Shopaholic Takes Manhattan by Sophie Kinsella Read Free Book Online Page A

do my nails now,” I explain. “And anyway, I know you think I can’t drive. I don’t want to have you pulling faces at me all the way down to Somerset.”
    “I do not think you can’t drive,” protests Luke, half-laughing. “When have I ever said that?”
    “You don’t need to say it. I can see it coming out of your head in a thought bubble: ‘Becky Bloomwood cannot drive.’ ”
    “Well, that’s where you’re wrong,” retorts Luke. “The bubble actually reads: ‘Becky Bloomwood cannot drive in her new orange shoes because the heels are too high and pointy.’ ”
    He raises his eyebrows, and I feel myself flush slightly.
    “They’re my driving shoes,” I mutter, shifting over to the passenger seat. “And I’ve had them for years.”
    As I reach into my bag for my nail file, Luke gets into the driver’s seat, leans over, and gives me a kiss.
    “Thank you for doing that stint, anyway,” he says. “I’m sure it’ll lessen my risk of fatigue on the motorway.”
    “Well, good!” I say, starting on my nails. “You need to conserve your energy for all those long country walks we’re going to go on tomorrow.”
    There’s silence, and after a while I look up.
    “Yes,” says Luke—and he isn’t smiling anymore. “Becky . . . I was going to talk to you about tomorrow.” He pauses and I stare at him, feeling my own smile fade slightly.
    “What is it?” I say, trying not to sound anxious.
    Luke exhales sharply. “Here’s the thing. A business opportunity has arisen which I really would like to . . . to take advantage of. And there are some people over from the States who I need to talk to. Urgently.”
    “Oh,” I say, a little uncertainly. “Well—that’s OK. If you’ve got your phone with you . . .”
    “Not by phone.” He looks straight at me. “I’ve scheduled a meeting for tomorrow.”
    “Tomorrow?” I echo, and give a little laugh. “But you can’t have a meeting. We’ll be at the hotel.”
    “So will the people I need to talk to,” says Luke. “I’ve invited them down.”
    I stare at him in shock.
    “You’ve invited businesspeople down on our holiday?”
    “Purely for the meeting,” says Luke. “The rest of the time it’ll just be the two of us.”
    “And how long will the meeting go on?” I exclaim. “Don’t tell me! All day!”
    I just can’t believe it. After waiting all this time, after getting all excited, after all my packing . . .
    “Becky, it won’t be as bad as that . . .”
    “You
promised
me you’d take time off! You said we’d have a lovely romantic time.”
    “We will have a lovely romantic time.”
    “With all your business friends. With all your horrible contacts, networking away like . . . like maggots!”
    “They won’t be networking with us,” says Luke with a grin. “Becky—” He reaches for my hand, but I pull it away.
    “To be honest, I don’t see any point in my coming if it’s just you doing business!” I say miserably. “I might as well just stay at home. In fact—” I open the car door. “In fact, I think I’ll go home right now. I’ll call a taxi from the studio.”
    I slam the car door and begin to stride off along the street, my clementine sandals making a click-clack sound against the hot pavement. And I’ve almost got to the studio gate before I hear his voice, raised so loud that several people turn to look.
    “Becky! Wait there!”
    I stop and slowly turn on the spot—to see him standing up in the car, dialing a number on his mobile phone.
    “What are you doing?” I call suspiciously.
    “I’m phoning my horrible business contact,” says Luke. “To put him off. To cancel.”
    I fold my arms and stare at him with narrowed eyes.
    “Hello?” he says. “Room 301, please. Michael Ellis. Thanks. I guess I’ll just have to fly out and see him in Washington,” he adds to me in deadpan tones. “Or wait until the next time he and his associates are all together in Britain. Which could be a while,