Good Deed Bad Deed, Marcia Morgan [summer beach reads TXT] 📗

he must have picked up one of her cards from the receptionist’s desk. Surely this is about business, she thought, and said, “Yes, this is Olivia McKinnon. Hello, Mr. Warren. May I help you with something?” She continued to speak before he could answer. “We do have some fabrics set aside for you to see at your earliest convenience, but I can’t really make an appointment now. I’m not in the office.”

“Oh, I’m not calling about the decorating.” There was a short pause on the other end before he continued, his tone slightly apologetic. “I hope you’ll forgive me for being opportunistic, but I couldn’t resist taking a chance on inviting you to share a meal with me. I’d like to continue the conversation we started at the shop.”

“Mr. Warren, I’m not sure that would be appropriate, given that I’m basically your employee until your office is decorated. And I’m not sure what conversation you’re referring to.” Worried that she might be dressed-down by her boss if she offended a client, she said, “Does the additional conversation you require have to do with your re-decorating project?”

Not to be discouraged, ‘Clive Warren’ proposed an alternative arrangement. “No, it isn’t about the job. I’d just like to continue the perfunctory getting acquainted conversation we were having. As you may recall, it was interrupted.”

Olivia didn’t remember much about the conversation, only that he didn’t have a long wait before she accompanied him into her boss’ office to discuss the project. Once again not wishing to be impolite, she said, “Yes, I remember there was only a short wait before Mr. Saunders called us into his office.” Extemporaneous responses to the man’s suggestion were becoming more difficult.

“After you had introduced me and left your employer’s office, he had nothing but glowing things to say about your taste. But after all, this project is just for a place of business, not a castle, so I would be more than satisfied to work with one of the other associates.” He waited for Olivia to respond, but met with her silence, he said, “That would be a more than acceptable tradeoff for the privilege of spending an evening with you.”

A few more moments of silence ensued while Olivia pondered the issue. If she had observed correctly, he seemed just a little older than she was, attractive, but more in the way of a rugby player who hadn’t shied away from the occasional broken or bloody nose. That, along with the strong jaw and close-cropped hair, had been at odds with the fashionable business attire he sported when they first met in the office. He was definitely rugged looking, well built, and when speaking he revealed, only slightly, his comprehensive school education. She deduced that he couldn’t be dull, or a lay-about. After all, if he did actually play rugby, he might be quite intelligent. She had heard it called ‘a thinking man’s game’—an upper class game that originated in private schools. She reminded herself not to be elitist and focused on the fact that he was employed, with his own office, and he could afford to redecorate it.

Picturing an evening alone in her quiet flat, Olivia spoke. “As it happens, I am free this evening. Perhaps we could meet for a drink and then see if it turns into dinner.”

“Great. But I don’t want you to have to get a taxi or, heaven forbid, use the Tube at night. So where in your neighborhood might we get a decent meal? And which is your neighborhood, by the way?”

“I live in Soho,” she said, adding, “Let me think for a minute.” Olivia decided on one of her favorite places, visited infrequently due to the prices.” Are you okay with Italian?”

“Sure,” ‘Clive’ answered, “You can’t go wrong with Italian.”

“Then I suggest Princi. It’s just around the corner on Wardour Street, and Wardour intersects with Broadwick. But I must warn you, it’s a bit pricey. If you’d like to go elsewhere, that’s fine.”

“Not a problem. I didn’t intend to take you to your local ‘chipper.’”

His attempt at humor made Olivia relax a little, and she responded amicably, “Of course I knew that. But there could be a happy medium.”

“No, it’s Princi. No changes. Why don’t I meet you there at eight? I’ll call for a reservation. I’ll probably use my GPS so I won’t be late. You won’t have far to go, will you? I could pick you up, if you like. I’d prefer that.” He gave her no chance to answer before asking, “Where exactly is your flat?”

Without a moment’s hesitation Olivia told him quite specifically where she lived, but still chose to meet him at the restaurant— a must for a first date, if this was truly a date. They ended the call, and she ran up the stairs, already thinking about what to wear.

Olivia reached the door of her flat and began to fumble with her purse, reaching deep inside for the key. Her fingers soon found it, and as she put it into the lock, the house phone began to ring. Once inside, she dropped everything on the entry floor and rushed to catch the call. Just as it went to voicemail she picked up the receiver and said, “Hello, Olivia here.”

“Oh, you’re there. Good. I wasn’t going to leave a message. It would have been too long. Well, I guess I could have just said to call me.”

“Is that you, Valerie? It’s been so long I can’t quite recognize your voice.” She was glad to hear from her ex-sister-in-law, but didn’t want to gush. “Why didn’t you just call me on my cell?

“I don’t know. I just figured the call might be more pleasant if you weren’t out somewhere and trying to hear over the din of cars and whatever else.” Valerie sounded on edge, anxious.

“To what do I owe the honor of this call?” Olivia asked, making a meal of the whole ‘out of touch’ thing.

“Are you trying to be clever or just being