Roman's Having Sex Again Page 3

  Dad gazed at her with pride, as he did with all three of us.

  With two years between each of us, my brother, Dylan, the vet, was the eldest at twenty-seven. He was Ma’s pride and joy, not only because he saved animals for a living, but he was her only boy and her eldest. Even though he lived in a flash apartment in town, Mum still liked to cook and wash for him. He was extremely handsome, and looked just like my Dad: tall and slim with a shock of honey-coloured hair and dark green eyes. With a cheeky grin, perfectly straight white teeth and the obligatory man-V, Dylan was every girl’s wet dream. He had even done some modelling to help him through university.

  Pippa, the youngest of us at twenty-three, and I looked a lot alike. We were both pale-skinned with black hair and blue eyes, but Pippa’s hair was waist-length, whereas mine was cropped short and cut a little longer on top. It was usually styled according to whatever I was doing: straightened and tidy for work and quiffed and punky for pleasure.

  Slim and long-limbed, we both appeared to be delicate, but as the saying goes: ‘Never judge a book by its cover.’ The James girls might look fragile and ladylike, but you wouldn’t want to cross us, my mother included. Although Pippa’s battles tended to be fought by the rest of us: she was the baby. She still had one hell of a temper, though.

  ‘Didn’t see you in Ziggy’s,’ I said to her as I sat down at the table.

  ‘Nope, people to do, places to see.’

  We both started to giggle just as my phone rang. It was Emma.

  ‘Leave that,’ Mum said, placing a large cooked breakfast in front of me. ‘Whoever it is will have to wait.’

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ I sighed.

  ‘This looks good, Sue,’ Dad announced to Mum as he cut into his sausage.

  ‘I know how you like your sausage,’ Mum said, triggering another stupid giggle from me and my sister.

  While Mum was distracted, dishing up Pippa’s breakfast, I took a quick look at my phone:

  Emma: Ring me when you can – got so much to tell you xxx

  After breakfast, I sprinted back up to my room to call Emma back. I felt bad for leaving her alone the night before, but Jimbo had promised me that Henry was a good guy.

  As soon as she answered, Emma gave a little squeal down the line.

  ‘Oh my God,’ I cried, ‘I take it that you had a good night.’

  ‘Summer, he is so lovely. He’s really respectful and, God, he’s gorgeous.’

  Her enthusiasm made me smile. She’d been steering clear of men since Tyler, so I was really happy that she seemed to like Henry.

  ‘You’re seeing him again?’

  ‘Yes, but he’s off to Barbados tomorrow for a week to see a friend, so he’s going to take me out a couple of days after he gets back.’

  ‘Did you sleep with him?’ I asked. I was pretty sure I knew the answer, but I wanted to be certain that Henry hadn’t slept with Emma and was then giving her the brush-off.

  ‘No!’ she snapped. ‘I didn’t! I told you he was very respectful. We sat in the office at Ziggy’s until almost three. Then he said he’d better take me home, and when we got there we sat in his car for another forty minutes.’

  ‘Just talking?’ I giggled.

  Emma paused and I heard her clear her throat. ‘There may have been a lot of kissing involved.’

  ‘Underclothes groping?’

  I knew this answer too: Emma was a little more reserved than I was.

  ‘Certainly not. But he did hold my hand.’

  I burst out laughing at her sweetness. She was so adorable.

  ‘Just because you probably let Roman feel your breasts! Because I’m assuming something did happen when he dragged you into his office like a frustrated caveman.’

  Despite wanting to vehemently deny the accuracy of that deduction, I couldn’t help but laugh again. Emma liked to use different words than I did to describe body parts. What were ‘knockers’ or ‘boobs’ to me, were ‘breasts’ to her, and what was a ‘cock’ or ‘dick’ to me was—believe it or not—a ‘disco stick’ to her.

  ‘For your information, no, I did not let him feel my knockers.’

  I heard Emma groan at my use of the word and couldn’t help but smile.

  ‘No wonder he looked so miserable when he was cashing up. Henry asked him to have a drink with us, but he just mumbled something about needing his sleep.’

  ‘He didn’t say anything else?’ I asked, trying not to sound too desperate for information.

