Her shoulders slumped. She looked like she felt. Tired, and hungover. The jacket was too boxy for her short frame, making her look like a squashed blueberry. People probably thought she was Lewis’s agent or business manager. Certainly not a potential girlfriend. Correction, fake girlfriend.
What made Lewis think the idea would work? No way, people wouldn’t believe they were an item.
Behind her, the door opened and two university-age girls slipped in. Susan immediately envied their long hair which they wore in messy topknots. Envied their cropped sweaters and leggings too. No one would mistake them for a sports agent.
All her life, she had wondered what it would be like to fit. To feel accepted by someone. Anyone. She had a lot to offer, if people would only look.
Don’t be so dramatic, her mother would say. People don’t look if there’s nothing to look at.
Belinda was full of those little bon mots.
Lewis Matolo was offering people something to look at.
Would it be so horrible if the world saw her as someone different? Just for a little while?
Rummaging through her bag, she located a hair tie and forced her curls into a messy bun. Then, she shed her jacket. The black turtleneck wasn’t stylish, but at least the world could see she had a waist.
The world. Susan chewed her lower lip. Was she really that crazy?
Lewis was biting into his egg sandwich when she returned. She tossed her bag on the bench and slid in next to him. “You’ve got a deal.”
CHAPTER THREE
“ARE YOU SURE?”
“Positive,” Susan replied. “You don’t have to keep asking.”
But Lewis felt like he did. They were on their second cup of tea. An entire meal had gone by and he was having trouble processing the fact that she’d agreed to play his girlfriend. “I’m surprised, is all,” he said. Flummoxed was a better word. “You didn’t look very enthusiastic when I pitched the idea.” Which was why, when she’d come back from the washroom and announced she was all in, he’d been floored.
“I’ll admit, the plan sounds insane, but it’s only for a short time, right? Not like you’re proposing marriage or anything.”
“Dating only, I promise.” Marriage was one of those concepts that made his insides squeeze, along with commitment and emotions. As it was, this arrangement would be the longest relationship he’d ever had. Then again, so would anything longer than a three-day weekend.
Her smile seemed to tighten for a second. “Right,” she said, setting her teacup down. “How does this work? Do we draw up contracts? Write out conditions? What does one do in a fake relationship?”
Fortunately, Lewis had given the matter some thought on the off chance she’d agree. “Obviously, the goal is to be seen together in as many different settings as possible. Like a real couple.”
“And we do this until the tabloids notice?” she asked while pouring the last of her tea. “I know you’re considered a tabloid magnet, but that doesn’t seem terribly efficient.”
“You’re right, it’s not. That’s why I’m going to have my agent leak a few discreet comments. We’re also going to have to attend one or two social events where there’s press. Actually, I’ve drawn up a few notes laying out how I think this plan should proceed.”
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Moving his teacup aside, he smoothed it flat. “We want everyone to see us, but at the same time we want to look subtle—like this is the real deal—so I’ve come up with a progression of steps.”
Susan’s arm pressed against his as she leaned in to get a better view. “Date at a public venue. Attend a society event. Be seen doing coupley Christmas things?” She turned to look at him. “Coupley Christmas things?”
“You know, Christmas shopping or walking in Kew Gardens. Whatever it is women drag their boyfriends to do during the holidays.”
“I see. Clearly, you’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“Did you think I would invite you to lunch without some kind of plan in mind?” Lewis replied. He wasn’t stupid. If Susan had said yes, he knew a woman like her would expect details. “You’re going to have to start giving me a little more credit.”
Then again, could he blame her? The whole point behind this charade was to prove he had more to offer than being a drunken party boy.
“Considering I didn’t know fake girlfriends really existed until ninety minutes ago, you’ll have to cut me some slack. I do have one question,” she said, tapping her cup. “How can we be sure people—the tabloids—will believe us?”
It was a reasonable question. The honest answer was they couldn’t. Not entirely. “I get the impression that as long as the story gets attention, they—the papers—won’t dig too deep,” he told her. “However, you bring up a point I hadn’t thought about. Lorianne has spies everywhere—it’s how she gets her scoops—so we’ll need to make sure we act like a couple whenever we’re together, even when we think no one’s paying attention.”
“Is that why we’re having lunch in a cozy corner booth? Again, I’m impressed.”
Lewis was flattered. It wasn’t often that the woman he was with complimented his intelligence. Other skills usually took priority. “Thank you,” he said. “Oh, and another thing...we need to keep this arrangement between us. No one but you, me and my agent, Michael, will know. Will that be a problem?”
She shook her head. “I’d already assumed the arrangement would be need-to-know. If it were a problem, I wouldn’t have agreed in the first place.”
Good. They were on the same page.
“What are you doing?”
She’d taken a pen out of her bag and was making notes on the paper. Lewis watched her write the words Christmas Party with a date. “My brother Thomas has informed me that I’m cohosting the corporate Christmas party again this year. I think it’s only fair that my ‘boyfriend’ attend with me.”
