The Plus-One Agreement

by Charlotte Phillips

  He shrugged. ‘I never got round to booking a room and then, when you asked me to step in as your date, I didn’t need to. I’ll be staying in your room, won’t I?’ He put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. ‘All part of the façade, right?’

  She was rendered momentarily speechless by a wave of spicy aftershave and the sudden closeness of him, and then his assumption about their sleeping arrangements slammed into her brain.

  ‘You can’t stay in my room,’ she squeaked.

  ‘The whole weekend takes place at this hotel. It’s hardly going to give a loved-up impression if we sneak off to separate rooms at the end of the night, is it?’

  ‘In the Burney family we’d fit right in,’ she said, thinking of her parents, who’d had separate bedrooms since she was in her late teens.

  He ignored her and turned his head sideways to read the number on the key fob in her hand.

  ‘Eighteen,’ he said, heading for the stairs. ‘First floor.’

  She stumbled after him, her mind reeling. The thought of their sleeping arrangements hadn’t entered her head. This was the first time they’d faked their relationship for longer than a couple of hours. She’d simply assumed he would have a separate booking.

  An image of her vanity case full of embarrassing toiletries danced through her mind, swiftly followed by the fact that her hair looked like a fright wig when she woke up. She gave herself a fast mental slap, because she absolutely did not care whether she looked attractive or not, and any attempt to make herself look good was not for the benefit of Dan Morgan.

  She made a grab for his arm and he turned round on the landing and looked at her, an expression of amusement on his face.

  ‘I don’t see what the problem is,’ he said. ‘This is a professional arrangement, right? We’ll treat it as such. Or were you thinking that I might take advantage of the situation and jump your bones?’

  His ice-blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned at her and a flare of heat crept upwards from her neck.

  ‘What am I supposed to think?’ she snapped defensively. ‘I know what you’re like with your five-minute flings. So don’t be getting the wrong idea. I am most definitely not interested in any shallow no-strings fling. If I’d wanted that I would have stuck with Alistair.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of suggesting one,’ he said, holding his hands up. ‘The thought never even occurred to me. You’re perfectly safe with me.’

  Her face burned hotter than ever, because if that wasn’t a knock-back she didn’t know what was. He was basically telling her she was arrogant for assuming he would want to hit on her. Of course he wouldn’t. He’d had a year’s worth of chances and he’d passed them all up. Her toes curled and she turned away, because her face undoubtedly looked like a tomato right now.

  ‘Look, it’s no big deal,’ he said. ‘We can just shelve the idea. I’ll head back to London and you can go it alone.’

  A sudden bolt of dread made her stomach lurch as a familiar bugling voice drifted through from Reception.

  ‘Booking for Burney. It’ll be one of the higher-end suites—parents of the groom.’ A pause. ‘The real groom, that is...’

  Her parents were on the premises and her mother was obviously on her usual form. Poor Adam. He was relying on her.

  She glanced back at Dan. He spread his hands questioningly.

  ‘Your call. Do you need a plus-one or not?’

  * * *

  ‘This is gorgeous, isn’t it?’ She sighed as she turned the huge key in the lock and walked ahead of him through the door.

  Their cases and bags stood waiting for them at one side of the room, efficiently delivered by the porter. It was everything that a country house hotel bedroom should be. The floorboards were suitably creaky, the dark wood panelling of the walls gleamed, the bed had four posts draped with a soft voile fabric, and there was a pile of squashy pillows and a floral bedspread that matched the silk curtains. Behind a door to one side was a luxurious en-suite bathroom.

  Dan had to bend slightly to avoid smacking his forehead on the doorjamb. He followed her into the room. She hovered awkwardly by the window, clearly still on edge at the whole room-sharing thing.

  ‘Very nice,’ he said and, unable to resist the tease, added, ‘Nice, large bed.’

  He found his gaze drawn to her face as she dropped her eyes and saw faint colour touch her pale cheekbones. Her obvious awkwardness was seriously cute. His usual dates were pretty full-on—a fast track to the physical. Shyness didn’t come into it. It was an odd novelty to be sharing a bedroom with someone without bed actually being on the agenda.

  He took pity on her and held his hands up.

  ‘You don’t need to worry. I’ll take the couch.’

  There was a squashy sofa to one side of the window, upholstered in a lavender floral fabric. It would be too short for him, but for a couple of nights it would do.

  ‘We can take it in turns,’ she said. ‘You take the couch tonight. I’ll take it tomorrow.’

  Momentarily surprised at the counter-offer, he nodded. Not that he would let her.

  ‘Deal.’

  She clapped her hands together and took a businesslike breath, as if she were about to start a work meeting.

  ‘Right, then, let’s get organised, shall we? This can be my space...’ she moved one of the smaller pieces of her vast luggage collection onto a dark wood bureau with an ornate mirror ‘...and this can be yours.’ She waved a hand at the antique desk. ‘You get the desk and complimentary Wi-Fi. Should be right up your street. I can’t imagine you needing much else.’

  ‘You make me sound like some workaholic.’