  ‘No,’ Emma sighed. ‘Although, to be honest, I was more interested in Henry. Roman is very good-looking though, Summer. So, did something happen?’

  I blew out a breath, and braced myself to explain about one of the hottest kisses that I’d ever had.

  I was in the pub, groaning into my glass of wine, while my sister and my brother grinned inanely at my predicament.

  I know it’s unbelievable that I told Dylan that I’d kissed my new boss—most women wouldn’t divulge such things to their brother —but that’s how it’s always been with the three of us. We told each other everything. Which is how I knew how many women he gets through in a month, and that Vicky Steadman was the best lay he’s ever had. ‘Hands down, Sum’ and swear on the magnificent arse of Nicki Minaj,’ he’d informed me.

  ‘Just think of all the quick gropes you can get working in the same office,’ Dylan said as he nudged me with his elbow.

  ‘That is not going to happen!’ I snapped, half-hoping it would.

  ‘Wouldn’t be so bad?’ Pippa said with a shrug as she took a swig of her pint of cider.

  ‘Seriously, what am I going to do?’ I asked, pinching a crisp from the packet in Dylan’s hand. ‘I can’t work with him. I’m going to have to find a new job.’

  ‘Why do you?’ Dylan asked, moving his crisps away from me. ‘Didn’t you say he was the one that snogged your face off?’

  ‘To-may-to, to-mah-to, Dylan,’ I cried. ‘He hates me at work, and then kisses me last night. I just don’t get it.’

  Every day was the same with Roman. Him complaining that files were missing, or they were incomplete; he’d even told me that my coffee was crap earlier in the week. Who does that and then sticks their tongue down your throat?

  ‘He’ll probably forget about it, especially if you were a shit snog,’ Dylan said, not being at all helpful.

  ‘He won’t forget, stupid,’ I hissed. ‘Anyway, if I remember correctly, he seemed to enjoy it.’

  ‘Did Biggus Dickus feel your boobies when you kissed him?’ my sister asked.

  ‘No,’ I sighed. ‘And stop calling him Biggus Dickus. For one, that’s not even a proper Roman name; two, it’s the most tenuous nickname I’ve ever heard; and three, you have no idea whatsoever whether he has a large appendage or not!’

  ‘Sorry, sis,’ Dylan sighed. ‘I really have no idea what your problem is. You kissed him, he’s your boss, get over it.’

  ‘Well, if I fancied my boss, I think I’d find it awkward too,’ Pippa said, rather sensibly for her. ‘I mean, Mr. Devine is pretty hot for an older guy, but I can’t imagine lusting after him all day. He’s too particular on how he likes his cup of tea. Plus, he’s too damn soppy about his wife.’

  ‘Exactly,’ I cried dismissively, ‘I keep looking at him and thinking how sexy he is, while all the time wanting to strangle him. It’s confusing and takes up too much energy trying not to drool while he’s acting like a dick.’ I swallowed hard and tried not to think of Roman’s pert backside in his perfectly fitted trousers. It was so hard being faced with it in the office: him pacing up and down all day, that rock hard bum always in my view.

  ‘Maybe he’d be up for a bit of sadomasochism,’ my stupid brother added. ‘You strangling him while he has a quick grope.’

  ‘Is that the sum total of your advice?’ I asked, with more than a hint of disgust.

  Dylan nodded. ‘Yep. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve just seen a girl at the bar whose cat I castrated last week. She kept flirting with me the whole time I
was telling her all about Sid’s undescended bollock, so I may be some time, girls.’

  My brother winked at us, picked up his jacket and sauntered over to the bar to greet a tiny brunette who giggled and flicked her hair furiously as she gazed up at him.

  ‘Want another?’ Pippa asked, ‘or shall we go home and get Ma to make us some hot chocolate?’

  I looked across at Dylan, who already had his hand on the girl’s backside. ‘Hot chocolate.’

  ‘Excellent choice,’ Pippa said and drained her glass. ‘And we’ll also ask her what she thinks you should do about your sexy-as-hell grumpy boss.’

  I groaned inwardly because I had no doubt that my mother would indeed have some thoughts on the subject.

