Rekindling Love (British Billionaires Series) (6 page)

“
I remember. I remember him saying he was going to do that,” said Susan warmly. “How about you, Liz? You aren't from this neck of the woods?”

“
No, I'm English too.”

“
I gathered from the accent.”

“
I own a boutique book store. Antiques, first edition, limited runs, that kind of thing.”

“
That sounds wonderful. What a perfect way to spend the day,” said Susan, beaming at the idea.

Could this get any worse? thought Rupert. How has this happened? Is karma on my trail? Why, why, why did I agree to this? Scowling at his sister, Rupert wanted out. He made a spectacle of checking his watch to convey time was a major issue for him.

“
You know, Liz and I were only passing through tonight. I've a reservation booked at a restaurant.”

“
Which one?” inquired Imogen angelically.

He glowered at his sister.

“
It's a surprise. For Liz.”

“
Whisper it to me then.”

If ever there was a time he wanted to throttle his baby sister it was there and then.

“
No, I don't want to spoil it.”

“
Must we go, Rupert?”

Staring at Liz, he couldn't believe she was turning down dinner with him to stay here. “No, of course not. It was me implementing that quality-time element we were talking of earlier.”

“
It's only Susan's just introduced us to the artist, Jonathan Radmacker. He's friends with her producer, Callum McKinley. Given your love of musical theater, you'll surely be familiar with Mr. McKinley.”

Rupert didn't miss Liz's snide comment. He surveyed the scene. The bohemian was Radmacker. Unable to take his eyes from the thick, chunky leather sandals, complete with white socks, Rupert suspected the tight, suede, flared brown trousers were probably purchased in the sixties— that he fit in them was indeed a reason to be proud. The flowing, cream painter’s smock was accessorized with an open brown-suede vest and a fawn-colored scarf draping from his neck. The layers of clothes, bead necklaces and trilby sitting on his balding head were joined by a pair of rose-colored spectacles resting on his nose (the frame made famous by John Lennon).

The outrageously flamboyantly dressed friend was the producer Rupert was supposed to be familiar with. His outfit was as eye-watering as the artist's. A gray checked suit with a salmon shirt wasn't a hideously awful combination. Matched with a red bow tie and knee-high black Doc Martin kicker boots, however, did make the elderly gent a head turner for the wrong reasons.

Accepting the two men, he returned to the three women. Was Liz joining forces with Susan and Imogen to come down hard on him, he contemplated? Had Susie ever mentioned the incident to his sister? Surely not. Imogen wasn't a renown secret-keeper; she loved gossip. If Imogen had found out, she'd have torn strips off Rupert back in high school and not waited until they were in their thirties.

Dylan was studiously avoiding eye contact with anyone. On the outskirts, he was better positioned to assess the scene. Hank was lovelorn and couldn't take his eyes off Imogen. If his gay-dar was correct, Callum McKinley couldn't take his eyes off Rupert – neither could Susan-Marie or the girl called Liz. The only male whose attention Rupert could hope to attract was Jonathan Radmacker, who he'd already decided was mad. Bemused, Radmacker was enjoying the whole scene unfolding – it was live art in its rawest form.

“
Is it me or is it hot in here?” said Rupert, desperate for a way out.

His shirt felt too tight, though it was handmade to fit. Sweating, he was worrying wet patches would show under his arm pits or on his back, revealing his discomfort at being part of this spectacle. Even the designer charcoal jeans felt snug in the crotch, the denim sticking to his muscular thighs. He was rocking on the outside of his feet. Even the pristine white, skate sneakers didn't feel soft on his soles, despite being specifically made to allow foamy support to take the knocks and jolts genuine skateboarders endured in their sport. Rupert fought the urge to run home, strip off and shower away “disaster” from his skin.

“
It's you. It's October. Winter's only two months away and there's air-conditioning on,” said Imogen smartly.

“
I'm going out for a breath of fresh air. It's stuffy and I need to clear my head.”

