Blokebusters Read online

“A what?”

  “It’s a bloke who behaves like a woman. You have too many feelings, think too much, just a bit girly.” He noticed Matt about to interrupt again so continued, “I don’t know what’s happened between you and Juicy Georgie but I bet you haven’t stood up for yourself or even told her what you think.”

  “What do you mean?” Matt shifted.

  “You need to get assertive – birds love it; they need to know who’s the organ grinder, who’s the monkey – and I think we both know who’s got the organ. Think about it. You didn’t get your pay rise at work – worse, they picked you to get shot of when they needed a redundancy. Not because you were crap at the job but you were the one who’d make the least fuss. You never speak up. You’re easy to trample over.”

  “I am not!”

  “Stop leaning back on that chair – you’re knackering it. If you bust it you can buy me a new one,” Billy snapped, glaring at Matt’s legs.

  “Oh right. Sorry.”

  “See?”

  Matt stared at his beer. Tricked by Billy. The shame of it.

  They sat on the sofa until one in the morning, drinking beer and watching something on the television that Matt didn’t recognise. It seemed to involve tractors racing each other whilst dragging ploughs. The ploughs quickly stuck in the ground, immobilising the tractor. Confusingly, it was on a sports channel. Billy fumbled around in a drawer and pulled Matt out a blanket, which had a large cigarette burn at one end and a crusty patch at the other.

  “Not quite like feeling up Gorgeous Georgie but it’ll do.”

  “Georgia. Her name’s Georgia.”

  “I know that.”

  “Well, stop calling her Georgie. She hates it. I hate it. Her name’s Georgia.”

  “All right. Calm down. It’s cool.”

  “And stop saying everything’s cool. No one says that anymore.”

  “Right. OK. The assertiveness is developing well,” Billy gulped.

  “Don’t bloody patronise me!” Matt barked.

  “Sorry.”

  “I am sounding more assertive aren’t I?” Matt grinned. “Do you think Georgia will buy it?”

  *

  Georgia slept on Matt’s side of the bed. The pillow smelt of him. She wondered what he was doing at that moment. Knowing Billy, they were probably in a seedy club with pole dancers. Billy would be trying to set Matt up with sleazy women. Matt was probably terrified. Rather, she hoped he was. She’d driven him away. With her ambition and money-obsessed ways. He’d said so many times that he didn’t want to continue the business and that he was worried about what it was doing to their relationship but she hadn’t listened. What did she truly want? Matt or success? Matt. Every single time. She’d talk to Fiona about shutting down. If Fiona didn’t agree they’d have to negotiate selling their shares to her. It felt like selling a child.

  Chapter twenty-three

  Georgia couldn’t recall ever going to work before without Matt being there. It was like part of her was missing. She hoped he was all right and wasn’t waking up next to a lap dancer.

  Matt woke with a sharp pain in his neck. Billy’s sofa was so uncomfortable it probably breached the Geneva Convention rules on how to treat prisoners of war. He sat up and looked at his watch. Georgia would be leaving the house about now.

  *

  As soon as she reached her desk, she called Fiona.

  “Fi? Can you meet for lunch today? I need to speak to you.”

  “Sure. How are things with you and Matt?”

  “I’ll tell you later. How are things with you? It seems a while since we’ve chatted.”

  “I’m fantastic – I can’t wait to tell you all about Leo. I think he’s the one.”

  As were the twenty or so before him, Georgia thought but didn’t say it. There was no point in spreading her bitterness.

  *

  Matt picked the post up from the doormat and smiled. Whoever it was who first said, ‘There’s no place like home’ really knew what they were talking about. He breathed deeply and detected a waft of Georgia’s perfume along with the bowl of potpourri on the hall shelf. They’d argued over it; he’d claimed it looked like a bowl of old pencil shavings only it smelt worse, she’d called him a typical man impervious to foul stenches and intolerant of pleasant aromas. What a woman.

  *

  At twelve-thirty, Georgia’s phone rang. It was reception informing her that her lunch companion had arrived.

