Beneath This Man

We both cease all speaking of plans, retribution f**ks and handcuffs when the waiter approaches with our food. He places it in front of me first and then Jesse, swiveling the plates around so the presentation – which looks more like art – is at its best position for us to admire before we attack it with our knife and fork. I smile my thanks.

‘Is that all, Sir?’ The waiter asks Jesse.

‘Yes, thank you.’

The waiter removes himself from the table and leaves us to resume our inappropriate conversation.

I sink my knife into my dish. It looks too good to eat. ‘You should know your temptress is extremely pleased with herself.’ I say thoughtfully as I wrap my lips around the most delicious piece of granary toast, topped with smoked salmon and hollandaise sauce.

‘I bet she is.’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘Does she know how crazy in love with her I am?’

I melt on a sigh. I’m in The Ritz, eating the most incredible food and I’m looking across the table at the most devastatingly handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on – my devastatingly handsome man. All mine. I am back to basking in the sun on Central Jesse Cloud Nine. ‘I think she does.’ I confirm.

He turns his attention back to his dish. ‘She had better not just think.’ he says sternly.

‘She knows.’

‘Good.’

‘What’s the problem, anyway?’ I ask. ‘Thirty seven is nothing.’

His eyes flick to mine. He looks almost embarrassed. ‘I don’t know. You’re in your mid-twenties and I’m in my mid to late-thirties.’

‘So?’ I watch him closely. He really does have a complex about his age. ‘It bothers you more than it does me.’

‘Maybe.’ He fights a smile from his lips. I can see he is relieved at my lack of concern. I shake my head, returning to my dish. My arrogant playboy has an insecurity, but I love him all the more for it.

We eat in a comfortable silence, the waiter checking if everything is to our satisfaction at regular intervals. How could it not be? When we’re done, he clears our plates swiftly and Jesse asks for the bill.

‘So, when are we going dress shopping then?’ he asks before taking a sip of his coffee.

I let out an exasperated breath. I’d forgot about that. I know if I defy him on this, I’ll be promptly ejected from Central Jesse Cloud Nine. I shrug. ‘You don’t have to come.’ I can shoot to House of Fraser anytime on my travels.

‘I want to come and anyway, I owe you a dress, remember?’ He smirks, and I’m swiftly reminded of the dress massacre. He only wants to come so he can make an appropriate selection, and that means I’ll probably be wearing ski pants and a roll neck jumper.

‘Friday lunch?’ I try, failing miserably to sound upbeat.

His frown line jumps into position. ‘That’s cutting it a bit fine, isn’t it?’

‘I’ll find something.’ I finish the most scrumptious coffee I’ve ever had.

‘Put me in your diary for Friday afternoon…all afternoon.’

‘What?’ I feel my brow knit.

He takes a wad of notes out of his pocket and puts five twenties in the leather bound book that the waiter has just left. One hundred pounds for breakfast? That’s my new dress!

‘Make Mr Ward a Friday afternoon appointment. Say, one-ish.’ His greens are dancing with delight. ‘We’ll go dress shopping and there will be no rush to get ready for the party.’

‘I can’t book out my whole afternoon for one appointment!’ I splutter in disbelief. Mr unreasonable is back.

‘You can and you will. I’m paying him enough.’ He stands and makes his way to my side of the table. ‘You need to tell Patrick that you’re living with me. I’m not pu**y footing around him for much longer.’

Am I living with him? I stand, taking the hand he has offered, and let him lead me out of the restaurant. No, he won’t pu**y foot around. He’ll just keep trampling him instead. ‘It will make things awkward.’ I try to reason. ‘He won’t be impressed, Jesse. And I don’t want him to think that I’m slacking instead of working if I should have any business meetings with you.’

‘I couldn’t give a f**k what he thinks. If he doesn’t like it, then you’ll retire.’ he says, marching on, dragging me behind him.

Retire? I love my job, and I love Patrick too. He’s joking. ‘You’re going to trample him, aren’t you?’ I say warily. My man is like a Rhinoceros.

The valet hands him his car keys and Jesse slips him a fifty. A fifty? Just for parking and returning his car? Granted, it is a very nice car, but still.

He turns into me, grazes his palm down my cheek and circles his nose on mine. ‘Are we friends?’ His minty freshness hits me like a bulldozer.

‘Yes,’ I submit, but judging by the last few minutes’ conversation, I don’t expect we will be for long. Retire? ‘Thank you for breakfast.’

He smiles. ‘Anytime. Where are you going now?’

‘The Royal Park.’

‘Near Lancaster Gate? I’ll take you.’ He presses his lips hard onto mine and pushes his hips gently forward.

I gasp.

He can’t thrust me outside The Ritz! I hear him laugh at my shock before he pulls me towards his car. The valet opens the door for me, and I smile sweetly before climbing in. After Jesse has slid in behind the wheel and given my knee a quick squeeze, he roars off into the mid-morning, London traffic at his usual alarming speed. I wonder how many points he has on his license.