He stalked out the main entrance. It was cooler. Rubbing his temples he acknowledged the situation was not nice. Not nice for Liz and it must be horrific for Susie.

“
Hey stranger.”

“
You look different with your hair down and fully made up. I should have placed your face from the gym.”

“
Either way, you didn't recognize me. The gym or an art gallery. You still didn't have any idea who I was.”

“
It's been fifteen years, Susie.”

Nauseous, she steadied herself to prevent vomiting. No one, not even her father called her Susie. Only Rupert had. Horrid, hateful, hurtful Rupert. The man who toyed with her heart-strings. Things were different now.

“
Fifteen years or fifty pounds?”

“
Susie, don't do this.”

“
Don't do what?”

“
Don't rake up something hurtful for you. You deserve happiness. Don't focus on something horrendous that an immature, thoughtless, cruel teenage boy did. You’re so much better than that now and you were so much better than that at school.”

“
Are you worried about me raking up something hurtful that will upset me, or is it that you don't want to have to deal with what happened?”

“
I was there. I know what happened. If you think I haven't lost sleep over it, you're wrong. Seeing you now has raked it up for me, but I deserve that. I deserve sleepless nights. I deserve to consider the boy I was and the man I've become.”

“
You've barely changed.”

“
Meaning what?”

“
Liz tonight, Jasmine at the gym. You asking for my number while Jasmine was present.”

“
Liz and Jasmine are my friends.”

“
Friends with benefits. I'm not fifteen anymore, Rupert, and you aren't eighteen. I'm not blind to your philandering ways. I realize tonight our interaction in the gym was designed for me to become another entry in your little black book.”

“
That's not true,” he protested.

“
No?”

“
No. I was going to call.”

“
We met on Monday.”

“
I was applying the three-day rule.”

“
Will you ever grow up?”

“
Susie, you were talking about playing cat and mouse games at the gym. In the spirit of your playfulness, I was adhering to the customs of dating.”

“
I suppose that could be true.”

“
Did you lose your cell phone or were you trying to make sure it was me?”

“
No and no! When I realized you didn't know me, a lost cell phone was the only excuse to pop in my head for lurking round the men's dressing room. As for making sure it was you, I'd done that five minutes earlier. I was hunting you to say hello.”

“
You look totally different to when I last saw you, but it's as if you haven't changed at all. You're incapable of lying.”

“
You think?”

“
I know. You were always open and honest. You've not changed. I have. And for the better, I add. Knowing you weren't tainted by my behavior as a teenager is a relief.”

Imogen and Dylan joined them.

“
The Brighton College crew reunited,” welcomed Susan.

“
Are you okay?” asked Dylan.

“
She's fine,” answered Rupert on her behalf.

“
Susan-Marie can speak for herself.”

“
I am fine, thanks for asking,” assured Susan, placating.

“
Rupert, seriously, Liz looks on the verge of tears. Sneaking out here with the toast of Broadway isn't easing whatever insecurities she has,” remonstrated Imogen.

Susan threw Rupert a frown, letting him know she didn't believe a word regarding his “friendship” with Jasmine and Elizabeth.

“
I'll go collect her. Take her to dinner now–if Radmacker's finished with her.”

“
We should catch up properly. Just us four,” suggested Imogen.

“
We should, but as I said earlier Imogen, as wonderful as the flowers were you didn't leave me a number to call. How could I forget you and how could I not want to catch up with you?”

“
Rupert, you go inside to Liz. I'll sort out the exchange of phone numbers.”

Bossy as she was, no one could question his sister's efficiency. “I'll see you around,” he muttered.

Rupert took a step forward. Closing his eyes, remembering his school days stopped him in his tracks. Trotting to the trio, hands gripping cell phones, eyes squinting at the screens, he took a leap of faith.

“
Sorry. Can I have one quick word with Susie?”

“
Shouldn't you check on your girlfriend?” needled Dylan tersely.

“
She's not my girlfriend,” responded Rupert automatically.

“
She's not his girlfriend,” said Imogen, echoing him by less than a millisecond.