  ‘I hate to break it to you...’ she said, nodding at his minimal luggage, which included a laptop bag. ‘It’s hardly a get-away-from-it-all minibreak, is it? You’ve brought your office with you!’

  ‘Only out of habit,’ he protested. ‘I take the laptop everywhere. Doesn’t mean I’m going to use it.’

  She turned back to him and pulled a sceptical face. He held his hands up.

  ‘And somewhere in here...’ she shuffled through the wad of check-in bumph ‘...is the itinerary for the weekend. Might as well know what we’re up against. Blimey, we’ll hardly have time to draw breath.’

  He took it from her—a piece of stiff white card decorated in eye-watering yellow. He was suddenly very aware as he looked at the packed agenda that he would be joined at the hip with her pretty much twenty-four-seven for the next couple of days—a situation he hadn’t really considered properly when he’d made light of the room-sharing thing.

  It all seemed a bit less amusing now they were actually in the room and she was talking him through their shared personal space and unpacking what seemed like endless belongings. He avoided guests at his flat as much as possible. One night was his limit, with sex the sole item on the agenda. Conversation and space-sharing didn’t come into it. He simply didn’t do the give and take required to cohabit. Not any more. He’d done it once and he had no inclination to be reminded of the lash-up he’d made of it.

  Just a weekend. He latched on to that thought.

  ‘Certainly not doing a small quickie wedding, are they?’ he commented, speed-reading the itinerary.

  Emma leaned in close to look at the card with him and he picked up a soft, sweet wave of the scent she always wore as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His pulse stepped up a notch in response.

  He wasn’t used to her looking dressed down like this. That was all it was. Their usual encounters involved smart, polished business dress or the occasional evening gown for gala dinners and the like. Even then her outfits were always reserved, and he couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen her in jeans or when she’d worn her hair down. Now it fell softly to her shoulders in waves, framing her heart-shaped face. When
you took the time to look behind her uptight attitude, she was actually very pretty.

  ‘When has Adam ever done anything on a small scale?’ she said. ‘It just wouldn’t be him, would it?’

  He refocused his attention on the itinerary.

  ‘So, this evening there’s welcome drinks on the terrace. Then tomorrow the wedding is here in the grounds, followed by a night of celebration. And then a slap-up cooked breakfast the morning after. That marquee must be for the wedding.’ He nodded out of the window.

  She followed his gaze, then moved away and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Adam must be mad,’ she said. She bounced up and down on the mattress approvingly.

  Dan leaned against one of the posts at the foot of the bed, watching her. Diaphanous fabric softly draped over it—white with a tiny pale yellow flower print.

  ‘Why? Because his wedding’s the size of an elephant or just because there is a wedding?’ he said.

  She looked up at him, a tiny smile touching the corner of her lush mouth, and he had a sudden image of himself leaning her slowly back onto the floral quilt and finding out what she tasted like.

  He stood up straight and gave himself a mental shake. What the hell was he thinking? This was a last-ditch platonic date—not one of his conquests. The fact that the venue involved a bedroom instead of a boardroom didn’t change the fact that their relationship was work-based. It also didn’t seem to stop the slow burn that had kicked in low in his abdomen.

  ‘Both,’ she said, and shrugged.

  ‘Is that because of Alistair? I mean, you’ve got to admit he was a bit of a curveball. You never date. Not in all the time I’ve known you. And then suddenly in the space of a few weeks you’re packing up and leaving.’

  She didn’t answer for a moment. There was a distant expression on her face, as if she was thinking it over.

  ‘Partly because of Alistair,’ she said at last. ‘But really what happened with him was probably inevitable. Meeting the right person isn’t something I’ve excelled at so far. He was so attentive and considerate that I thought for once I’d really cracked it. I really believed it was something special. But it was the same old story.’

  She smiled at him, an I-don’t-care smile that was just a bit too small to be convincing, and he felt a sudden spike of dislike for Alistair.

  ‘Same old story?’

  She sighed. ‘Maybe you had a point when you said I was a bit star-struck—I don’t know,’ she said, picking at a loose thread on the floral quilt.

  There was an air of defeat about her that made him want to kick Alistair’s butt.

  ‘I got a bit swept up in all the excitement of it. It wasn’t so much him as the idea of life with him. It was exciting. It was glamorous. It was everything that I’m not.’

  ‘It was two-dimensional Hollywood claptrap. Who wants to live in a shallow world like that? You can’t be the first person to get sucked in, but you’re the most grounded person I know. You’ll soon get over that cardboard idiot.’

  That made her smile, lighting her face. He liked her looking happy like that. He liked that he’d caused her to look like that.

  ‘I won’t be making the same mistake again,’ she said. ‘I’m going to put myself first from now on. But even if one day I do find the right person I won’t be getting married with my parents in tow. No way. Nice plane trip to a beach somewhere with a couple of random witnesses.’

  He grinned.

  ‘What about you?’ she said, wiping the smile right off his face.

