sat there, and had to excuse herself from her colleagues.
‘Sorry. See you later. Gotta go now. Need more shoes’
‘You look as if you’ve got a hot date, judging by your expression.’ One of the guys laughed.
‘You’ve no idea,’ she called back as she left the pub. She did need more shoes. Her heel had broken the previous evening, hadn’t it? What better excuse for some retail therapy?
She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes before she was due back at her desk. Plenty of time. The trouble was one pair wasn’t enough, and her credit card maxed out with the three pairs she had chosen.
‘I hate being stuck on a budget,’ she moaned to the store girl serving her.
‘Take one pair and I’ll reserve the others till your next pay day.’
‘Great. But now I have to decide which to take and which to leave.’ By the time that decision was reached, she was 20 minutes late. Her supervisor, a crusty middle-aged woman, prematurely grey and with a naturally sour expression, was waiting by the door with a grim look on her face.
‘Miss Waites. You are 20 minutes late. It’s the fourth time in the last week you have been late. It won’t do. This is your last and final warning. One more and you’re out.’
‘Sorry,’ Shoanna muttered. ‘I had a meeting. With my bank manager. Very important. He kept me waiting.’ The supervisor glanced at her expensive shopping bag.
‘So I see. Last chance.’ Shoanna stuck out her tongue as she turned away, wondering if she should take the risk of resigning. ‘And you can stop pulling that expression. You forget there’s a mirror over here.’
Shoanna managed a slight blush of embarrassment. She stowed her bag under the desk and attempted to concentrate on working. The trouble was a vision of Andreas’ beautiful body and not half bad face floated in front of her screen. Would she see him that evening? He hadn’t suggested a date. In fact – she froze with horror. Had he even got her phone number? He knew roughly where she lived when he dropped her off that morning. But would he know which flat it was? Would he bother to pursue her? She hadn’t even noticed where his house was when he’d driven her back.
All these thoughts made concentration impossible and, at the end of the day, she had accomplished less than half her target. Old Sour Face would complain bitterly but, hopefully, not before tomorrow, by which time she might have formulated her other plans for the future. All that providing Andreas contacted her again.
‘What are you up to this evening?’ Tara asked.
‘Dunno. You?’
‘I might go to Stacey’s. What do you think?’
‘Not sure.’ If she was honest, she didn’t want Andreas to think she was chasing him. If he owned the club, the chances were he would be there at some point during the evening. Though she was desperate to see him again, if he was there, he would also meet Tara, and she was not yet ready to share him with her flatmate. ‘No, I don’t fancy Stacey’s. Had a late night last night so maybe I’ll just stay home.’
‘Good grief. You’re taking our bet seriously, aren’t you?’
‘You might think so. Actually, no. OK, so I realise I’ll owe you, but it was a ridiculous idea.’ She could already feel herself getting wet at the memory of her previous night’s excesses. There were so many things she could look forward to trying, and waiting for however long their own ridiculous bet would last was nigh on impossible.
‘Tell me about last night,’ Tara demanded. ‘Obviously he was someone special. And those strips of leather he sent you home with were something else. So brief, they must have cost a fortune. Any other kinky ideas in his world?’
‘Just a few. Million.’
‘So when are you seeing him again?’
‘Actually, that’s the problem. I didn’t give him my contact details.’
‘Not like you.’
‘Nothing last night was quite like me. Well, not quite like anything I’ve done before.’
‘That’s rich