Tequila Seduction

I forced another mouthful of food down before pushing the plate away and Kat frowned at me reproachfully.

"I spent ages cooking that for you -- it's your favourite."

"Sorry," I mumbled.

And I was sorry. Sorry for not eating the pasta she'd spent minutes slaving over a hot pan cooking for me. Sorry for being such a miserable, broken hearted bitch. But most of all I was sorry I had ever laid eyes on that bastard.

"I'm off out for a walk," I continued as I dragged my aching body out of the hard, wooden chair.

"Again?" Kat exclaimed in disbelief. "If you walk any more miles, your shoes will wear out."

"Walking is good for me. It stops the demons clamouring inside my brain." That much was true at least. It was the only peace I managed to find these days. I certainly wasn't sleeping.

"I'll leave the pasta out. Please try and eat something later. You're wasting away." Kat was worried about me and beneath the casual entreaty I knew she had good reason to be. My weight had plummeted in recent weeks. But I was aware that even if I ate regularly, there was nothing I could do about my state of mind.

Only time would heal my wounds and so far, not nearly enough time had passed for that to happen. Maybe in a few decades I might feel something like normal again. Or at least I hoped so.

* * *

With half an eye on my office door, I quickly scanned the email from 'Dave' on the dating website. It had been Kat's idea for me to join. So far, since she'd come up with the dubious idea, she had enjoyed many hilarious hours trawling through hundreds of profiles of sad and rejected individuals on my behalf. I was less than convinced that Mr Right was likely to be found on the site, but Kat maintained that at the very least it would get me back into the dating game again.

Well she might be right on that score, but I could tell from reading Dave's profile and attached message that Dave was definitely not going to be my first foray into the murky world of internet dating. For one thing he couldn't spell, and for another I felt that collecting guns and breeding pit bulls were unhealthy, if not very disturbing, hobbies. No, Dave was not my Mr Right. In fact, upon examination of his photo, I strongly felt that he wasn't any sane woman's' Mr Right.

The shadow of my boss loomed outside and I quickly shut down the internet window. It was quite a relief to get rid of Dave's photo and I actually found myself smiling at my boss when he appeared clutching a pile of documents.

"Everything okay, Louise?" Mr Foster asked with suspicion as he dumped the documents on my desk.

"Yes, fine," I replied breezily.

"That's good, it's just that we've all noticed you've been less than happy lately..." His voice trailed off and he coughed. "If there's anything I can do to help, you only have to ask."

I caught him staring down my blouse and forced myself not to glare at him. "Thank you for your concern," I said in a saccharine sweet voice, "but I've just had a few women's problems. All sorted now."

As anticipated, my boss took an immediate step backwards and embarrassed alarm flickered across his face. "Oh right, I err...I'm pleased you're fully recovered from err...your problems." He coughed again with a faint reddish tinge colouring his already florid complexion, and looked down at the grey nylon carpet with interest.

"Right then, I'd best be heading off to prepare for that meeting with Max Bannerman."

"Would you like some coffee bringing up?" I asked solicitously.

He smiled with relief now that the difficulty had passed. "Yes, Louise, that would be nice. Some of those chocolate biscuits would be a welcome addition too."

I smiled sweetly until I remembered that I'd eaten them all last week in a fit of misery. Shit. Only the soft bourbon creams remained and I knew my boss hated them. But did I care? No, not really. The only thing (or rather person) I cared about, no longer cared about me. So if he didn't give a rat's arse, why should I?

* * *

"What are your plans for Saturday night?"

"Television, vodka and chocolate, although not necessarily in that order - why?" I looked up at Kat curiously.

She grinned and sat down beside me. "Not anymore, my poor miserable friend. Saturday night is the night when you're being wined and dined by Jamie the hunk."

"Fuck off, Kat," I said disagreeably. I was tired, I was depressed, and I was really not in the mood for her matchmaking.

"No, I won't fuck off," she said cheerfully. "I live here."

"Not for much longer if you keep up with this."

She sighed heavily. "It's for your own good," she insisted. "I'm fed up of you moping around like a character from an art house movie. Even the birds have stopped singing in our garden these days."

"Who exactly is this Jamie?" I scowled before flicking through the television channels and settling for one of the shopping channels.