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘Come on—surprise me. What kind of wedding would you have if you could choose?’ She leaned back on her palms and narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Some beach thing in the Maldives?’ She flapped a hand. ‘No, no, let me guess... It would be something small. You could probably do it in a lunch hour if you wanted to—take an hour or so out and nip to the registry office. Quick glass of champagne, handful of confetti, and then you could get back to work.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  Terrific. He should have seen that coming. The last thing he needed right now was a chat about marriage aspirations. He just wanted to get through this weekend and get on with his life. And he didn’t even have his own hotel room to retreat to.

  He moved away from the bed to look out of the window, his back to her.

  ‘Of course you’d have to stick at a relationship for longer than a month, then, wouldn’t you?’ she teased.

  He didn’t look round. ‘It has nothing to do with sticking at a relationship. I have to prioritise. The business is growing at a massive rate. I need to put all my energy into that.’

  ‘Nobody needs to work twenty-four-seven,’ she said. ‘Not even you. Maybe you should think about slowing down, or at least taking a breather. I just don’t get why you’re so crazy for work. I’ve never known anyone so obsessed. And it’s not like you’ve got anyone to share the rewards with. None of your girls last five minutes.’

  He stared across the hotel lawn at the dense woodland right in the distance on the skyline. Stared at it but didn’t see it.

  Another image flashed through his mind in its place. Sticking at relationships. Sharing the rewards. Maggie. Dark-haired Maggie with her gentle smile and her kindness.

  Maggie and—

  He stamped hard and fast on that thought before it could multiply. What the hell was his stupid brain doing, dragging that old stuff up?

  At the faint sound of voices and car doors slamming he glanced down onto the gravel drive as Adam emerged, beaming, from a yellow Rolls-Royce, quiff cemented in place, wearing dark glasses like a celebrity. Ernie was right by his side. A gang of porters staggered under a stack of luggage. Obviously overpacking ran in the family.

  ‘Your brother’s here,’ he said, to distract her, because he couldn’t imagine a time when he’d be keen to discuss his future wedding plans.

  * * *

  Emma scrambled off the bed and joined Dan at the window.

  ‘We’d better get ready for the drinks party,’ she said, turning to her heap of luggage and proceeding to unzip.

  He checked his watch.

  ‘But it’s hours away.’

  As if that mattered...

  ‘I need to make a good impression,’ she said. ‘I hate being late. And you have to help me keep my parents in check.’

  She looked up at him, suddenly feeling awkward, with a bottle of pink shower gel in one hand and a loofah in the other.

  ‘Do you want to use the bathroom first? I mean, perhaps we should work out some kind of rota.’

  ‘For Pete’s sake, we don’t need a rota,’ he said, his tone exasperated. ‘It’s two days. You take the bathroom first. You’re bound to take longer.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ She made an indignant face. ‘That you look great just the way you are but I’m some hag who needs work?’

  He laughed out loud.

  ‘No. It means I’ve never met a woman who takes less than half an hour to get ready.’

  She turned towards the bathroom, her arms now full of toiletries.

  ‘And you don’t look like a hag,’ he called after her. ‘You never have.’

  It was the nearest thing to a compliment he’d ever given her.

  FIVE

  Dan gazed out of the open hotel room window and listened to the soft sound of falling water from the shower in the en-suite bathroom. It had kicked in five minutes after Emma had shut the door firmly and twisted the lock, as if she thought he might burst in on her.

  The marquee was now bathed in early-evening golden sunshine. The sweeping lawns were perfectly manicured, and a lily pond lay on the far right of his view. If he leaned forward far enough he could see an ornate wrought-iron bench set to one side of it. He wondered how man
y brides’ backsides had been plonked there over the years. It really was the perfect photo opportunity.

  He was at the cream of wedding venues in the south of England and it was only natural that it might whip up a few passing thoughts of his one and only brush with marriage, right? Just fleeting thoughts... That was all.

  Maggie and Blob.

  The name filtered back into his mind before he could stop it.

  Blob, he had called him—or her—after the fuzzy early scan which had been completely unintelligible to both of them except for the blob with the strong and speedy heartbeat. It had made Maggie laugh. An interim holding name while they bandied about proper full-on names. Andy or Emily. Sam or Molly. To delete as appropriate once they knew the gender, at a later date that had never arrived.

  Four months hadn’t been later enough.

  Maggie and Blob.

  An unexpected twist of long-suppressed dull pain flared in his chest—the blunt ache of an old injury. He wrenched his mind away forcibly. For Pete’s sake, what was he doing? He did not need a pointless trip down memory lane right now.

  He rationalised madly. He hadn’t been near a wedding in donkey’s years. Without a family to speak of, things like weddings didn’t crop up all that often, and this place was Wedding Central. It was bound to stir things up. But that was all this was—just a momentary blip. He had dealt with Maggie and Blob. They were part of the past and he’d left them there with admirable efficiency. He’d dealt with it all and moved on.

  Perhaps that was part of the problem. His life was drifting into predictability, leaving his mind free to wander where it shouldn’t be going. He needed to up the stakes at work—perhaps a new business venture. Work had always been the solution before.

  The shower splashed on and on, and judging by the enormous bag of toiletries Emma had heaved in there with her she wasn’t going to be emerging any time soon. There was no time like the present when it came to refocusing your mind. He unzipped his laptop bag and sat down at the antique desk.