Rekindling Love (British Billionaires Series) (3 page)

“
And?”

“
And what?”

“
And who else?” growled Imogen.

“
I met Jasmine at the gym. It was manners to invite her to tag along.”

“
You use that gym regularly. Don't pretend to me Jasmine was the only person you chatted with on Saturday's session. Something compelled you to invite her.”

“
Aaaaahhhhh,” Rupert threw his head back to laugh at her intimate knowledge of him.

“
Dirty antics in the gym. I'd have thought better of you Rupert Locke-Smythe,” she chastised.

“
I didn't disappoint you. You'll be proud to hear we took a shower here.”

“
Rupert you're thirty-three. I'm not going to dictate your life to you.”

“
And yet you are,” he corrected.

“
No. I'd like you to take my sisterly advice and think about finding a special woman to complete you.”

“
Imogen. I love you. But this America. We aren't in
Four Weddings and a Funeral
or
Notting Hill
. We certainly aren't in
Jerry Maguire
. This is real life.”

“
I know you get lonely,” said Imogen, leaning over to squash his cheeks between her palms.

“
How can I be lonely when you live two floors down and are up here harassing me every single day?” Imogen contorting his face was muffling Rupert's question.

“
Don't you want to settle?”

“
The concept is great, but the execution isn't uncomplicated,” he admitted seriously, seeing her concerns for him were genuine. “You think I'm a Playboy.”

“
I'd have said male slut. I know it's vulgar but sleeping with a harem of women verges on vulgarity.”

“
Not that you're judgmental,” retorted Rupert, stung by the bite of her brutal words.

“
I'm not. What I see is a guy with a different girl for every occasion. It must leave you feeling unstable.”

“
I've got you as my anchor,” he said winningly.

“
I have my own life, Rupert. When I'm married, who will you rely on for emotional support and constant companionship?”

“
Are you engaged?” he asked incredulously.

“
NO!”

“
I'll come to the gallery open,” he conceded in defeat.

“
Come because you want to, not because it pleases me.”

“
Making you chipper makes me want to come.”

Standing, she embraced him. “Will you bring someone?”

“
Elizabeth.”

“
Why her?”

“
Imo, you're wearing me out with the persistent analysis.”

“
I'm trying to understand you, Rupert.”

“
No one understands me better than you. We grew up together. We immigrated together.”

“
Just tell me why Elizabeth?”

“
Liz is British. She appreciates arts and literature. That's why Sunday brunch is shared with her. We can eat, read the papers in companionable silence, watch a foreign film and hit the sack. I like clubbing; Liz hates it. I can't force her there. Mikaylah is younger and understands no-strings. She's an aspiring Play-bunny. She can deliver whatever we need for the evening and never fails me. Jasmine is a gym junkie and into sports. Mikaylah is nocturnal. Her bodily work outs don't involve conventional exercise.”

“
Too much information, brother.”

“
You wanted to know. Jasmine is company for me at the gym and relaxing afterward. I couldn't throw her out the door on Saturday without asking her to come to the game. I had hoped she'd say no, if I'm honest. I wanted it to be lads only. I wasn't particularly popular with my mates by bringing her. Jacqui is there. It's rare, but I do have to socialize with work colleagues. It's managerial etiquette. My understanding is Jacqui is employed near our offices and regularly joins in work functions. It's fun to flirt.”

“
Do they know they're mere accessories in your fabulous life?”

“
I don't think of them as accessories. I certainly don't interact with any of them with that attitude.”

“
I don't know if that's better or worse, Rupert. Have you lead any of them to believe they're your girlfriend?”

“
No,” he snapped at last. “I treat them with respect. I contact them regularly because I like them and care for them and it's important not to neglect friends. But never have I given any signal that we're anything more than that.”

“
Can you put your hand on your heart and tell me not one of those girls love you?” asked Imogen subdued.

“
Couldn't say. It's never been spoken of,” he said, munching a biscuit thoughtfully.