  Thankfully, I didn’t see Roman for the week after our kiss, which was an even bigger relief than that wee you have after holding it in for two hours. Yes, I was nervous about what he’d say, but I was also tired of the constant sniping from him. He’d been in contact by email from the site he was on, but no phone calls or visits to the office. I had to wonder if he was avoiding me, but he was busy and didn’t seem the sort of person to shy away from his mistakes.

  When Friday rolled around again, I was thankful for my two days off, but also a little less stressed after four Roman-free days. When I saw his parking space was empty, I breathed a little sigh of thankfulness as he obviously wasn’t coming in again. Roman was nothing if hard-working and usually was in the office long before and long after anyone else, so evidently I was to have another day of peace.

  With a lovely strong cup of coffee in my hand, I started to look through my emails, contented at the peace and tranquillity of having the office to myself. However, that contentment didn’t last long, when just after lunch Roman called me.

  ‘Summer!’ he barked down the line. ‘Clear your diary and mine for next week, we’re going to France.’

  ‘W-what?’ I stuttered. ‘What do you mean, we’re going to France?’

  ‘Exactly that. We. Are. Going. To. France,’ he repeated slowly and deliberately. ‘I take it that you’ve got a passport?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Good. Get us a couple of flights to Nice, leaving on Monday and returning on Thursday.’

  I scribbled the details down on a pad. ‘What about a hotel?’

  ‘Erm, well, book one,’ he said as though I was stupid.

  ‘I know that, but do you have a preference? A spa hotel, one with a gym, one without a gym, one with—’

  ‘One with less narky women would be preferable,’ he griped. ‘May I suggest you check the Internet. It’s that thing that’s on your PC where you can search for anything.’

  I huffed quietly. Who was being narky now?

  ‘I’ll call my friend Holly; her husband Liam used to run hotels all over the world. I’m sure he can recommend somewhere.’

  ‘Whatever, Summer. Just make sure there’s Internet, oh, and a gym.’

  Now I had just about reached the end of my very thin tether with him. Why didn’t he say that in the first place!

  ‘Oh and our prospective client will be flying over too,’ he said. ‘So make sure you pack a couple of decent outfits as we’ll be going to some top restaurants. We’re going to have to do some serious wining and dining, and we need to impress him. You do have something suitable, I take it?’

  ‘Yes,’ I snapped, disgruntled that he was questioning my sartorial elegance. ‘Do you?’

  The short, sharp burst of laughter shocked me. Okay, it was very short and sharp, but it was definitely laughter. Roman rarely cracked a smile, never mind chortled.

  ‘Let me know flight times,’ he snapped, back to his usual self, laughter forgotten. ‘And don’t book anything too late going out so that we end up wasting a day travelling.’

  ‘What is it we’re going to be doing there, anyway?’

  He sighed. ‘Not that you need to know, but we’ve been approached by a guy called Alan Cromwell. He’s from Rickeby, but wants us to refurb a farm and outbuildings that he’s bought in France. He’s turning it into an exclusive villa with adjoining apartments. It’s going to be a top-end holiday let for people who have so much bloody money that they have no idea what to spend it on, apparently.’

  ‘So not the sort of place I’ll be going to on a girlie holiday, then?’ I joked.

  ‘No.’ Was Roman’s short reply. ‘Now get those flights booked. We’ll talk more on the flight over.’

  ‘Can I just ask, why do I need to go?’ I said.

  Roman sighed. Because, Steve, the structural engineer can’t go, and I’ll need you to take notes and synchronise calendars. Believe it or not, you’re pretty good at organising me.’

  Then, before I even had chance to register the compliment, I heard the dial tone as he abruptly ended the call.

  Rocking in my seat, and chewing on my lip, I stared down at the phone, desperately wanting to call him back and tell him that I couldn’t go. I could hear my blood pumping in my ears as it had a drum battle with my thudding heart. How the hell was I supposed to spend time with him away from the office? We would be with each other all day, and all evening, and the thought petrified me.