  “What’s the dozy woman done coming here?” Georgia muttered as she hung up. She slid her suit jacket on and glanced out of the window. April was just starting to hint at spring so she decided against taking her coat. Fiona wasn’t waiting in the foyer – but Dan Goldstein was.

  “Dan!”

  “I need to talk to you – thought we could go for lunch?”

  “I… I can’t. I’m meeting someone else.”

  “Cancel. Trust me on this.”

  “Right. I’d better let her know.” She called Fiona. She wondered why she was as complicit as she was. It was his tone. It was so definite. Seeing Dan standing in the foyer to her office was crazy. He was part of another life. This made him seem more real. She was so shocked she didn’t even question how he knew where she worked. He looked stunning – standing in a den of accountants he looked like a god, every woman passing him turned to get another glimpse. He wore a beautifully tailored dark charcoal suit and a crisp black shirt, open at the neck in delicious contrast to his tanned skin. A smart tan briefcase rested against his legs. Even his small rectangular sunglasses looked cool rather than ridiculous. They hid his eyes but not his eyebrows, leaving the onlooker enough clues to guess what his eyes were doing. He nodded at every woman who stared at him as if to let them know he could interpret their expressions.

  Georgia couldn’t get rid of Fiona.

  “But who is it?” she whined.

  “I’ll tell you later – I’ve got to go.”

  “Is it Matt?”

  “No – go away.”

  “Who is it then?”

  “Goodbye.” She disconnected the call and switched the phone to silent. Dan removed his glasses and tucked them into his jacket pocket; his eyes relished every movement she made but his face remained blank. This was too important to ruin with some misplaced lust.

  “Have you booked anywhere? Only the restaurants get busy.” She tried to mask the nerves in her voice.

  “I’ve made a reservation.” He smiled at her but could tell it didn’t put her at ease. “Shall we go?”

  He didn’t speak as they walked up to Smithfield market. It wasn’t far, but far enough to make the silence torturous. Smithfield’s meat market had wound down for the day, with only a couple of men in overalls clearing boxes and polystyrene crates away. Georgia always sensed that the bustling activity had ceased moments before she arrived and longed to see muscular men carrying around sides of beef. But all she ever saw were empty crates and sluiced-down pavements. Smithfield’s other identity – as a place for City workers to lunch and play – had stepped to the fore. They walked down one of the covered avenues, the roof supported by imposing Victorian cast-iron arches. The pavements were greasy wet with packaging strewn around as if the traders had been given thirty seconds to get out of town. The traders’ cavernous premises were all shuttered away from view with heavy iron grills; occasional clunky sounds emanated from within giving passers-by cause to wonder what was going on inside.

  Dan stopped outside the restaurant he’d selected, one of the quietest, smallest, most expensive eateries in Smithfield. Georgia, still thinking about bare chested men carting cows about, kept walking. He pulled her back by her shoulder.

  “What? Am I so boring that you drift off into a fantasy world?” He led her inside and gave the maître d’ his name – Georgia noticed it was a false name – and they were led through the restaurant into a private dining room with only one table.

  “I never realised you could hire a room like this!” she said.

 
“For privacy.” He winked, enjoying the excitement she couldn’t hide from sparkling in her eyes.

  A waiter appeared and lingered as they studied the menu.

  “Chicken salad for me please,” Georgia said.

  “Steak – medium rare.”

  The waiter took the menus and left them alone again.

  “I think you’ve got some explaining to do,” Georgia said. “We’ve all racked our brains as to who you are and what you want.”

  “Gimme the options.” He removed his jacket and hung it carefully over the back of his chair.

  “Well, one school of thought says you’re a journalist. But I’m not convinced. Another is that you’re an eccentric businessman who’s got the hots for me.” She looked away, embarrassed at suggesting he might fancy her.

  “That’s closer to the truth.”

  “But you’re not cheating on anyone? None of those women have been genuine?”

  “They were genuine women, just not genuine girlfriends.” He scratched his chest and she watched his fingers slide in and out of his shirt. “My relationship status is pretty simple.”

