“I know that,” I say, grinning to myself at how uncomfortable he sounds. At least I’ve managed to cure him of always telling me I’m right. “But something even more important came up. I’ll keep the reservation – but you can call them and let them know only to expect two, not four.”
“What should I say to Stan and the others?” James asks, sounding stricken.
“Tell them a personal emergency came up, and I’ll need to reschedule,” I say. “And if they ask, the reservation was cancelled. I really don’t need them turning up and seeing me there. It might be a bit difficult to deny.”
“Got it.” James pauses. “Is there… really a personal emergency, sir?”
“Of a sort,” I tell him, glancing back towards Casey. It was an emergency. If I didn’t do something, she was going to walk out of my life without ever being mine, and I can’t have that.
I end the call with James and return to Casey, spreading my arms wide. “I’m all yours for the evening,” I tell her.
“Great!” she says. “Where are we going for dinner?”
I look her up and down; she looks amazing, but I don’t want her to feel out of place. “Did you bring anything dressy with you?” I ask.
“Of course,” Casey tells me. “I don’t have any plans, but I thought I should bring something just in case. There might have been a formal occasion at one of the schools I needed to attend.”
“Good,” I grin. “First, let's go to your hotel, so you can get changed. Then, I’m taking you somewhere nice.”
“Where?”
I laugh at Casey’s wide, curious eyes. “You’ll see,” I tell her. “Come on. I’ll get us a cab.”
Within twenty minutes, we’re at her hotel. I wait downstairs in the lobby as she changes; thankfully, my work uniform of a dark suit and tie means I hardly ever look out of place in any social setting, and tonight will be no exception. I had originally intended to change into something with a little more of a flashy cut, to show off to Stan Robinson and impress him, but there’s no time for the both of us to change. And if I can make sure Casey is going to feel comfortable, then that’s what I’m going to do.
She comes down the stairs in a pair of low heels and a navy blue dress that hangs off her shoulders, cut nicely with a flattering, fluttering sleeve. I take a moment to appreciate the low v that allows me to admire just the very top of her cleavage, and then drag my eyes back up to her face. “You look wonderful,” I tell her.
The blush is immediate, flooding her face from her forehead to her neck. “Thank you,” she says.
I love the look on her face. I can tell she’s not used to getting compliments like that – and I can also tell that she really enjoys them. I want to make her smile like that all the time. And I have a few ideas for things that I could whisper in her ear that might make her blush even harder.
Then I picture that dress ripped open on the floor of my bedroom, and it’s me who has to look at the floor and clear my throat to regain my composure. “Shall we?” I say, pointing to the taxis waiting outside the hotel as a distraction.
I offer Casey my arm, and she takes it. That feels like a small victory, even if we haven’t exactly discussed the possibility of taking this any further yet. But as I feel her hand rest on the crook of my arm, and she walks at my side, I know I don’t want this to be the only time.
I want to make her mine – to show her off like this all the time. I want to shower her in jewels and designer clothes, send her to salon appointments and spas dates, give her a life of utter luxury.
But first, I’m going to give her a taste of gourmet food – and I have a feeling she, of all people, will be able to appreciate it the same way I do.
When we get out of the taxi, it doesn’t look as though we’ve arrived anywhere special. A dark brick exterior with tall glass windows, on the bottom floor of an office building and with a boarded-up shop next door – it doesn’t scream elegance. But I’m playing a little bit of a trick on Casey on purpose. She may not think we’re going anywhere special, but the BRAT restaurant has a Michelin star. All of the best gems in London are just like this, hidden away in plain view.
We’re seated at a table for two. In the cramped space inside the restaurant, there aren’t many tables. We can see the chefs working in front of us at an open kitchen, and on the other side of the room is the bar, taking up much of the available room. Here, you can see everything as it happens – and I think Casey will love it.
“Order anything you want,” I tell her. She might be surprised by the prices down the side of the menu; I don’t want them to put her off getting from what she thinks sounds the most appetizing. “We’ll do four courses, and I’ll get some bread and butter for the table.”
Casey’s eyes widen. She looks like a kid in a candy store, being given the chance to order whatever she wants. Except I no longer think of her as a kid. With her curves, how could I?
We place our orders of chopped egg salad with bottarga, moorland beef tartare, roast duck, and burnt cheesecake with rhubarb for me; langoustine, young leeks with fresh cheese, beef chop, and lemon tart for Casey.
