Free Don't Tell Eve by Airlie Lawson Page B

message. ‘I knew you’d appreciate it, you’re so obviously a man of discernment.’
    The man of discernment was astounded by how far from the truth she was.
    ‘What are you drinking?’ asked Eve.
    ‘Mineral water.’ It was the safest option, as Chris knew he was not just a cheap drunk but an amorous one.
    ‘Oh, darling, nobody but nobody drinks water in a wine bar,’ said Eve. ‘Unless —’ she looked at Chris speculatively, ‘unless they’re in recovery.’
    Chris shook his head, immediately wishing he hadn’t; she’d given him the perfect excuse.
    ‘Then let’s get a bottle of bubbly.’
    A red talon moved up and down the extensive wine list, settling on a bottle of Moët. The waiter was suitably impressed with the price of her choice.
    ‘Now, what say we move somewhere a little less exposed – a good idea, don’t you think?’
    Without waiting for an answer she stood and they moved to a partially curtained alcove, lit only by the wavering flame from a small candle.
    ‘This is more like it.’ Eve casually adjusted her bustier. ‘Love the shape, but it does drift down, if you know what I mean.’
    Chris was grateful of the distraction when the food platter arrived.
    ‘Free food, wonderful,’ said Eve, immediately jamming several olives into her mouth, then spitting out the pips. Licking her fingers, she turned back to Chris. ‘So, this is cosy, isn’t it? Have you been here before? No? I was asked to the openin’ but I couldn’t go, a work do got in the way – you just would not believe how much I do out of hours.’ Her slight pause didn’t leave Chris time to comment. ‘But it’s all part of the job, bein’ the face of the company. My predecessor, Lionel, was very much a stereotypical old-school publishin’ type, right down to the cigar he smoked. At least, I think he did – I’ve not heard any Oval Office-esque rumours suggestin’ otherwise. But anyway, he thought good books should just sell themselves. Can you believe it? I mean, really, the world has moved on. Why would you buy a book when you could get a CD or DVD that you’ll listen to again and again?’
    Chris wasn’t sure if he should suggest that people might want to buy both. Deciding against it, he drank and studied Eve’s bustier, before realising that this might encourage her. He helped himself to an olive.
    Eve, neither needing a response nor expecting one, continued. She’d been briefed on this subject. ‘Because,’ she took a gulp of champagne, ‘because books can change your life. Books do change people’s lives, all the time.’ She tried to think of an example but couldn’t – Hilary hadn’t actually named any of these so-called life-changing books. Personally Eve couldn’t see how a book could be life-changing – a film, maybe; a television program, yes; even a lipstick might be, if it were the right colour. But a book? She couldn’t picture it. ‘Anyway, it’s about image and brandin’ and makin’ sure people know who they should be buyin’ these life-changin’ books from. And now, instead of dull worthiness, I think you’ll agree that people associate Papyrus with glamour, with style – we’re an aspirational publisher.’
    She pulled back her shoulders and leaned forwards. ‘You’re very lucky to be with us at this moment in time, very lucky.’ She stopped to sip her champagne and dip some bread into the hummus. ‘And we, my darlin’, are very lucky to have you.’
    Making a non-committal noise and moving as far back as he could without lying down, Chris retrieved his glass. It would all be manageable, he told himself, if Eve continued to talk about herself.
    ‘But enough of me, I want to know about you,’ she said. ‘If your book isn’t, as you say, autobiographical, then I’d like to know where you get your ideas, particularly for the more – how shall I put it? – “intimate” scenes. What kind of research do you do?’
    ‘Like I said last week, I make it all up. N-no