Page 44 of Another Lucky Number (Lucky Number #2)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

W e head to Cucina, the resort’s Italian restaurant, which is a tastefully decorated but minimalist space that claims to be ‘an authentic taste of Italy in paradise’.

Once our plates are piled high with antipasti from the starter buffet, we return to our seats, digging into delicious marinated mussels, pesto shrimp, cured meats, cheeses, bread, olives and chargrilled vegetables.

It’s a pleasant, companionable silence, until Amber obliterates it.

‘So now your interview is out the way, Emma, what are you going to do about James?’

My fork clatters on my plate. ‘ Shit . I never messaged him back. The whole interview-still-going-ahead thing knocked me sideways and… I completely forgot about him.’

‘That’s hardly a good sign.’ She raises an appraising eyebrow.

‘No… no . It doesn’t mean anything, other than I’ve been distracted with other things.’

‘So, is it on or off with him?’

‘I… don’t know. I was hoping I’d have figured that out by now.’

‘Where’s your head at, honey?’ Cat asks. ‘Maybe we can help.’

I spear an olive and chew on it while I think this through. ‘What’s in my head is that he’s gorgeous, intelligent, so thoughtful and caring. He makes me feel all fizzy and excited when I’m with him—’

‘ Spew .’ Amber simulates sticking her fingers down her throat.

‘That’s all good, isn’t it?’ says Cat, shooting Amber a disapproving look.

‘It is. But there’s something that’s really bothering me.

One of the things that irritated me about James when we first met was how he kept playing the rescuer.

It seemed like some kind of hero complex, and when I met his mum it finally made sense, with her being a retired nurse and all.

She’s a helper and so is he, and I found that quite endearing.

But then with him playing third interview coach over the last day or so, I’ve realised that he’s not just a helper – he’s also a fixer. ’

‘Is that so bad, honey? It does seem to come from the right place – not manipulative or anything – and his tips were really useful.’

‘I know.’ I shrug, unable to refute this.

‘Being cared for and supported in that way is good in theory – especially after Dave’s self-centredness – but if it’s all the time, and it has the impact of making me feel like I’m incapable, it’ll chip away at my self-esteem.

No matter how well intended it is. I’m just wondering if that makes us incompatible – at least for now, with my confidence having taken a knock recently.

’ I decide not to add that I’ve already got enough ‘fixers’ in my life, because that list includes Amber and I’m not up for that discussion.

‘Ah, OK. I see where you’re coming from.’ Cat purses her lips, and if I’m not wrong, she looks disappointed.

‘Also… I’m not sure I’m ready for a fu ll-on relationship again. I keep landing back on the question of whether it might still be too soon after Dave.’

‘One question…’ Amber holds up a finger, chews and swallows. ‘Dave was a selfish materialistic arsehole, and James is the opposite.’

I wait for her to continue but she doesn’t. ‘That’s… not a question.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Is it a trick question?’

‘Two ends of the spectrum, Emma.’

I furrow my brow, trying to work her angle. ‘Oh… I get it. If I don’t want a selfish materialistic arsehole or a thoughtful and caring man, what do I want?’

‘ Bingo. ’

‘Aren’t there shades of grey along that spectrum?’

‘I wasn’t talking about your sex life, but if you insist—’

‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it.’ I shake my head at her, chuckling. ‘But I suppose you’re right.’

‘I know I’m right,’ she says. ‘No man is perfect. They’re all bloody infuriating at times, but so are we. Would you rather his flaws were being too into helping you, or too into helping himself?’

‘All right, when you put it like that… ugh … Look, as I’ve already said, this is all fine in theory. It’s how it’ll play out that concerns me. And… as I’ve also already said, it might still be too soon.’

‘Or you might have the relationship jitters?’ says Cat.

‘Could be… oh, I don’t know .’ I play with my food absently. ‘I’m more confused than ever now, but I know I can’t leave him waiting around. That’s not fair. One way or another, I have to make a decision today. In fact, I’d better message him now.’

I pick my phone out of my handbag and type a message to James .

Hi there, sorry for leaving you hanging. Can we meet this afternoon? x

He replies in less than a minute.

No worries. Hope you’re feeling better. 5pm in the cocktail bar? We’re off the resort just now. x

I confirm that will be fine and give a loaded sigh. ‘OK, ladies. I’ve got three and a half hours to make my decision.’

After lunch, we head to the pool for some rest and relaxation – my first proper bit of downtime since my interview brief appeared under my door three days before.

Lying back on my sun lounger, I can feel the pressure of my interview shedding like down feathers.

I’m free. Finally . And what’s more – I did it .

After all the sweating, stuttering and drama of the last few days, I stood up there and delivered a quality presentation to a sizeable audience – and I wasn’t even regurgitating a script. That I can be proud of.

However, my moment of self-acknowledgement is short-lived.

Mr Miller’s contemptuous face materialises in my mind, alongside a tangle of worries.

That man has a lot of power and influence.

He could probably damage Paradis Resorts’ reputation if he wanted to.

And how will Sébastien view me now – after hearing how I apparently behaved?

Will he think I’m a sneak? Someone who’s not quite as trustworthy as she makes out?

The idea of that makes me feel sick and angry.

‘ Oh, stop it, ’ I grumble out loud.

‘You OK?’ Cat asks from the lounger next to me.

‘Sorry, yes. I’m winding myself up over that bloody man who hijacked my presentation. And I’m annoyed at myself for letting him get to me.’

‘Try to put it out of your mind for now. You’ve only a few days left to enjoy yourself, so don’t waste that time thinking about him.’

‘I know. I need to make the most of what’s left of the trip.’ I stifle a yawn that suddenly creeps up on me. ‘Think my early rise and busy morning is catching up with me.’