“Corporate Christmas party, huh?”
“For employees and other people we do business with. The ad agency, banks, etc.”
He had to admit he’d wondered if she’d insist on some type of work-related couple appearance after her speech last night. “This wouldn’t be to show up those ladies from the bathroom, would it?”
Her shrug was enough of an answer.
Whatever. It was fine with him if she wanted to put a few people in their place. “I’ll mark my calendar. While we’re scheduling, do you need me to play arm candy for any other events? New Year’s Eve? Christmas Day?”
“As it so happens...” She suddenly stopped and shook her head. “Never mind. The Christmas party will be enough.”
“Are you sure?” She was holding back.
“Yes, I’m sure. Now please stop asking that question.” Clicking her pen, she wrote the word Agreed at the top of the page along with her name and the date. When finished, she held out the pen. “Since you didn’t answer my question about a contract, I hope this will do.”
“Seeing as how I would have settled for a handshake...?” He added his signature below hers. It was official: one image makeover in a half dozen assorted steps. Whether it would work was anyone’s guess.
“I now pronounce us a couple,” he announced.
For better or for worse.
* * *
What had she gotten herself into? “When you said we were going to watch a basketball game, I thought you meant at a pub,” Susan said. Some quaint place with brick walls and a fireplace. “Not surrounded by twenty thousand spectators at London’s O2 arena.”
She was decidedly overdressed in a pencil skirt and heels. For some insane reason she’d decided to dress daringly. Her way of showing the world she was worthy of Lewis’s attention. Now she felt stupid.
“I didn’t know London even had a basketball team,” she said as they walked up the ramp.
“T
here’s an entire league,” Lewis answered, “but they don’t play here. This is a special event. Two American teams.”
That explained the crowds. It didn’t explain why he’d chosen a basketball game for their first date though, so she asked.
“Why else? To send a message. I wanted people to see that I’m more than a footballer. I appreciate all sports.”
“Thus broadening your appeal as a broadcaster. Clever.”
“Thank you.”
They stepped out of the ramp into the brightly lit arena filled with people. Susan had been to the O2 before, for concerts, but this was the first time she’d seen it prepped for a sports event. Below them, American basketball players were warming up on the shiny parquet floor. “Our seats are down there,” Lewis said in her ear as he pointed toward the court. His hand molded to the small of her back as he guided her down the steep steps.
They were really doing this. Pretending they were a couple. Her legs began to shake and from more than just navigating the steep stairs in stilettos. She gripped the railing.
“What’s wrong?”
She didn’t realize she’d stopped moving until Lewis spoke. He looked at her, his brown eyes narrowed in concern. “Sorry. I—It just dawned on me that we’re on a date.”
“You’re only figuring that out now?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Not really,” he replied.
Until this moment, their arrangement had been conceptual. She hadn’t thought about the fact that in order to be taken for a real couple, they would have to behave like a real couple. Which made this evening a date complete with all the touching and other date-like behavior. Lewis was going to have to pretend he was attracted to her. Did he really think they could pull this off?
They were blocking the stairs. That was one way to attract attention. “Never mind,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.”
“If you say so.”
Their seats were in the middle of the row, close to the front, but high enough they could see the entire court. They also had a clear view of the giant electronic screen that hung over center court. It was like having a one-hundred-inch television in your living room.
She looked around at the people milling about. “I doubt anyone will notice us in this crowd,” she commented.
“Oh, they’ll notice us,” Lewis replied. He leaned closer, his nose practically nuzzling the outer shell of her ear. “My agent has arranged for us to be outed after the third quarter.”
Outed? This time she had to lean into him. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll see,” he replied with a grin. “Just keep your eye on the scoreboard.”
She stared at the screen, which at the moment was playing an advertisement for a Christmas concert. “I don’t like surprises,” she told him.
“You’re going to have to get used to them if you’re planning to hang around with me.”
Why? Was he that spontaneous?
Check that. They were talking about a man who had once jumped naked off a boat into the Thames.
Susan looked at the man folded into the seat beside her. His eyes were shining as he watched the action below. He looked back and forth, taking in everything that was going on. “You’re not going to do something outrageous are you?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’ve got the words I love Susan Collier painted on my chest. I’m planning to tear off me shirt so everyone can read them.”
She rolled her eyes. “Very funny.”
“You’re the one who asked the silly question.” Before she could respond, he reached over and patted her knee, his large hand warm and firm in its touch. “Relax. This is about changing my image, remember? Plus, I’m sober,” he added. “I’m far less outrageous without the alcohol.”
Ironic, then, that they should meet because of her drunkenness.
“What made you stop drinking?”
It was a question she had wanted to ask. He looked so at peace with the decision, she was curious. She wasn’t surprised when he shrugged as though the decision was no big deal. “Forgot one too many names. Jumped into one too many fountains.”