"He's the brother of Melinda who works with me. We were discussing you and—"

"Excuse me? You were discussing me?" A scary looking woman sporting a very orange tan momentarily diverted my attention. She was cooing that I really needed a gold necklace for only £45.99. I didn't, but at least it stopped me bludgeoning Kat with the remote.

"Well not discussing you exactly, more like comparing notes on manic depressive symptoms in the broken hearted. Apparently Jamie's ex dumped him for a wrestler."

"Wrestler?" My mind was boggling.

"Yeah, some huge guy she met at a Spanish language class."

"Let me guess, they eloped to the Costa del Sol?"

"Funnily enough -- yes. Poor Jamie was gutted - although not as gutted as he was when he got his credit card statement a week later and found out that she'd paid for their flights on it."

"So let me get this straight...you want me to go on a date with a guy who was recently dumped in favour of a Spanish speaking wrestler and who probably now hates women?"

"Look, you hate men and wrestling, so you should have an evenings worth of conversation covered."

I simply stared at her in disbelief. There were times when I couldn't work out why she was my friend. This was definitely one of those times. "I'll think about it," I said eventually.

Kat took that as a 'yes' and disappeared into the kitchen humming the wedding march while I contemplated grievous bodily harm.

* * *

"She told me she hated Spain," confided Jamie in a slurred voice, "Said paella and sangria made her ill."

It has that effect on me, I thought. Just like you.

"Then why did she want to learn Spanish?" I found myself asking although I was at the stage where I didn't really care.

"It was that or Furniture Restoration for Beginners," he said, "and that class was full." He stifled a sob. "If only she'd learnt french polishing instead of te amo!" Then he stared mournfully at his glass of Chablis as I thought about committing suicide.

By the time I said goodbye outside the restaurant, I had completed a crash course in counselling. Jamie might have been a nice bloke if not for the severe trauma of his last relationship, but it was obvious we weren't meant to be star-crossed lovers any time soon. The only good thing to arise from the evening was the realisation there were people who were worse off than me. At least I was a partially functioning manic-depressive. Jamie would have kept a therapist in business for years.

I was almost cheerful when I walked in through my front door. Then I remembered who was responsible for my crap evening and I felt the homicidal tendencies kicking in again.

"How did it go?" Kat asked with an innocent expression.

"Great," I replied as I kicked off my shoes and collapsed on the sofa. "I think I might sign up for Beginners Spanish -- sounds like an ideal place to pull. Failing that, I'll just slit my wrists."

"Excellent." Kat smiled. "I can tell you had fun. When's the second date?"

"In another lifetime?"

She thought about that. "I wasn't sure if Jamie was right for you anyway," she concluded eventually. Melinda did say he had a few emotional issues."

"Emotional issues? The guy needs fucking help!"

"Well okay, maybe he's a little depressed." She at least had the good grace to look slightly ashamed now. "But it got you out of the house!"

"Yeah, thanks," I agreed morosely. "Never mind, I can watch the season finale of CSI you that recorded for me."

"Err...I forgot...sorry!" She shot out of the room before I could slap her.

I closed my eyes and wondered what I had done that was so bad in a previous life. I just hoped I'd had fun doing it.

* * *

"I need a table booking for tonight," my boss barked when he appeared in front of my desk.

"Why?" I asked dumbly, hoping that he didn't notice the IM window winking at the bottom of my screen. Kat was working from home and she was bored.

He looked at me like I should have been able to read his mind, but I still couldn't recall him mentioning any meaningful events in his personal life.

"Max Bannerman is in town for a couple of days and I thought we'd all go out for a meal. It'll be a good opportunity for him to meet the team."

"Right," I replied, my mind working overtime on what excuse I could use for my non-participation. I knew from past experience that any office night out would be tedious. They tended to be mostly opportunities for my boss to get drunk whilst his wife wasn't around.

"Curry, or something different?" I asked brightly.

"Try the Spice Bowl in Brick Lane," he said thoughtfully. "Max likes Indian food."

"Lovely," I agreed with a plastic smile.

"Say about half seven. Oh and let everyone know the details."

I could tell from the way he said it that there would be no room for dissent. Attendance was compulsory -- not optional. Oh well, it was another fun night to look forward to. It seemed like there were no shortage of those lately.

