It’s all calm and lovely until the sound of his iPhone breaks our peaceful supper, ringing persistently from somewhere behind me. ‘Excuse me,’ he says, lifting me from his lap and pacing over to a set of shelves by the fridge. I definitely see a look of irritation when he glances at the screen before answering. ‘Miller Hart.’ He walks from the kitchen, leaving me to settle back on my chair. ‘It’s no problem,’ he assures whoever’s on the other end of the line, his bare back disappearing from view.
I take the opportunity while he’s away from the table to study the set-up, again trying to work out if there’s a theory to his madness. I reach over and pick up the platter in a silly test to see if there is an outline which marks its place. Of course there isn’t, but it doesn’t stop me from picking up my plate to check under there too. Nothing. Smiling, I reach the swift conclusion that there are outlines for everything, but only Miller can see them. Then I take my red wine glass and stick my nose in the top before sipping cautiously.
My attention is pulled to Miller when he re-enters the kitchen and pops his phone back where it belongs in the docking station. ‘That was the manager of Ice.’
‘The manager?’
‘Yes, Tony. He takes care of things in my absence.’
‘Oh.’
‘I have an interview tomorrow. He was just confirming times.’
‘An interview for a newspaper?’
‘Yes, about the opening of London’s new elite club.’ He starts loading the dishwasher. ‘Six tomorrow evening. Would you like to come with me?’
My spirits lift to stupid heights. ‘I thought you didn’t mix business with pleasure.’ I arch an eyebrow at him, and he arches one right back, making me grin.
‘Would you like to come?’ he repeats.
I’m smiling properly now. ‘Where is it?’
‘At Ice. I’ll take you for dinner after.’ He casts me a sideways glance. ‘It’s rude not to accept a gentleman’s offer to wine and dine you,’ he says seriously. ‘Ask your grandmother.’
I laugh and start to collect the dishes from the table. ‘Offer accepted.’
‘Jolly good, Miss Taylor.’ There’s humour in his tone, and it widens my smile. ‘May I suggest you call your grandmother?’
‘You may.’ I slide the last of the dishes on the counter, leaving Miller to reshuffle and load. ‘Which drawer will I find my things in?’
‘Second from bottom. And be quick. I have a habit that I want to lose myself with under the sheets.’ He’s serious and stern . . . and I couldn’t care less.
Chapter 21
I drifted off to the calming tone of Miller humming sweetly in my ear, kissing my hair repeatedly and surrounding me in his thing. I know he got out of bed to pick up his boxers and shirt that I left strewn on the floor, but he was soon back, cuddling up behind me.
When I woke, he was already up, showered and suited with his side of the bed made. I lay there for a few moments, thinking how me entering his life has played havoc with his perfectly assembled and organised world before I was ordered to get up and get dressed. With a lack of other clothes, I was delivered home in my freshly laundered dress, much to Nan’s delight.
After showering, texting Gregory to advise him that I’m alive, and readying myself for work, I dart down the stairs with only twenty minutes to get my happy arse to the bistro. Nan’s waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, her cheerful face a pleasure to see, but the diary in her hand, not so much.
‘Ask Miller about dinner,’ she orders as I slip my denim jacket on. She flicks the pages of her diary and runs her wrinkled finger down the dates. ‘I can do tonight, but I can’t do tomorrow or Wednesday. Tonight’s cutting it a little fine, but I have time to pop to Harrods. Or we could do Saturday . . . oh, no we can’t. I have a tea and cakes meeting.’
‘Miller has an interview this evening.’
Her old navy blues fly up in surprise. ‘An interview?’
‘Yes, for the new bar he’s opened.’
‘Miller owns a bar? Goodness me!’ She snaps her diary shut. ‘You mean to say he’ll be in the paper?’
‘Yes.’ I swing my satchel across my body. ‘He’s picking me up from work so I won’t be here for tea.’
‘How exciting! How about Saturday for dinner? I can rearrange my diary.’
It staggers me how my grandmother’s social life is more active than mine . . . or it was until recently. ‘I’ll ask him,’ I pacify her, opening the front door.
‘Call him now.’
I turn on a frown. ‘I’ll be seeing him later.’
‘No, no.’ She points to my satchel. ‘I need to know now. I’ll have to go shopping and call the community centre to rearrange the tea and cakes meeting. I can’t just fall into line with you and Miller.’
I inwardly laugh. ‘Let’s have dinner next week, then,’ I suggest, solving the problem immediately.
Her old, thin lips purse. ‘Make the call!’ she insists, prompting me to immediately dive into my bag for my phone. I can’t deny her the excitement, not now Miller and I seem to be on the same page.
‘Okay,’ I soothe, dialling Miller under her watchful eyes.
He answers in an instant. ‘Miller Hart,’ he says, all formal and businesslike.
I frown down the line. ‘Do you have my number stored?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then why are you answering like you don’t know who it is?’