Page 78 of Jessica Beam is a Hot Mess
He strides out of the room and I try to hide my appalled expression from Leo. I mean, I don’t likehimeither, but that was très uncomfortable.
Leo drains the remainder of his drink and clanks the glass back onto the bar cart.
‘Let’s go to dinner, shall we?’ he suggests, running his hand through his quiff, nostrils flaring. ‘We can pick up a cab on the Strand.’
‘Yes,’ I agree, following him out of the office. ‘That sounds like asuperidea.’
* * *
‘Don’t mind my father,’ Leo says tightly once we’re outside and he’s flagging down a taxi. ‘He can be a little …’
… bit of a douche?
‘ … heavy handed,’ Leo finishes with a mirthless smile. ‘But then that’s why he owns one of London’s most respected ad agencies, I suppose. He’s not a bad egg. Just a bit of a tyrannical one.’
‘Oh, of course, I understand.’ I nod fervently like a Churchill insurance dog.
‘It’s not often that someone disagrees with him …’
‘Maybe not to hisface,’ I mutter with an eye-roll.
Shit. That just slipped out. What is wrong with me tonight? This hangover is totally putting me off my game. I glance up at Leo, ready to apologize, but he’s grinning down at me, green eyes glinting with amusement.
‘So … you really liked my drawing?’ he asks lightly.
‘I really did,’ I confirm, hamming up my response with a deeply impressed gaze.
‘Why?’
Hmm … I don’t think ‘I just liked it, all right?’ will cut it as an answer here. I think about why I did like it.
‘It was … pure,’ I answer after a few seconds, shrugging a shoulder.
Leo stares across at me for a moment, an indecipherable expression on his snooty face. Then he looks at his Tag Heuer watch, which probably cost him the same amount of money as a car.
‘Do you like coffee, Lucille?’ he says eventually, hand stroking his lightly stubbled chin, eyes to the sky as if he’s forming an idea.
‘Do I!’ I respond in a pleasant tone.A Good Woman must always be enthusiastic.
‘Well, that decides it.’ He nods once and, to my surprise, he stops trying to catch a cab. Instead, we continue walking down the street.
Where are we going? I thought we were getting a taxi to the restaurant? We cross over the busy road and walk a little further until we reach a small coffee house. The blue neon sign in the window flashesLittle Joe’s Java… Little Joe’s Java.
‘Here we are,’ Leo announces brightly.
Huh? This is not an amazing fancy restaurant. Where is the amazing fancy restaurant he’s supposed to be taking me to?
‘Here?’ I ask uncertainly.
Leo grins, loosens his tie and − swiftly undoing the top button of his shirt with one hand − steps forward to hold open the door for me.
I remain on the pavement for a moment. Grandma said he’d be taking me to a restaurant. I learned all that stuff about how a Good Woman behaves at the table! I learnednothingof what a Good Woman is supposed to do at the coffee house!
Befuddled, I follow Leo inside, where I’m hit by the overwhelming scent of roasting coffee beans − which is usually one of my most favourite smells, but tonight, with this annoyingly icky tummy, is not quite so pleasant.
Little Joe’s Java is indeed little, warm and packed out to the rafters. Low, tatty velvet sofas, and plump battered beanbags are dotted here and there, filled with artistic, alternative-looking folk squashed up against each other. Everyone is facing towards a little spotlit stage at the back of the room. I follow their gaze to where a man with wispy chin-length hair, wearing a tight black turtleneck, is speaking into a microphone. Is he … recitinga poem?
‘I love the open mic poetry night here,’ Leo grins as we make our way to a tiny free table in the corner. He holds out a chair for me and signals to the waitress.