* * *

Due to unforeseen public transport problems, I waltzed in to the restaurant twenty minutes late. Despite the throngs of people milling around the bar area, I soon spotted my boss. He was standing at the centre of a group with a glass in one hand and talking loudly to a tall man with dark hair.

"At last -- I thought you weren't coming," grumbled my boss as he broke off mid sentence at my arrival.

"Some bloke threw himself under a tube train so they closed the Victoria line." I glanced at the bar and wondered whether it was worth ordering a drink, or wait for the wine to arrive with our meal. There seemed little point in hoping my boss would offer. It wasn't his style.

"Can I get you a drink?" asked a sexy European voice. "That's a horrible start to anybody's evening."

I turned in surprise. Max Bannerman was tall, much taller than me, and his eyes caressed my face as I returned his gaze. I shivered with unexpected desire and wondered how long he was planning on staying in town.

"Thanks," I replied gratefully. "A vodka and tonic would be very welcome."

"My pleasure." He managed to make those two innocuous words sound like heated foreplay and my nipples instantly hardened beneath my silky dress.

I was suddenly very pleased that I'd made an effort with my choice of outfit. Kat had sniffed at my original selection -- jeans and a jumper -- and insisted I made more of a sartorial statement.

"You have a great figure so why hide it beneath that?" she had grumbled as she threw my favourite fleece on the floor.

"Well it's not like anybody will care what I look like." I flopped down on the bed and scowled.

Ignoring my petulant attitude, she quickly ran through my minimalist wardrobe with the expert eye of a woman who spent hours shopping in designer stores.

"This one," she said firmly.

"That'll get me perved at all evening." I recalled the last time I wore it and winced. Paul had loved the way it plunged into my cleavage and clung to my curves. I could only hope he was missing me half as much as I was missing him.

"Exactly." Kat's voice interrupted my maudlin thoughts. She grinned and threw the silky scarlet dress at me, along with a pair of strappy heels. "You never know when opportunity will strike."

How true that was. Max's fingers brushed mine as he handed me my vodka. I shivered again and hurriedly took a huge gulp of the chilled drink. It belatedly occurred to me that I hadn't thought about my ex at all since I clapped eyes on Max.

* * *

For most of the evening the conversation around our table was dominated by business. Since I wasn't all that interested, I didn't contribute much. I was happy to take a back seat and listen to my colleagues all trying to out do each other in a feeble attempt to impress our boss and Max Bannerman.

By the time the dessert dishes had been cleared and my boss was flashing his gold Amex at the waiter, I was tired and ready for bed. Although I had felt Max's eyes drifting over me more than a few times, I had pretended not to notice. Once the initial surge of attraction had worn off, I decided that fantasising about him was a waste of time. It wasn't as if he was going to be around after tomorrow. So what was the point in flirting with him? Yes, he was sexy, but he was also out of bounds. I had no intention of jeopardising my job for a quick roll in the sack.

As the others hovered by the exit door, discussing where to go for a drink, I wondered how best to extricate myself from them. Just as I was devising a cunning plan, a taxi pulled up outside and discharged a bickering couple. Whilst they were negotiating the fare, I took my opportunity.

"I'm off now," I told my boss hurriedly, "I've got a terrible migraine." I grimaced for good measure and before he could react, I shot outside and jumped in the cab.

"Camden, please," I said to the driver and settled back into the seat, closing my eyes.

Suddenly the cab door flew open again and Max Bannerman climbed in.

He sat beside me, his thigh brushing against my stocking clad leg and I stared at him, wide eyed.

"Migraine," he said by way of explanation. "Indian food has that effect on me."

"How unfortunate." It was a pity my body didn't agree with that sentiment.

"Draycott Hotel, please," he directed the driver who grumbled at being given conflicting directions.

"Which one first?" The driver glowered in the rear view mirror as the taxi pulled away and headed for the main road.

Max ignored him. "Would you like to have a nightcap with me?" he asked much to my surprise.

"I thought you had a migraine?"

"I did." He smiled, "But It's gone now. So are you going to have a drink with me?"

I wavered. As much as I knew I ought to go straight home, the worry that I risked upsetting my boss by refusing Max's seemingly innocent request nagged me. After all, the poor guy was in a strange city all alone, it seemed rude to abandon him to the limited entertainment of room service and the porn channel.