  “And is?”

  “I’m very happily divorced. And free to pursue any woman who catches my eye.” His eyes dared her to speak but she refused. “And to answer that question you’re thinking but won’t ask – she cheated on me. With my brother. Frankly I hope they both rot in hell.”

  “Who was the woman listening in on us the last time then?”

  “Nicky? She’s my PA.” He was pleased to note the interest in her tone.

  “So come on then – who are you? I want some sincerity here.”

  He ran his fingers over the back of her hand; she watched, powerless to stop him.

  “Sincerity is a quality feted by people who lack the imagination to be interesting. Give me a bit of fun deception over sincerity any day.”

  “I lack imagination. I want the truth, Dan – is that even your real name?”

  He shrugged.

  “It’s as real as any other.” Something about her face suggested she was growing tired of his teasing. “My real name is Joshua Daniels.”

  “Joshua? That’s a nice name.” Georgia narrowed her eyes at him. Joshua. Hmmm. His mother chose well.

  “You think it suits me then?”

  “Don’t look for compliments where none were intended.”

  The waiter brought their meals in. Dan, or rather Josh, completely ignored him and chuckled, “Jeez, you don’t give an inch do you? I want you so much.”

  The waiter almost dropped Georgia’s bowl of salad in her lap and caught it at the last moment. He apologised and fled for the door.

  “I’m a married woman.”

  “I know,” he said, matching her low pitch. “Let’s drop the pretence – Georgia, I need to explain my situation to you.”

  “How do you know my real name?” It suddenly dawned on her. “And where I work? Oh my God – who are you?” The reality of the situation hit her and she panicked. What if he was stalking her? Suppose he posted her head in a box to Matt?

  “Relax – I’m a private detective. I run a detective agency in Manhattan.”

  “Golly,” she said and his insides turned to mush. Every little English exclamation she made turned him on more. She narrowed her eyes at him. “You can’t be a private detective – where’s your raincoat? The hat? Where’s your hard-bitten cynical outlook? Your jaded sarcasm? Your drink problem? Quite frankly I think you’re playing at it. You don’t even seem to be uncomfortable talking to women – I thought that was the very basic requirement for the job.”

  He smiled to show he didn’t mind her teasing.

  “So,” she said, spearing a crouton in a fetching way, “this agency of yours – is it like Pinkerton’s?”

  He squirmed in his seat.

  “Like Pinkerton’s yes – but not Pinkerton’s. They’re one of my main rivals. It’s why I’m looking to branch out; the UK’s an obvious choice. Bit of an untapped market.”

  “How do you know my name?” She idly forked her salad but didn’t eat any.

  “Like I said – I’m a detective. I traced Blokebusters to Gemtrex Limited, looked up the directors – it didn’t take a genius to figure you’d be the married one. Georgia – I’ve got you on my mind.” He shook his head in disgust. “Darn – too clichéd?”

  Georgia smiled, wondering if her lunch could get any weirder; so it was him who’d sent the Valentine’s flowers.

  “Not really. It worked pretty well for the last man who used it.”

  “That would be Matthew?”

  “Matt. Yeah.” Mentioning his name made her pulse quicken.

  “I want to make you an offer,” he said, his tone becoming businesslike. As he twisted to take a pen out of his jacket pocket his shirt pulled tight; Georgia admired his toned midriff. He took the ‘reserved’ card from the centre of the table, flattened it and jotted something down on it. When he’d finished, he pushed it towards her.

  “I want to buy Blokebusters from you – these were the numbers I had in mind.”

  Georgia looked down at the paper. Courtesy of Bailey Martin, she had been on an expensive five-day negotiating skills course so knew it was a bit crap to gasp at his offer. But then the course organisers probably hadn’t just been offered six to ten million pounds for a business run from their spare bedroom.

  “This is a wind up. Very funny. Ha ha.”