‘Here, I’ll put your parasol up, so you don’t get burnt if you fall asleep.’ She jumps up and wrestles with my umbrella until it’s secured and spanning me protectively.

‘Thanks, Cat. You’re a star.’

I close my eyes and it’s not long before I feel myself drifting into a comforting afternoon snooze. Then a few minutes later, I come round to someone nudging me.

‘ Emma? Emma, wake up.’

I open my eyes blearily to see Amber standing over me.

‘What is it? I only just nodded off. Could you not have left me for a bit?’

‘You haven’t just nodded off. It’s quarter to five. You’re meeting James in fifteen minutes.’

‘ What? How can it be that late?’ I leap off my lounger and start gathering my things. ‘I only meant to have a quick shut eye.’

‘You’ve been snoring your arse off for the last two hours,’ she gleefully informs me.

‘Great. And you couldn’t have given me a poke to save me the embarrassment?’

‘No way. Every time someone walked past, you’d let out this snorty noise, and they’d almost jump out of their swimwear. It was hilarious. I even managed to get it on video. Wanna see?’

‘No, I don’t “wanna see”.’ I bat away the phone she’s brandishing at me. ‘I’ve got somewhere to be, remember? And that had better be deleted by the time I see you later.’

‘ Grumpy guts .’ Amber trots back to her lounger, chuckling at what I assume is a muted viewing of my poolside inelegance and my unsuspecting victim.

Cat’s fast asleep on her own lounger, so I leave her in peace and head to the poolside toilets to check my hair is presentable enough and my makeup is intact. Then, on arriving at the cocktail bar, I grab a shaded table with a view across the pool to the beach and wait for James to appear.

Thanks to my unexpectedly elongated nap, I’ve made zero progress with my decision on whether to shut things down or keep seeing him, so I attempt an on-the-spot analysis.

It’s really about weighing up my feelings for him and what he could bring to my life, against the reality of his ‘fixer’ personality and my state of mind following my break up from Dave.

There’s no doubt my confidence (generally, and in men) has been damaged.

But does that mean I should focus on healing those psychological wounds?

Or should I get straight back on the horse, so to speak, to avoid turning into a commitment phobe who’s terrified of getting hurt again?

My inner musings come to an abrupt halt when James pulls out the chair opposite me. His hair is wet, and he smells citrusy and divine. My heart skips at the sight of his gorgeous melty brown eyes and his increasingly tanned skin.

‘Hi, Emma.’ His smile is faltering. He’s clearly apprehensive about what I’m going to say.

I suddenly feel wracked with guilt that I didn’t say something to put his mind at ease when I messaged him earlier – but then how could I have offered reassurance when I don’t know what to tell him?

‘Hi.’ I try to sound as relaxed as possible, while my stomach shifts back into cement mixer mode. ‘I’m OK. How about you? Where did you go today ?

‘We did an ATV tour of Nassau. It was great. How’s your day been?’

‘It’s been… full on. A little terrifying… but all went well in the end… to a point.’

‘Right…’ A look of confusion appears on James’s face. ‘I was expecting something more along the lines of disappointment, regret… maybe even relief.’

Of course . James doesn’t know that I went ahead with my interview. I had assumed Amber would have let him know but obviously not.

We order some soft drinks and I fill him in on the events of this morning. He listens intently, relaxing a bit as I talk, and when I finish my story, he gives an impressed clap of his hands.

‘ Bravo, Amber . What a move. And bravo to you too, Emma. You did it .’

‘I did.’ I can’t help smiling proudly. ‘Although I’m not feeling good about the impending outcome. I was always punching above my weight and that Mr Miller has likely scuppered any chance I had.’

‘You don’t know that,’ he says. ‘Anyway, you’ll find out soon enough. I’m so glad you went ahead today, because I’ve felt bloody awful about everything that happened.’

I meet his kind, guilt-ridden eyes and feel myself melt. It makes me want to climb over the table and hug him – and then snog his face off. But I resist this urge. I need to get through this conversation without causing any further confusion. It’s only fair.

‘I know you have, James,’ I say instead. ‘And I’m sorry I left you feeling that way. You didn’t deserve that.’

‘Maybe I did.’ He shrugs. ‘I should never have got involved in that conversation yesterday. I also need you to know that I wouldn’t have offered you advice if I didn’t think you were up to the job.

That’s not my style. I guess with us not knowing each other that well, it might have come across a bit patronising, so I’m sorry for that. ’

While I appreciate his apology, I can’t help feeling uncomfortable receiving it, because everything he did came from a good place – and a good heart.

How can I blame him for wanting to help me succeed?

For wanting to look after me? I don’t need looking after per se, but it’s nice to know that he cares.

Plus, who wants to be fighting their corner alone – ever?

That would be a damn lonely place to be.

I had three people fighting mine last night and while the way they went about it wasn’t the best, it was well intentioned.

And anyway, who’s perfect? Certainly not me.

‘Thank you, James. I appreciate that.’ I take his hand and squeeze it. ‘I know you were only trying to help and I’m sorry I let you wander around looking for me. That wasn’t fair.’

‘Emma, you don’t have anything to apologise for. Nobody wants to hear people talking about them that way.’

‘Well, regardless, we’ve made our apologies and it’s done, yeah?’

‘You’re the boss.’ His face breaks into a relieved grin. ‘So, now we’re good, can we recommence our holiday romance?’

Ah shit . So much for not causing any confusion. I’ve wrapped this up too quickly. I still need to talk to him about us – and the fact that there possibly isn’t an us.

Too sharp for his own good, James picks up on my body language and my hesitation and his grin wilts like a dying flower. ‘We’re not good, are we?’