feet. ‘First question. What three words would you use to describe me?’
‘Arrogant,’ she said. ‘Workaholic. Hot.’
‘Arrogant?’
‘You don’t get to comment on the answers. You collate them, study them, act on the information they give you.’
‘Arrogant?’ he repeated.
‘You don’t object to “workaholic” or “hot”?’
‘Workaholic is the bad one?’
‘I’m not here to do the work for you, Max. You have to study all the results. Ask yourself what’s important. What you have to change to get the outcome you want.’
‘I see.’
‘Two out of three isn’t bad,’ she said.
‘Only if they’re the right two.’
‘True.’ He was, it seemed, learning. ‘Shall we move on? I said I wasn’t desperately hungry but I will want to eat tonight.’
‘If I was a country which one would I be?’
‘Switzerland.’
He frowned. ‘Why’s that?’
‘I refer you to the answer I gave earlier.’ Then, ‘You’re like a Swiss clock; you never stop.’
‘I could wind down a little.’ She refused to be drawn into a discussion of every answer. That wasn’t how it worked. ‘A landscape?’ he continued.
‘Birmingham, Stoke…something industrial.’
‘No need to hammer the point. I get the picture. I work too hard.’
‘We both work hard, Max. The difference is that you put work first.’
‘People rely on me.’
‘Delegate.’
‘I’m trying, Lou.’
‘What would you do if someone phoned from Mayfair, right now, and said the restaurant was on fire?’
‘Tell them to call the fire brigade?’
‘Liar.’ Then, because maybe she was learning something from this, too, ‘I’d expect you to go, Max. I’d want to be with you.’
For a moment he seemed lost for words. As if the idea of dealing with a crisis together hadn’t occurred to him.
‘If I was a time of day?’ he said, moving on.
‘Six-thirty.’
He smiled at that and she knew he’d got it. Understood that the time she associated with him was that moment when she walked into his office at the end of the day and he stopped whatever he was doing, they had a drink and just talked. Even when he’d been working on the Valentine party, and she’d left him to get on with it, because she knew how important it was. It worked both ways.
‘Remember that one, Max,’ she said. ‘That one’s important.’
‘A smell?’
Uh-oh, she’d been doing so well until then. In control. Now, without warning, she was plunged into the scent of warm skin, sharp, clean sweat, newly washed hair.
‘Shampoo,’ she said, quickly.
‘And if I was a shampoo, which would it be?’
‘Mine.’ Her turn to smile. Well, she’d written the questionnaire, she’d known which question was coming next.
‘And finally, a car?’
‘Anything expensive, fast and reliable.’
‘Reliable?’
Never lets you down, she thought. No wonder he’d picked up on that one. What on earth had she been thinking?
‘Scratch “reliable”,’ she said. ‘Make that durable.’ Then, because he gave her a sharp look that suggested he hadn’t missed the subtle difference, ‘It goes with the Swiss clock.’
CHAPTER TEN
‘MAX…’
Max had stopped stroking her feet and Louise realised that her words had hit home. Maybe there was hope for him and, curling herself up onto her knees, she reached out to him and, playfully ruffling her fingers through his hair, she said, ‘Why don’t we move on to part two?’
‘Part two?’ He looked at her. ‘Is there any point? You’ve made it very clear that you think I’m just a work- obsessed-’
She put her fingers over his mouth. ‘I told you, Max, the skill is in interpretation. You have to look at all the results. It’s just as dangerous to concentrate on the words that sting, as it is to grab for the words that confirm what you want to hear. Only then can you act to change things.’
He regarded her with the suspicion of a smile. ‘You think?’
‘I think,’ she assured him. ‘Trust me, Max. I’m the expert and it’s not over until it’s over.’
He shook his head. ‘Maybe another time…’
‘No.’ She didn’t want him to think he’d failed. She wanted him to understand what she wanted, needed. That she needed him…
‘Part two,’ she said, firmly.
‘I don’t…’
‘But I do.’ And since she knew what came next, she prompted, ‘Which three words would you use to describe your feelings of anticipation about using the Max Valentine product?’ she prompted.
‘I’m a product?’
‘For the purposes of market research. Work with me on this.’
He shrugged, took a breath and, looking straight ahead, as if dreading her answers, he obediently repeated, ‘What three words would you use to describe your feelings of anticipation about using the Max Valentine product?’
‘Urgency,’ she offered. ‘Excitement. Impatience…’
He glanced at her, the beginning of a smile tugging at his lips. ‘Impatience?’
Suiting the deed to the word, Louise locked her arms around his neck and swung herself over to sit astride his lap.
‘Which three words,’ she said as she began to unbutton his shirt, ‘would you use to describe your feelings during the use of this product?’
‘Which three words…’ he began. She leaned into him, stopping the words with her mouth, and when she’d got his full attention and he was kissing her back she moved on to trail her lips over his throat, across his chest. Then, as she began to unfasten his belt…
‘Desire. Passion. Heat…’
It was much later when, her eyes closed, her voice dreamy, soft with fulfilment, she said, ‘Which three words would you use to describe how you feel after using this product…?’
‘Shattered,’ Max said, before she could answer her own question. ‘Sated.’ He kissed her. ‘Complete.’
‘Good answers,’ she murmured.
‘You give good questions,’ Max said, touching her face, stroking back her hair. ‘I loved your version of part two.’ Then, ‘Can we try mine now?’
She opened her eyes. ‘You had a different version?’
