back on my ear, he’s talking again.

“Are you there? Bloody hell, the line’s down again.”

“No, I’m here. I was just … thinking about it.”

“Oh, right. Sorry to interrupt. Go on then with the thinking. Don’t mind me.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ve made my decision.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense. I have five other adverts just like yours to call before the stroke of nine.”

My jaw drops open. “Seriously?”

His chuckle is low and soft. “No, it’s was a joke. I’ve been told I can be a bid maudlin when I’m nervous. Yours is the only ad I will call, probably ever. As I said, this is my assistant’s doing.”

My heart melts just a little. “You’re nervous?”

“Of course. I could be setting up a date with Medusa, now couldn’t I? And I’ve already committed myself. Now I have to wonder if John Thomas is going to cooperate with the whole scheme.”

My mood deflates instantly. “Who’s John Thomas? This is only a one-on-one thing, you know. I don’t do threesomes.”

He laughs again, only this time it’s loud and entirely infectious. I can’t help but smile along at a joke I am completely clueless about.

“No worries, dream girl. No worries a’tall.”

“Dream girl?” I don’t know whether to scoff or smile.

“Well yes, of course. A beautiful business woman seeking a one-night stand with no commitments after? You’re every businessman’s dream.”

“The ad said attractive, not beautiful.” I’m definitely grumpy now, and I don’t understand why. Maybe because I figured this persona I created was temporary. I’d hate to think I’ll have to be her for the rest of my life. This plan is supposed to rejuvenate my life, not put it into a box.

“I’ll be the judge. So are we on or are we off?”

I chew my lip. At the very least, I know this guy will make me laugh. That’s got to be worth something, right?

“We’re on.” I’m squeezing the phone hard enough that I’m surprised it hasn’t yet cracked.

“Brill. How about Friday, six thirty?”

“That’s … kind of early. I usually work late.”

“Well, I figured since this is a one-time affair we could do a few things first. Before we hit the bedroom.”

I grin, warming to the idea. “Okay. What should I wear?”

“Whatever your heart desires. I’ll pick you up at …?”

“At the Starbucks on Beacon Street.”

“I thought you said no coffee.”

“Exactly. But I didn’t say no coffee
shop
.”

“You are a minx, aren’t you?” he asks, almost like it’s an afterthought.

I’m sure I’ve heard that word in a Monty Python movie. It makes me giggle. “Hardly. See you Friday, six thirty.”

“Indeed. See you then. Cheerio, dream girl.”

“Cheereos, Englishman.”

I hang up the phone and squeal like a fourteen year old girl getting her first pony. This is going to be so much fun.

CHAPTER FOUR

William

THE WEEK LEADING UP TO this day passed in a blur. Ms. Meechum came back to work on Monday and arrived even before I did, and she hasn’t left a single night before eleven p.m. Apparently, mis-directed instant messages are powerful motivators.

“Sir, here are the reports you asked for. I’m going to begin the accounting for next week now to get ahead of things.” Ms. Meechum is looking at the silk rug in my office. She’s not met my eyes once yet since last Friday. I’m beginning to find it tedious.

“No, it’s time for you to go home.”

She looks up at me confused. “You’re firing me? But …”

“No, not firing you. It’s five-thirty on a Friday, and as you’ve already explained to me, that magic doesn’t happen overnight.” I gesture to her hair, trying to remain impassive even though it appears as if she’s stuck her finger into an electric socket. It’s almost terrifying.

She reaches up slowly and fingers some of her hair. “My hair?”