Free Unveiling the Bridesmaid by Jessica Gilmore Page A

walking a tightrope between them. She inhaled shakily. No, she was pretty sure she could strike the last one off her list.
    Or maybe when he said he wanted her to loosen up he was talking about her V card. He might be a member of one of those exclusive clubs where expensive call girls and even more expensive cigars and whisky were shared by men in ten-thousand-dollar suits. Possibly. She’d seen a TV show once where the detective went undercover in exactly that kind of club right here in New York City...
    Or maybe he would want her to explore her own sexuality in a burlesque class or pole dancing or actually perform in some kind of club or...or no. Ten minutes would be nine minutes and fifty nine seconds longer than she needed to convince any stage manager that she most definitely didn’t have what it took. After all, how many four-year-olds were asked to leave baby ballet?
    â€˜Stop thinking.’ Hope grabbed a pair of high-waisted orange shorts and a cream broderie-anglaise blouse and marched out of the wardrobe, throwing them onto the daybed, which doubled as a sofa and place to sleep. Living in a studio so compact it practically redefined the word had meant she needed to find new levels of neatness and organisation or resign herself to living surrounded by everything she had brought with her in disordered chaos. And that, obviously, would be intolerable.
    Dressed, her hair brushed and tied back into a high ponytail, and her feet encased in a comfortable pair of cream and tan summer loafers, she should, she reflected, have felt better. That was what her new, eye-wateringly expensive wardrobe was supposed to do. Make her feel ready for anything. Make her feel like someone. Instead she felt all too often like a little girl playing dress up in the bold colours, designs and cuts. Maybe she should get changed...
    Right on cue, as if Gael knew the exact moment she was feeling the most insecure, the buzzer went. No doorman here, no lift or fancy hallway. Just a buzzer and several flights of stairs.
    Not that the four flights of stairs seemed to faze him. He was annoyingly cool when she opened the door, his breathing regular, not a damp patch to be seen on the grey short-sleeved shirt he’d teamed with a pair of well-cut black jeans. His clothes gave no clue to the day’s activities although she could probably rule out the gentleman’s club. Her eyes met his and, as she took in the lurking laughter, all the calm, welcoming words she had prepared and practised fell away.
    â€˜Do you want to get going?’
    He took a step forward until he was standing just inside her threshold. ‘Are you in a hurry? It’s usually considered polite to invite a guest in. Or is there something you don’t want me to see?’
    As if. Her life was an open book. A very dull book, which had been left to gather dust on the library shelf, a little like her. ‘Not at all. I just thought you might want to get started. Ah, come in. Although you are. In.’
    How had he done that? Eased himself in through the door and past her so smoothly she had barely noticed. She should add magician to his list of talents.
    Come on, Hope, get some control. ‘Tea?’ When in doubt revert to a good national stereotype.
    â€˜Iced?’
    â€˜No, the normal kind. I have Earl Grey, normal, Darjeeling and peppermint.’
    His mouth quirked. ‘Seriously?’
    â€˜Er...yes. I found this little shop which sells imported British goods and I stocked up...’ Stop talking right now, Hope. But her mouth didn’t get the message. ‘Tea and pickle, sandwich pickle, not gherkins. And real chocolate, no offence. There’s many things the US does better, like coffee and cheesecake, but I would give my firstborn for a really mature cheddar cheese and pickle sandwich followed by a proper chocolate bar.’
    Just in case he had any doubt she was socially awkward she was spelling it out for him loud and clear. She