Page 141 of Wife After Wife

“No, I work just up the road, for a PR agency.”

Harry rubbed his leg, which he realized was hurting after his fall. “Think I’ll call it a day. I might get a bite of lunch in the café before I go back to the office. Fancy a sandwich?”

Ten minutes later, after a speedy blast under the shower, Harry was sitting opposite Caitlyn. She’d reapplied her lip gloss and smelled of something delicious.

“I don’t need to ask whatyoudo,” she said, looking at him with those big blue eyes. “You’re famous!”

“Hardly. At least...” Harry attempted to think of someone all the girls liked. “Not in a Colin Firth way.”

Caitlyn snorted. “My grandma likes him.”

“He’s older than me, of course.” Harry hoped this was correct. “Who on TV do you like, then?”

“The Kardashians.”

“Hm. I’m not one for reality TV.”

“I just love the family drama. And being real—that makes it more powerful.”

“Is it real, though?”

They continued their chat for another half hour; Harry enjoyed batting the young versus not-so-young ball across the net, back and forth.

Then she took him by surprise. “You’re a cool guy, Harry. I like you. Wanna go out sometime?”

“What?” he spluttered. “You mean, like... a date?”

“Yeah. I asked you once before, but you turned me down. Now you have no wife, so... how about it?”

Shouldn’t he be the one asking? But her direct approach was rather refreshing.

“Well, why not?”

•••

“I’m surprised you don’t have a boyfriend,” said Harry, popping an olive into his mouth. Caitlyn had suggested a Soho tapas bar for their date. It seemed girls preferred less-formal eateries these days.

He had to stop thinking of her as a girl. She was a woman. He had no idea how old she was, but it couldn’t be more than thirty.

“I’mkindof with someone, but he’s not good for me, you know? I’m going to dump him.”

“Not good in what way?”

“He doesn’t respect me. You know what, Harry? Blokes my age have no idea how to treat a woman. Give me an older man any day, with their nice manners.” Her full lips curved into a seductive smile, and she reached across the table to touch Harry’s hand.

His reaction caught him off guard.Thathadn’t happened in a while.

But it was hardly surprising. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her since she’d walked into the bar, causing heads to turn like a Wimbledon crowd watching a Federer ace. She was wearing leather trousers with high-heeled ankle boots, and a lace-up blouse that exposed her shoulders.

And... around her neck was a delicate gold chain that twinkled in the light of the candle on the table. The pendant hanging from it had settled in her cleavage. There were no words to describe how badly he wanted to pluck it out, imagining his fingers brushing her breasts.

He cleared his throat. “Well, yes. Your generation doesn’t seem as well versed in manners as mine. But when I say ‘your generation’—I’m a little intrigued. How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Twenty-four. Nearly twenty-five. And you?”

“Quite a bit more than that.”

She leaned forward, reaching for a mini kebab, and his eyes dipped to see the trapped pendant at closer quarters. He imagined how warm it must feel, lying there against her skin.