Free Boot Camp Bride by Lizzie Lamb Page A

under her arm. Sensing she was dismissed, she headed for the door. She paused there with one hand on the door jamb and turned to ask Ffinch one last question: ‘Where and when?’
    ‘I’ll pick you up around eleven. Sam's given me your address.’
    ‘Around eleven, fine. Dress code?’
    ‘A little black dress - assuming you have one. Wear a thick coat and thermal underwear. You do have thermal underwear, I take it?’ he asked, straight-faced, and earned another glare from her. What was his game - what exactly were the rules of engagement? To flirt or not to flirt; he really should make his mind up.
    ‘Doesn’t everyone?’ she said, chiefly to show that nothing he could say or do could faze her. ‘It that it?’
    ‘No; bring food, enough for two of us. None of that low-cal, high protein rubbish females eat. I want doorstep sandwiches containing meat, slabs of cake - and oh, a flask of coffee.’
    ‘Thermal underwear, man food, flask of coffee. Got it … anything else?’ she asked as sarcastically as she dared with Sam Walker and Vanessa listening.
    ‘Tell Father Christmas you’ll be home in time to open your presents. But warn your legion of boyfriends that you’ll have to put the kiss under the mistletoe on hold.’
    Boyfriends? Did he think she was sweet sixteen and never been kissed. She was just about to make a suitable retort when Vanessa put in, ever so helpfully:
    ‘Montague doesn’t have a boyfriend, Rafa.’
    ‘Good, that makes things less complicated,’ Ffinch murmured, almost as an aside.
    Before Charlee had time to ask him exactly what he meant by that, he pushed himself off the window ledge, ushered - almost pushed - her out of the room and closed the door behind her. Standing in the corridor, Charlee could hear their muffled voices and knew they were talking about her. She suspected none of it was complimentary.
    ‘Charlee? You okay?’ Poppy appeared at her side and gave her a shake. ‘Come on.’
    ‘Why? Where are we going?’ Charlee asked as Poppy steered her back into the office and whipped their coats off the backs of their chairs.
    ‘Pret A Manger.’ She took Ffinch’s book out of Charlee’s slack fingers, put it on Charlee’s desk, replacing it with a notepad and a pen. ‘Daddy says I have to bring you up to speed on Rafa to prevent you from making a monumental cock-up tomorrow night. His words not mine,’ she rolled her eyes as they made their way towards the lifts. ‘And I agree with him; this is your big chance and I’m not going to let you blow it.’ Poppy pressed the buttons and they waited for the lift to arrive on their floor.

 
     
    Chapter Ten
Are You Writing This Down?
    Fifteen minutes later, Charlee was in their local branch of Pret, watching the pre-breakfast crowd grab their lattes and croissants. Tomorrow, as she’d pointed out to Ffinch, was Christmas Eve and she’d planned to finish work at noon, load her overnight bag and presents into the Mini and then head for home. Now she was going on this assignment with him!
    She didn’t much care for the sarcastic way he’d said: tell your boyfriends they’ll have to put the kiss under the mistletoe on hold. Or how his lip had curled as if he doubted her capable of being a go-for-it trainee journo and full-time girlfriend. It annoyed her to admit that he was right. Since leaving university last summer, she’d been on a couple of abortive dates with some of Poppy’s male friends - braying Hoorays for the most part. Or, dated men she met in the wine bars where she hung out with the other interns after work. But the men only seemed interested in a quick fumble and the chance to tell her how wonderful/successful/talented they were - and how lucky she was to be dating them.
    Not that she was in any hurry to find a soulmate. As she’d been quick to assure Ffinch, she was wedded to her career - love, marriage, babies and all that jazz could wait as far as she was concerned. And, in any case, she doubted her ideal