“I would think one fountain would be too many.” She gasped when he held up three fingers. “You’re kidding.”
“We can go for four if you’re feeling adventurous. Seriously though,” he said, the smile leaving his eyes, “when my career ended, so did the party. When you’re on top of the world, being a wild man makes you cool. When you’re out of the spotlight, you’re just a washed-up drunk. I decided I’d rather try to climb back to the top and maybe remember it this time.”
As offhand as he tried to sound, there was no mistaking the regret in his voice. Susan took a good look at the man to whom she’d bound herself for the upcoming weeks. If you looked past the chiseled features, you could see the signs of a life lived hard. She spied tiny scars on his chin and cheekbones and the bump of a broken nose.
“Do you miss playing?” she asked.
“Only every bloomin’ day.” He pointed to the court where the American players were shooting basketballs at the basket. “See that player there? Number twenty-three? He’s the best basketball player in the world.”
“Okay.” He looked like all the other players to Susan.
“Everyone in this building is here to see him,” Lewis told her. “Sure, they care about the other players too, but him...he’s the reason they came.”
“Because he’s the best.”
“Exactly. I can’t begin to describe what it’s like. Being on the pitch, knowing everyone is pinning their game hopes on you and your ability. Feeling the love of thousands. There’s no high like it. And when you’re in the middle of playing, it’s like there’s nothing else in the world. There’s you, and the ball and the match.”
His faraway gaze was so beautiful, it made Susan’s throat catch.
“You were really good, weren’t you?” she said, embarrassed that she didn’t know.
“I was the best. When I was at the top of my game, no one could beat me.” She believed him. The arrogance had too much certainty behind it to be false.
“How did you start playing?” She turned in her seat so she could look at him while he spoke. The expressions on his profile were far more interesting than anything going on below.
“Just started,” he said with a shrug. “Neighborhood kids played in the street—I asked if I could play. No one else wanted to tend goal, so they let me.”
“Let me guess. Soon as they saw you play they made you permanent.”
A grin slid across his face. “Pretty much. After that, I played for whatever team I could until I was signed by Manchester for their academy team.”
“Your parents must have been proud.” Remembering the way her father used to beam every time Thomas or Linus achieved one of their many achievements, she could only imagine how his family had felt when their son joined the Premier League Under 16 program.
“Doubt they knew. I lived with foster families until I was old enough to live in digs at the academy. Never met my dad, and Mum couldn’t get off the drugs. The smack pulled her back every time.”
Dear Lord.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I don’t even remember the woman at this point. She’s more of a blur than anything. What about your parents?”
“My dad died a few years ago and my mother...” Her mother wasn’t a topic the family liked to talk about. “My mom is an actress. Belinda Quinn.”
“That name sounds familiar.”
“She played the sexy neighbor on The Confidents.”
“Was that the show where some poor guy inherited a ton of money from somebody and they moved to a swanky neighborhood?” His bare-bones description was about as deep as the show. “I used to watch old episodes when I was a kid. Your mom was a looker.”
“She was so
mething,” Susan replied. “Except into being a mother. My dad’s fault she got saddled with an albatross of a daughter.”
“She didn’t actually say that, did she?”
Susan put on a haughty voice. “Damn near ruined her figure, I did, and her career. Not to mention the whole messy business of kids demanding attention all the time. After all, what about her needs?” She picked at the lint on her sweater. “My mother has what they call histrionic, narcissistic personality disorder. A fancy way of saying she’s a self-centered lunatic,” she said when he frowned. “Psychology’s a bit of a hobby for me. I’ve done a lot of reading.” A desperate attempt to understand why her mother didn’t want her. “Anyway, when she and my father divorced, she relinquished custody. We’ve shared maybe a dozen words since.”
“How old were you when she left?” Lewis asked.
“Eight. I came home from school and she’d gone. Last words she said to me were ‘Not now, Susan, I’ve got a headache.’”
“So both our mothers took a flyer. Lucky us, we have something in common.” Their eyes met and a beat of understanding passed between them.
Lewis cleared his throat. “Enough childhood talk. We’re here to enjoy a basketball game, right?” With that, he began explaining the action on the court.
The evening passed quickly. Watching the game, with its fast pace and athleticism, was a lot more fun than Susan expected. For someone who claimed to know only a little about the game, Lewis had a very keen grip on the strategy. She imagined he would sound marvelous explaining football too. No wonder he wanted to be a commentator.
By the third quarter, they were both on their feet cheering for three-point shots.
“Exciting, isn’t it?” Lewis remarked after two players came crashing together under the basketball net. “Gets the blood pumping.” He popped a piece of her popcorn into his mouth with a grin. “Clock ticking. Everyone rushing at the same fast pace in organized chaos. It’s fantastic.”
Her Convenient Christmas Date Page 4
