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

to navigate that awkward moment of parting. She began by thanking him for such an enjoyable meal, and that he had been an interesting dinner companion. He seemed to be tongue-tied by her compliment and looked down at the sidewalk. Rather than respond to what she had said, he hailed her a cab and she climbed aboard. After the exchange of a few words he closed the door, she waved and was gone.

Ten minutes hadn’t passed before she was at the door of her flat. The comfort and familiarity of her surroundings seemed unusually welcome. The leather jacket ended up on the edge of a chair, the skirt and shoes were puddled on the floor where they were shed. She removed her jewelry, loosened her hair and splashed water on her face before turning off the light. The bed was as she had left it that morning and she all but dove into the middle, grabbing a pillow to stuff behind her neck. She lay on her back, staring back and forth from shadows on the ceiling to pale light from streetlamps beyond her window.

Regardless of emotional fatigue, sleep was evasive. An evaluation of the evening seemed unavoidable. Comprehensive education or no, Olivia had found her dinner companion to be quite charming, given his rather rough appearance. It seemed almost incongruous that his clothing was perfectly tailored and seemingly of designer quality. She had also found that rough appearance to be in some way attractive. She asked herself why. Perhaps his obvious willingness to butt heads, jump into the fray, tackle the biggest rugby player on the field—if he had played rugby—was a sign that he would also be a protector of those close to him. Although she made the assumption about his playing rugby, not football, she couldn’t see him standing still for a mugging. Upon further contemplation of the man’s slightly crooked nose, muscular build, and square jaw with just a hint of beard, Olivia realized conversely, and with a little guilt, that all of these same characteristics could also indicate that he was dodgy. The answer is in the eyes, she thought.

As often happens on a first date, she had avoided looking into his eyes. And in spite of curiosity about his age, she didn’t ask, and was glad that he hadn’t asked her to take a guess. That guess would have been mid to late thirties. In fact, she had not questioned her date about anything personal—his place of birth, his schooling, interests, or his business. However, he had been full of questions, asked with interest and enthusiasm. Olivia had been urged to tell much of her life story, as well as what was taking place in her current life. He asked about her friends, whether they lived close by, where her parents lived, if she had siblings. She felt a wave of attraction hit her when he leaned across the table and asked about aspirations for her future life. It all seemed innocent enough— his questions—a way to pass the time, keep the conversation going. Before the tables were turned and she had an opportunity to give as good as she got, question-wise, they had finished their meal and there was no longer a reason to linger.

It had been a comfortable evening, surprisingly, and Olivia was glad she had given in to her boredom and agreed to meet him. ‘Clive’ had put her in a cab, holding the door open until he could ask if she would see him again. He also slipped the driver some money—she couldn’t see how much. She didn’t have to think about it. Her answer was yes. On the ride back to her flat Olivia had considered her questionable judgment in dating a client. She knew it was inadvisable, but this was the first evening she had experienced in a long time where she was made to feel special, interesting. It would be just a bit of fun—nothing serious—and she would make it clear to him that it didn’t include favors when it came to pricing out his office redecoration—or any other favors he might have in mind—at least not yet. Her next thought was about how much she would enjoy bringing him to meet her parents. She could just see their faces. Olivia could be a slightly evil child.

* * *

Valerie knew that Olivia would not have the funds to flit away with her on a last-minute vacation. In fact, Valerie had no idea where she wanted to go. It just had to be as far away as possible from London and the responsibilities that now seemed to be made up of insurmountable problems. She had been saving for a trip back to the states, but seeing her parents with things in their present predicament had become less and less desirable. They always made her feel like a child, yet with the recent revelations foist upon her by Dr. Kate, she realized that being treated that way may have been of her own doing. For the time being her father had committed to paying rent on the shop, and her credit card still had a decent amount available. She figured that if they shared a room, were careful and kept to a daily budget, they could probably squeeze out a couple of weeks away. Perhaps Olivia could contribute a little, but Valerie expected to take care of the bulk of expenses. She knew that Olivia took no substantial financial help from her parents, a quality that she admired but seemed unable to emulate. Olivia’s job as a decorating assistant didn’t pay a lot, and from what Olivia had shared, Valerie thought they took advantage of her enthusiasm by working her too hard.

She curled up in the corner of her sofa, picked up her phone from the side table, and although it was too early for her date to be over, dialed Olivia. It went to voicemail, so Valerie left a message requesting that she get back to her, regardless