Rekindling Love (British Billionaires Series) by Sorell Oates Read Free Book Online

you, Liz? You aren't from this neck of the woods?”
     
    “ No, I'm English too.”
     
    “ I gathered from the accent.”
     
    “ I own a boutique book store. Antiques, first edition, limited runs, that kind of thing.”
     
    “ That sounds wonderful. What a perfect way to spend the day,” said Susan, beaming at the idea.
     
    Could this get any worse? thought Rupert. How has this happened? Is karma on my trail? Why, why, why did I agree to this? Scowling at his sister, Rupert wanted out. He made a spectacle of checking his watch to convey time was a major issue for him.
     
    “ You know, Liz and I were only passing through tonight. I've a reservation booked at a restaurant.”
     
    “ Which one?” inquired Imogen angelically.
     
    He glowered at his sister.
     
    “ It's a surprise. For Liz.”
     
    “ Whisper it to me then.”
     
    If ever there was a time he wanted to throttle his baby sister it was there and then.
     
    “ No, I don't want to spoil it.”
     
    “ Must we go, Rupert?”
     
    Staring at Liz, he couldn't believe she was turning down dinner with him to stay here. “No, of course not. It was me implementing that quality-time element we were talking of earlier.”
     
    “ It's only Susan's just introduced us to the artist, Jonathan Radmacker. He's friends with her producer, Callum McKinley. Given your love of musical theater, you'll surely be familiar with Mr. McKinley.”
     
    Rupert didn't miss Liz's snide comment. He surveyed the scene. The bohemian was Radmacker. Unable to take his eyes from the thick, chunky leather sandals, complete with white socks, Rupert suspected the tight, suede, flared brown trousers were probably purchased in the sixties— that he fit in them was indeed a reason to be proud. The flowing, cream painter’s smock was accessorized with an open brown-suede vest and a fawn-colored scarf draping from his neck. The layers of clothes, bead necklaces and trilby sitting on his balding head were joined by a pair of rose-colored spectacles resting on his nose (the frame made famous by John Lennon).
     
    The outrageously flamboyantly dressed friend was the producer Rupert was supposed to be familiar with. His outfit was as eye-watering as the artist's. A gray checked suit with a salmon shirt wasn't a hideously awful combination. Matched with a red bow tie and knee-high black Doc Martin kicker boots, however, did make the elderly gent a head turner for the wrong reasons.
     
    Accepting the two men, he returned to the three women. Was Liz joining forces with Susan and Imogen to come down hard on him, he contemplated? Had Susie ever mentioned the incident to his sister? Surely not. Imogen wasn't a renown secret-keeper; she loved gossip. If Imogen had found out, she'd have torn strips off Rupert back in high school and not waited until they were in their thirties.
     
    Dylan was studiously avoiding eye contact with anyone. On the outskirts, he was better positioned to assess the scene. Hank was lovelorn and couldn't take his eyes off Imogen. If his gay-dar was correct, Callum McKinley couldn't take his eyes off Rupert – neither could Susan-Marie or the girl called Liz. The only male whose attention Rupert could hope to attract was Jonathan Radmacker, who he'd already decided was mad. Bemused, Radmacker was enjoying the whole scene unfolding – it was live art in its rawest form.
     
    “ Is it me or is it hot in here?” said Rupert, desperate for a way out.
     
    His shirt felt too tight, though it was handmade to fit. Sweating, he was worrying wet patches would show under his arm pits or on his back, revealing his discomfort at being part of this spectacle. Even the designer charcoal jeans felt snug in the crotch, the denim sticking to his muscular thighs. He was rocking on the outside of his feet. Even the pristine white, skate sneakers didn't feel soft on his soles, despite being specifically made to allow foamy support to take the knocks and jolts genuine skateboarders endured