  By the end of the afternoon my nerves were in shreds, and I decided that I needed to talk to Emma about it. We agreed to meet at the pub just across the road from the office, but as I locked up the building, my phone beeped with a text from her:

  Emma: Sorry, going to be 20 mins late. I’ll have a white wine—large. Dad has got on my nerves today. x

  I smiled as I put my phone back into my bag. Emma’s dad, Ronnie, was a nightmare to work for. According to Emma, he never kept to time, always double-booked meetings and appointments without either consulting with his diary or Amy, his PA. His business lunches lasted all afternoon and often resulted in Amy having to make her way to wherever he was so that she could drive him home because he’d had too much to drink. No, Roman was an irritable cuss at times, but at least I knew where he was when I needed him.

  Pushing through the double doors of the pub, the smell of stale beer was strangely comforting and I felt myself relax. I was being stupid: going to France with Roman wouldn’t be so bad—would it?

  Getting two glasses of wine, I made my way towards a table that I’d spotted over by the window. I was just a couple of feet away from the table, when a tall good-looking guy, with raven-black hair, plonked himself down at it.

  ‘Shit,’ I muttered, loud enough to get his attention.

  He looked up at me and grinned. ‘Sorry, did I just beat you to it?’

  I gave him a weary smile. ‘It’s fine, I’m sure I’ll find another one.’

  I looked around the pub, but it was six-thirty on a Friday night: the place was packed.

  ‘Hey,’ he called, ‘I’m not staying long. I only popped in because I’m early for meeting. Take a seat.’ He pushed a chair out with his foot and nodded towards it.

  ‘Are you sure? My friend will be here soon and if I know her, she’ll have ridiculously high shoes on that are crippling her.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ he said, laughing.

  ‘Thank you.’ I plonked onto the chair next to him, placed Emma’s glass of wine on the table, and took a huge gulp of mine.

  ‘Bad day?’ he asked.

  ‘Bad week to be honest.’

  ‘Well, glad I could help improve it then.’ He put his own glass down and held his hand out to me. ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’

  I looked closely. ‘Oh my God, Jack Abbott,’ I cried. ‘It’s got to be, what, nine years?’

  ‘It has indeed, Summer James. How are you doing?’

  ‘I’m great. Well, as great as you can be after a long week of work.’

  ‘You work around here?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Yeah, just across the road at Barlow’s.’ I pointed through the window to our office and yard.

  ‘So you’re working for the infamous Roman Hepburn, then?’ Jack’s eyes widened as he watched me over the top of his glass. ‘I
heard he’d taken over the place.’

  I almost spat my wine over the table. ‘You know him?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Jack said nodding vehemently. ‘Our paths have crossed, let’s say.’

  ‘Why, are you in the building trade too?’ As I drank I watched him carefully.

  He was very handsome, in a smooth, debonair way, with his neatly styled hair and pristine white dress-shirt tucked into dark blue jeans. His problem was, and had always been, that he knew he was good looking. He’d been fully aware that at least three women had given him a second glance in the last couple of minutes.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Not on Roman’s scale, though. I’m more in the conservatory-attic-bedroom sector of the trade.’

  I nodded and looked outside to check for Emma. I’d only grabbed a sandwich at lunch, and the wine was already making me feel a little tipsy. I was desperate for her to get here, so if we weren’t eating, at least I wouldn’t get plastered alone.

  ‘You busy over there, then?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Fairly busy, yes. We have a shopping centre on the go, although that’s on hold because of some stupid birds, and Roman and I are flying out to France next week to meet a possible client, a local guy who wants some holiday accommodation built.’

  ‘Really, nice work if you can get it,’ Jack laughed. ‘My work takes me as far as exotic Manchester, if I’m lucky. There’s not much call for small-time builders like me in France.’

  ‘I’m sure you do okay. So you still see anyone from school?’

  Jack shook his head. ‘Nope. You?’

  ‘I’m meeting Emma White actually, that’s who the wine is for.’ I pointed at the other large glass of wine on the table.

  ‘Bet you’ll be drinking the expensive stuff next week, if Roman is paying.’

  ‘Oh I’m not sure about that.’ I shook my head. ‘He’s not exactly your friendly type of boss who’d share a bottle with you.’

  Jack nodded and played with a beer mat. ‘I heard that about him. Heard a few things about him, actually.’