“
Men aren't known for spotting the signs women emit when in love. I'm not having a go, Rupert, but I think they're probably all a bit in love with you. Any woman in her right mind would question why they only date at a particular place or are restricted to participating in a selected activity with you.”

“
Are you suggesting the women I go out with are mentally deranged?” he softened his tone.

Imogen knew his anger abated as hastily as it rose. “Personally yes, if they're dating a cold creature such as you. Objectively, of course not. The fact they put up with it makes me think there are at least four women experiencing unrequited love.”

Rolling his eyes, he took his sister's rant in the spirit of its well-meaning delivery. “I don't have a black-book full of names. Liz is culture and arts. Mikaylah for clubbing. Jasmine for sports. Jacqui for work.”

“
What about home?”

“
Home? Here is for me and you. Family time.”

“
Wouldn't you like a woman who shared your interests?”

“
I don't think she exists and I'm not willing to compromise. As for my losing you after you undoubtedly marry a cad that's nowhere near deserving of you, I'll live my life as bachelor. It can't be that bad. It wasn't for Uncle Robert Locke-Smythe senior. He did magnificent things while alive,” reasoned Rupert

“
It didn't stop him having a son!”

“
True, but I was raised in an informed age. I'm always safe,” said Rupert, knowingly tapping the side of his nose with a finger.

“
What did I say about too much information?”

“
I'll come to your gallery opening. You never know, I might fall for Mr. Radmacker.”

“
And break a million girls' hearts? Never.”

“
You're right. I shouldn't deprive the female population of the delectable Rupert Locke-Smythe.”

“
Why not go solo? You might meet the girl of your dreams there.”

“
I'm taking Liz and going there to be with you. End of. I don't need you setting me up, Imogen. I like stability and that's exactly what I have.”

He drained his tea. The conversation had finished.

“
Nervous about rehearsals?” inquired co-star David, walking into the theater with Susan.

His voice and familiarity was exactly what she needed, preparing to meet and greet a new cast, in a theater she'd never performed at previously. In turquoise cargo pants with chunky pockets, Susan had a black singlet under her zip-up yellow hoody. Urban dance-wear made her feel younger and more in tune with the chorus line. Seeing the lithe youths strolling into the theater, supple and toned, Susan couldn't quite shake the saying “mutton dressed as lamb” from her mind.

“
Nervous about meeting the rest of the cast and gelling with them so the show is right, to be honest,” she answered.

“
Least we have our own dressing rooms.”

“
True. Do you remember having to share when you were in the chorus line?”

“
Horrendous. Sweaty, sticky and steamy from the energy exerted from the dance. Wrestling to find a mirror to apply make-up. Squabbling over anyone getting a fraction extra of the limelight than yourself. Thank God those days are over.”

“
Was it that bad?”

“
Yes!” asserted David.

“
Until you met Jem.”

“
Yes. Meeting Jeremy while sharing a dressing room did compensate for the years I fought it out with every other wanna-be in there.”

“
Be sure to remember that in those shared dressing rooms right now are a guy and a girl that'll be stepping into our shoes before we know it.”

“
Horrifying,” said David camply, contemplating someone younger and prettier than him taking over the roles he'd played throughout his career.

“
Frightening, but an inevitability. Everyone needs their chance to shine. I always throw the odd sick day to give the understudy a chance.”

“
I thought you were genuinely sick for those two shows,” his voice was scandalized.

“
I was. Sick of work. It was one day. A Wednesday. It gave the understudy the matinee and evening performance. It was two performances out of two hundred and eight.”

“
You're a generous performer, Susan, and wonderful mentor. And it looks,” David was flinging open the door to her dressing room while speaking, “as though someone else thinks so too.”

A huge bouquet of flowers were there. Consisting of fresh white and red roses, they'd been arranged in a straw basket containing a glass vase with water. The long straw handle of the basket was designed in a heart shape.

