Page 77 of Jessica Beam is a Hot Mess
‘Mmmm, yes, please,’ I say enthusiastically.
I’m not sure that Grandma would be too impressed with me drinking booze before dinner, but I feel so rotten, and hair of the dog might be just the thing to perk me up and ease this persistent sickly feeling in my belly.
Leo strolls over to a glass bar cart in the corner exactly like the one Don Draper has inMad Men. That’s probably why he bought it, the chump. He swiftly mixes two Martinis and hands one over to me. I take it, and we sit down together on a dark green chesterfield.
I bat my eyelashes up at him and smile.
He smiles back.
I return the smile even harder.
We sip our drinks, just smiling at each other like a right pair of dickheads.
He scooches closer to me on the sofa, his eyes travelling over every inch of my face like he’s super fascinated by it. What’s he playing at?I’msupposed to be the one doing the fascinated looks. He brazenly stares me out and, although I’m usually the queen of stare-off competitions – I can go two whole minutes without blinking − I suspect Grandma would want me to let him win. So I wimp out and let my eyes slide away first.
The whole just looking at each other and not talking thing is creating some tension that I’m not entirely comfortable with.
I bet this is one of his ‘moves’. I bet Leo Frost thinks it’s sexual tension he’s creating here. It’snotsexual tension. I just don’t know what to say to him. I need to saysomething, to have an actual conversation if he’s going to see this date as anything other than a means to a shag. But I have no clue what to talk about − Grandma hasn’t paid a great deal of attention to the verbal contents of the dates as yet, beyond telling me to be impressed with everything he says and interested in the things he’s interested in. Although shedidmention something about the weather being an agreeable way into conversation.
OK.
‘My goodness, it’s sooo warm out—’ I begin.
I’m interrupted by the door flying open and banging loudly against the wall, making the room shake slightly. A bit of my Martini plops over the side of the glass, wetting my hand. A tall, silver-haired, expensive-looking man strides into Leo’s office. He’s wearing a sharp navy blazer, tan slacks, and a mightily pissed-off expression on his distinguished face.
‘Leonardo, for heaven’s sake, bloody Sasha in copy is on at me again about the bloody brand concepts for Longchamp. Have you finished then ye—’ The man pauses when he spots me in the room. ‘Oh. I didn’t know you had company.’
He gives me the exact same lascivious look that Leo did when he met me at the fair.
Barf.
‘This is Lucille Darling,’ Leo says stiffly, sitting up a tad straighter in the chair. ‘Lucille, this is my father, Rufus Frost.’
The great and powerful Rufus Frost, owner of Woolf Frost.
‘Gosh, I’m so pleased to meet you,’ I simper at Rufus Frost, politely holding a hand out for him to shake.
‘My, my, you arequitethe little head-turner, aren’t you?’ he drawls, not shaking my hand but instead giving it a wet old kiss. He smells of cigars. Now my hand probably smells of cigars. Maaan. ‘A rather lovely specimen indeed,’ he finishes, looking me up and down and nodding with approval like I’m a freaking vase he’s considering for purchase.
Cringe city or what. Leo’s dad is even worse than him! As if I didn’t already feel vomtastic enough.
I muster every ounce of composure I have in order to give a ‘flattered’ giggle and not punch this dude in the balls. It’s really tough for me. I take a gulp of my Martini.
Leo coughs. ‘Apologies, Father, I’ll send the brand concepts across to Sasha by midday tomorrow, OK?’
Rufus doesn’t reply, spotting Leo’s drawing on the tablet and picking up the piece of paper with a smirk.
‘Ah,doodlingagain, I see!’ He shakes his head, turning his smirk onto me and holding up the picture between finger and thumb. ‘What are your thoughts, little Miss Darling? A man in a boat! Hardly Rembrandt, is it?’
Woah, that’s cold!
‘We should probably be going, Lucille,’ Leo says, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck.
‘You’re wrong, Mr Frost,’ I grumpily blurt out to Rufus before I can stop myself. ‘I think the drawing’s ace, actually.’
Oops. A Good Woman probably does not blurt. I don’t think she’s says ‘ace’ either.
Mr Frost’s smirk twitches slightly. ‘Yes, well, I expect a layman might be fooled. Good to meet you, sweetheart, have a pleasant evening.’ He gives me a politely dismissive smile and turns to Leo with a frown. ‘By tomorrow, son.’ He points to the boat drawing. ‘The company doesn’t pay you to idle about.’
