Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
His hair is dark, slightly tousled in that deliberate way that screams effort disguised as effortless. And his face - good God, his face. He looks like Mother Nature carved him herself as a gift to women everywhere. Strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, and a mouth made for sinful things. But it’s his eyes that really catch me. Even across the crowded bar, I can see the intensity in them. They are a bright emerald green, but right then, his beautiful face is fixed in a scowl that makes him look tense, dangerous, and – bad news for me – wholly unapproachable.
My heart sinks.
“Not him,” I whisper in a panic. “Come on, San. Not him. Please.”
Sandra smirks. “Oh yes. Him.”
I shake my head violently. “He’s not my type.”
“Are you mad? He’s everybody’s type.”
“I’m not his type,” I counter hotly.
“Well, you won’t know until you ask him out, will you?” she says resolutely.
Lucy spots Sandra peering out into the bar and joins us at the door. Sandra points out the chosen target, and her eyes widen as she spots him.
“Bloody hell, he’s fit.”
“Exactly,” Sandra beams. “He’s the perfect target.”
I grab Sandra’s arm desperately. “No, he’s not. Not for me. Look at him. He’s … he’s gorgeous. Too gorgeous. He’s not going to be into me. He looks like the kind of man who works eighty hours a week, closes million-pound deals before breakfast, and dates women who dare wear silk blouses because they know they’ll never spill ketchup on themselves.”
Sandra waves my words away with a careless flick of her hand. “Details. He’s the one.”
Lucy tilts her head, considering this. “He does have that executive shark vibe.”
I groan. “See? He’s not for me. He’s probably got some posh girlfriend named Camilla waiting at home with perfect hair and a trust fund.”
“Well, Pippa Fairfax is a pretty posh name too,” Lucy says.
“But I’m not posh,” I wail.
“Ah, you’ll do,” she says callously.
“What if he says no?” I demand.
Sandra shrugs. “Then your forfeit is complete. No harm done.”
“And if he says yes?”
She grins like the Cheshire Cat. Why do I keep asking?
“Then you actually have to go on the date.”
My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”
Lucy hides a smirk behind her hand. “Fair’s fair.”
“This is insane,” I hiss. “There’s no way he’ll say yes. Look at him. He’s a Greek god in a suit. I’m just … me. In a bloody cartoon costume.”
Sandra pats my arm. “Exactly. Which is why it’s perfect. It’s not like you’re going to have to go through with anything. Just ask him out, let him turn you down, and boom, you’re done.”
I gnaw at my lip, my heart hammering. She’s right. There’s no way he’s going to say yes to me. Men like him don’t look twice at women like me, especially not when I’m dressed like a parody. I take a deep breath, steadying myself.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
“And no cheating. You have to be seductive, like you actually want to go out with him,” Lucy says.
“Whose side are you on?” I ask.
She shrugs, the picture of false innocence. “No one’s, but I’m the referee, so I have to make sure it’s done right.”
“Flutter your eyelashes and work those baby blues,” Sandra says.
I roll my eyes. “OK, here I go.”
Sandra squeals, grabbing Lucy’s hand. “This is going to be epic. He’s not going to be able to refuse you.”
“Are you quite mad? This kind of grossly unsubtle behavior is guaranteed to scare off all but the most desperate men.”
“Nonsense. Men are quite sick of doing all the chasing,” she dismisses, and gives me a little nudge forward.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I swallow hard, push my shoulders back the way Sandra told me to do, and step out of the corridor and back into the bar.
Chapter Four
Pippa
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vVzA0-QeGnI
-I will survive-
The second I step out from behind the bar, the very air in the room changes.
Or at least it seems like it does.
It’s as if someone pressed pause on the sound level, except for the bass that is still relentlessly thumping through the speakers. Heads turn. Conversations falter.
I feel like every pair of eyes has landed on me, and while I’m aware that’s not actually true, a fair number of people are openly staring at me. Some of them are gobsmacked, their jaws actually dropping. Others are grinning and amused. A group of lads at the bar elbow each other, pointing at me like I’m the punchline to the world’s funniest joke. A couple of women whisper behind their hands, their eyes darting up and down my dress and looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
I mutter silent curses under my breath, and every single one of them is directed at Sandra and Lucy. Those absolute witches.
The dress feels tighter with each step, the slit brushing against the top of my thigh in a way that makes me acutely aware of just how much of my skin is on show here. I hold my chin up high, though, trying to channel the slinky confidence of Jessica Rabbit instead of the overwhelming urge to sprint for the door.