“
Any guesses as to who?” David was resting on the frame-way of the doorway, keen for the gossip. He was cute in his navy jogging bottoms and plain sky-blue t-shirt. His outfit would enable him comfort and space for practicing dance routines. Taking the card, Susan placed it flat down on her dressing table.

“
Callum, Dylan or my dad,” responded Susan playfully.

“
Callum, no. It would wind the cast up if they thought he had favorites.”

“
Unlikely to be my dad. He's far too used to the job to think of the first day of rehearsals on Broadway is a big thing.”

“
Dylan then?”

“
It's my only reasonable choice.”

“
And Dylan is?” asked David immediately, while feigning boredom at Susan's love-life.

“
Oh he's nobody you'd be interested in,” she said pretending to fall for his act.

“
Don't be mean, Susan,” he wailed.

“
He's my agent in America, helps out my British agent if I'm doing transatlantic jobs.”

“
And is there…”

“
No. Never has been. Never will. He's an old friend from school. He gave me my first break here and he’s thoughtful. This might be him.”

“
Dare I step in to read the card for the big revelation?”

“
Be my guest,” said Susan, bowing and sweeping a hand outward to encourage his entry.

He stepped in, snatched the card and stepped out of the room. Reading it from the hallway, Susan could see a stream of singers and dancing seeking their shared dressing rooms.

“
Wrong on all three counts. I think you'll be disappointed.”

“
Give it here then.”

“
Absolutely not, Susan-Marie Thompson, you promised I could read the contents aloud.”

“
Hurry then. I'm on tenterhooks.”

Dear Susan,

Lovely to hear you're back on Broadway. Probably you don't remember me, but it's Imogen Locke-Smythe from Brighton College. Have never forgotten how talented you were. As we're in the same town I thought I'd send you something to wish you well with the new show.

Love Imogen.

Kiss.

Susan sank onto the seat. Hard and uncomfortable, it didn't come anywhere near the emotional torment the words on the card evoked.

“
Susan? Are you okay?” David came in to kneel by her chair.

“
I wasn't expecting that. It's thrown me completely.”

Unscrewing the two liter of bottle of water, sitting untouched on her dressing table, David poured her a glass. “Do you want to talk about it? Is it something we need to notify anyone of? Is she an obsessive fan or schoolyard stalker?”

Susan snorted. Water flew out of her nose, sprinkling on David. He wiped her spittle, water and other personal grime from his face with a disgusted expression.

“
Sorry! You always know how to make me laugh,” she said, punching his shoulder.

“
I was being deadly serious.”

“
I know. Sorry, it made it funnier. A schoolyard stalker. No. She's fine. It came from left-field. Didn't see it in my peripheral vision. The girl was a sweetheart. I'm shocked she remembers me,” mused Susan.

“
How could anyone forget you? You make an impact on everyone you meet. Everyone loves you.”

“
David, if you were straight, I'd run away with you tomorrow.”

“
Susan, if I was straight I'd let you!” Kissing her cheek, he checked his watch. “Ten minutes and we start doll. Should I keep you company?”

“
Go warm-up or do whatever routine it is you partake of prior to hitting the stage. And thank you David.”

Blowing her a kiss, he went sauntering along the corridor to find his own dressing room.

This isn't Imogen's fault, thought Susan. It was a friendly gesture from a kindly girl she hadn't even mixed with at school. Boarding in the UK, Susan was prominent in the drama club and a school prefect at Brighton College. Thin and popular, Imogen's wild streak prevented her gaining a prefect badge. Her efforts were expended athletically and academically.

Susan's memories of Imogen were fond. She'd never felt the need to bully Susan, despite mixing with the A-crowd. She could recall incidents when Imogen had stepped in to stop the bullying and berate anyone feeling it permissible to make another person miserable.

What concerned Susan was whether Imogen was aware of what occurred at school with Rupert. Did Imogen have an inkling of what happened between Susan and her older brother? Checking the reverse of the card there was no contact details written. Whatever the purpose of the flowers, Susan would never know for sure why Imogen decided to send them.