  “The idea isn’t new.” He leant close towards her and spoke confidentially although they were alone. “The company and brand is. We do this kind of work all the time. What we’ve never done is give it this type of respectability or crack the women’s market – it’s usually fat old rich guys marrying exotic dancers and shitting themselves that wifey’s fucking their tennis coach. Also there’s the whole other side to it – Bitchbusters – a chance for guys to use a respectable service. The brand name’s worth everything and you’ve done all the hard work establishing it.”

  “I knew there was something odd about you the second time we met. You were too –” she rummaged around in her brain for an acceptable word, “too unlike all the other men we tested.” She stopped herself from saying ‘too attractive’ but he interpreted it anyway.

  The waiter returned and glanced at their untouched meals with concern.

  “Is everything to your satisfaction – madam?”

  “It’s lovely thanks.”

  “Sir?”

  “Great. We’d like some privacy though.”

  “Certainly sir.” The waiter retreated with a puzzled look.

  “Georgia – when I first met you it was purely to sound out the business. I never expected to fall for you – don’t look so surprised, like you didn’t know. I only came across you by chance; Nicky was bored so bought a magazine – WHY no – WOT – that’s what it’s called I think. She spotted the ad and we both liked the look of it. Every time I booked you I picked a different look for you, a different style for you to come in. And every time you thrilled me more. I think I love you.” He seemed awkward at his declaration and fiddled with his napkin before meeting her eyes again. “I have actually booked the service five times but two of those another girl turned up – nice girl but not you.”

  “That was the other odd thing,” Georgia said, “you looked so affluent yet your girlfriends only usually booked the cheapest service. It didn’t add up.”

  “I just told you I love you. I’m going to keep saying it until you respond.”

  Georgia gave her salad a further prod.

  “I’m married. I’m happy with my husband.”

  “So happy that he didn’t come home last night?”

  “Are you following us?”

  “It kinda becomes a habit,” he shrugged unapologetically. “There are two things I haven’t worked out yet though – where are your offices? I’ve tailed you and Matthew but I’m still none the wiser.”

  She giggled and he tried to drink in every single moment of it.

 
“Spare bedroom.”

  “You’re joking, right?” He slapped his palm on his forehead to show what an idiot he felt.

  “What’s the second thing?”

  “Larry Pink – I can’t find him. It’s like the guy doesn’t exist.”

  She studied him hard. Oddly, given the circumstances, she knew she could trust him.

  “He doesn’t.”

  “What? His name’s everywhere.”

  “It’s Matt. Matt is Larry.”

  “Well, shoot. That did not occur to me at all.”

  She laughed and his eyes fell to her breasts. She noticed and rounded her shoulders, resting her elbows on the table. Her gaze dropped back to his offer.

  “So what’s the range for?”

  “It’s not technically a range. It’s an either/or. Six million pounds for the business, the Blokebusters name and your website. Ten million for all of that. And you.” He spoke slowly with equal emphasis on each word.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I want you to stay on and run the business. I’m looking to expand it – nationwide, in the US, Canada. I need you to train girls, teach them what you’ve learnt. I want you by my side. Your presence adds a four million premium to the price. I want you to stay on as a director. I’ll pay you a salary of £250 k per annum plus a share of profits.” He smiled at her. “Most people don’t know what they’re worth – you now do.” Under the table his leg rubbed against hers. “In an ideal world you’d share the running of the business with me. And my bed.”

  “This is insane.” She rubbed her eyes. They didn’t itch but it gave her a reason to break eye contact.

  “You and me – we’re the same. We want to get on in life; we want excitement. Tell me I don’t turn you on and I won’t believe you. Tell me you haven’t thought about what I’d be like in bed and I’ll call you a liar. Because we’re the same. Matthew seems a nice guy – I haven’t found out anything to the contrary. But he’s dull. He can’t excite you like I could. Like I do.”

  She knew she should defend Matt but didn’t want to speak and have her tone betray her. If she said anything he’d see through her, detecting how much she fancied him, wanted him. She buried her face in her hands like a child: if I can’t see you, you can’t see me. Joshua reached over and gently prised them away.