"I suppose one drink wouldn't hurt." Famous last words.

* * *

The barman barely glanced up from his newspaper when we entered the virtually empty hotel bar. Max bought some drinks and we took a seat in a secluded alcove. I admired the tasteful décor as I sipped my vodka and wondered how much this place was costing. Probably a small fortune, I guessed.

"Lovely dress," Max commented with a grin.

I looked down and saw to my horror that the dress had slipped down to expose a large portion of my cleavage.

"Thanks," I muttered. I suddenly felt like a small mammal trapped in a cage with a very hungry predator. Those pesky pheromones were crating havoc with my good intentions and I made a silent decision to consume no more alcohol once this drink was finished.

"Have you always lived in London?" he enquired.

His thigh was pressing against mine firmly and I struggled to make my brain function. "Erm...no, only for about five years," I replied. "My family are from Yorkshire."

"I went there a couple of years ago -- I spent a weekend in York," he said.

We began to talk about the places he had visited and in no time at all, it was almost one o'clock in the morning and the barman was throwing us belligerent looks.

"I ought to go home," I said regretfully. "It's late and I have work tomorrow."

"Surely Mr Foster won't mind if he knows you've been entertaining me?"

"Ha! You don't know him well, do you?" I laughed and grabbed my coat.

We left the bar and headed out into the lobby. It was deserted; the receptionist who had been stationed there earlier appeared to have abandoned her post in favour of more interesting things.

"Thank you for your company," Max said softly as we stood in the shadow of a huge potted palm.

"My pleasure," I replied. The attraction was still simmering between us more powerful than ever and I suddenly had the urge to flee. But my body stayed firmly rooted to the spot as Max smiled at me, his dark eyes unreadable.

Then he bent his head slowly towards mine and although I knew what he was about to do, I didn't move a muscle to stop him. Our lips touched and the fire that had been smouldering all evening ignited like bone-dry kindling.

His fingers threaded through my hair as our bodies welded together and I was unable to suppress a low moan. After the sexual drought in the wake of Paul's betrayal, my libido was back with a vengeance. I wanted this man like I'd never wanted anyone so badly in my life.

A hand slid down my back and cupped my bottom, pulling me against his hard body. Heat throbbed between my legs and I was almost on the verge of surrendering to my fate when my fevered brain registered the sound of heels clacking loudly across the marble floor.

I broke away, breathing heavily, and saw the night receptionist staring at us less than discreetly from her desk. My cheeks instantly suffused with embarrassment. What in the hell was I thinking!

"I gotta go," I garbled almost incoherently. Then I ran away as fast as I could manage in my silly shoes. Fortunately a black cab was idling outside the hotel with the driver thumbing his way through a tabloid. He looked up with interest as I threw myself into the back of his taxi, obviously checking to see if I was a celebrity and were there were paparazzi were on my tail. Realising to his disappointment that I was not Britney Spears, he sighed and folded his newspaper up.

"Where to, love?"

"Anywhere," I snapped. "Just drive."

* * *

The harsh sound of my mobile phone screaming a pop tune woke me up at the ungodly hour of half six the following morning. I struggled to open my eyes for a few seconds and when I glanced at my blue phone screen, I wished I'd kept them closed.

"Hello," I groaned eventually. There was no point in ignoring the call -- my boss would just keep ringing until I did answer him.

"Louise, I need your help." No apology for waking me up. How unlike him, I mused dryly.

"With what?" I had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't going to involve filing.

"I've been throwing up all night with food poisoning -- must have been the king prawns I ate at the restaurant."

"Oh poor you." More likely alcoholic poisoning caused by multiple bottles of wine, I thought less than charitably.

"The thing is, Louise, I'm meant to be showing Max Bannerman around the touristy spots before he catches the first flight out tomorrow morning." He suddenly made a noise that sounded like a dying pig and I winced. "I'm not going to be up for it so do you think you can step into the breech, so to speak?"

The thought of seeing Max Bannerman again sent a hot flush racing through my body. How on earth could I face him after that kiss? But I felt it was best not to mention this unfortunate event to my boss -- I doubted he would understand.

So instead I said, "And I'll get paid for this?" I knew my boss well enough not to make such an assumption. He was tight enough to deduct it from my holiday entitlement given half a chance.