Sunday, 27 September 2015

Poppy's Carribean Adventure Continues

This weekend I'm out of town, in Paris to visit my Grand-mère who had a bad fall and isn't well. I'll be staying with my cousin Mimi, so I expect there will be cocktails and gossip too.

In my absence, I leave you with the next installment of Poppy's Carribean Adventure:
(Read the previous installments here)

Gage watched her leave, a small smile playing on his lips. He was playing with fire, but God he loved the burn.

Until last night, this conference had been just another thing on his To Do list. Another responsibility to add to all the others. But it was rapidly becoming something different entirely.

He wasn’t a man who mixed business and pleasure. Unlike his father. Gage had worked very hard to restore not only the company’s reputation but also the CEO’s. He’d barely started in the family business before he’d heard the whispers and sniggers and ‘wonder just how much like his father he is?’

Ten years in the company, three at the helm, and no one whispered behind his back any more. He didn’t abuse his power, and no one could whisper now than any woman who got a promotion earned it on her back. Or on her knees.

He was always very, very careful not to even look twice at any woman at the office.

Until Poppy.

At the end of this conference he’d planned to promote her to full time conference administrator. He would miss her quiet efficiency in his office, and the fact that she didn’t make calf eyes at him like most of the other women in the company, but she was too bright and ambitious to be an executive PA forever. He would lose her eventually, so rather he promoted her and kept her within the company than lose her altogether.

But giving her a promotion meant he absolutely could not go where he wanted to go with her. No way would he give anyone the opportunity to whisper that she’d slept her way into the promotion.

He ran his hands through his hair.

On the other hand…

On the other hand, what if no one ever found out? He could be discreet. And what if what happened in the tropics, could stay in the tropics…

Sunday, 20 September 2015

Calling it quits and LFW

Well, The Banker is now history. Last weekend we called it quits after nearly five months, which might be something of a record for me.

I seriously had to use the "it's not you it's me line". But how else do you say to someone "this is great, you're great, but I'm just not feeling it?" when he wants to take the relationship up a notch to exclusive boyfriend/girlfriend territory?

I've said it from the beginning: he's perfect on paper, but there was always something missing. When I'm with him I feel like I'm looking over my shoulder, wondering if being with him is making me miss something better. Not a great basis for a serious relationship, n'est pas?

But there has been no time to dwell, because it's London Fashion Week - part work / part play, lots of fun.

London Fashion Week #SS16

From Roksanda Ilincic's show

Ready to wear from Edeline Lee

Sunday, 13 September 2015

Mile High Part 10

If you haven't already read this story, start here.

Now for the next installment:

One hour to crunch time.

Already the delegates were arriving and checking in, and the foyer was abuzz with excited chatter. Poppy stood on one side of the enormous double volume space with its white marble floor and let out a deep sigh. There was nothing more she could do now.

“Have you eaten anything today?” Gage appeared at her shoulder.

She didn’t turn to look at him. She racked her brains, trying to remember when last she’d eaten, then shook her head.

“Come with me.” It was a command, not a request, and at last she looked at him. He still wore the same jeans and polo shirt he’d worn all day.

“You should be getting ready for the cocktail party,” she said, frowning. “As the host, you need to be there to greet everyone. You can’t be late.”

“It doesn’t take that long to get into a suit. And I can’t spend the whole party worrying that the woman standing next to me is going to keel over.”

Okay, well put it that way… so his concern was less for her than for himself. There was the boss she knew and loved. Okay, maybe not loved. Just lusted over.

She followed him out onto the terrace where a small table had been set for two. A platter of finger foods awaited them, sandwiches cut into neat triangles, savoury puff pastries, fresh fruit slices, plantain chips. Poppy’s stomach growled ominously, and Gage laughed.

She scowled at him, though she had to admit it was kind of sweet that he held her chair for her to sit, then poured her some of the fresh fruit juice in a jug on the table. They ate in companionable silence. Had she been alone, Poppy might have wolfed down the food, now she’d realised just how hungry she was, but with Gage just across the table from her, she put on her most ladylike manners. Her mother would have been proud. Maybe not so proud of the fact that beneath the table she had to clench her legs together to stop the needy ache there.

Now that she wasn’t keeping busy and avoiding him, her traitorous body seemed to be re-living last night’s half dream. Maybe it was the fresh sea breeze blowing in off the bay, wafting his deliciously sensual masculine scent towards her. Or maybe it was the mischievous light dancing in his eyes. It had to be the angle of the tropical sun, because it wasn’t an expression she was used to seeing on Gage’s face. He looked lighter, less serious. He looked like he was having fun.

She frowned and considered him. She’d never really stopped to wonder before now whether he enjoyed what he did. He was a workaholic, putting in long hours, always so on top of everything, quick with decisions, fair and even-tempered, and the staff all loved him. He was good at what he did. But did he enjoy it?

“Do I have something on my face?” he asked, rubbing self-consciously at his chin.

She started and blushed. Of course, he’d caught her staring. She’d been terribly obvious, hadn’t she? Better to let him think that was the reason than let him think it was him she’d been staring at.

“Just here.” She leaned across the table and pretended to wipe a smudge from the side of his mouth. His stubble was rough beneath her fingers. The pad of her thumb tingled against his skin. She drew her hand away quickly, but not quickly enough. He caught her fingers, turned his head and pressed his lips to her palm.

“Thank you for all the effort you’ve put into this conference,” he said. “It’s going to be a great success.”

She snatched her hand back. “You should shave before you meet the delegates. And I need to get changed.”

She pushed back her chair, almost stumbling in her hurry to get away from him, back to her room where she could try to figure out in peace and quiet what the hell was happening here between them.

Stay tuned...

Tuesday, 1 September 2015

Bank holiday weekend

Did you enjoy your bank holiday weekend?

I did! From an outdoor screening of The Princess Bride courtesy of the British Museum, to a lazy brunch with friends, and an entire day spent reading, this weekend was heavenly. In spite of having to dodge the carnival crowds!