She was
exhausted from travelling, from smiling and posing
all day – and from the disappointingly empty
answerphone. She checked both her home phone
and her mobile again, but there were no messages
– only one from her mum calling to say hello. She
sank onto the sofa and kicked off her heels. It was
all very well telling everyone that she didn't want
anything more to do with Mickey, but all she could
think about was his hand on her thigh, his kiss, his
eyes looking into hers. She groaned, pushed herself
off the sofa and wearily wandered into the bathroom
and then to bed.
She was woken at ten by the doorbell. Still half
asleep, she stumbled to the door and opened it,
only to be confronted by an enormous bouquet of
the most beautiful pale pink roses, which completely
obscured the delivery man, who had to lean
to one side to say, 'Shall I take these in for you,
love? I've got quite a few more to bring in from the
van.'
Angel nodded, then watched in amazement as
the man proceeded to bring in three more equally
huge bouquets – one of red roses, one of white, one
of yellow, spilling onto every surface of her tiny
living room.
'Somebody likes you,' the delivery man joked, as
he handed Angel the card and left.
I don't know what your favourite colour is –
hopefully one of these is right. So sorry about the other
night, I was an idiot. I've tried to stop the story.
Please say you'll see me again. Mickey x.
It was the most full-on apology she had ever
received and while it didn't make up for what he
had done, at least it showed he was sorry. She paced
up and down for a few minutes, wondering what
she should do. The thought of not seeing him again
filled her with disappointment. She did want to see
him again, very much. Finally, she picked up her
phone and called him, her heart beating wildly.
'Thanks for the flowers, Mickey,' she said quickly
when he'd picked up, sounding sleepy. 'They're
gorgeous, and—' she paused, taking another deep
breath and daring herself to go on '—for future
reference, my favourite colour is pink.'
'Does that mean you'll see me again?' Mickey
asked hopefully, much more awake.
'I could meet you this morning, if you're free?'
'Just tell me where.'
An hour later Angel and Mickey were sitting in a
café on Hampstead High Street. Mickey hadn't
arrived empty-handed, the first thing he did was
give Angel a perfect single rose in pale pink.
'You're being very charming,' Angel joked. No
one had ever sent her flowers before, let alone four
bouquets in one day.
'I want to charm you,' Mickey said seriously,
looking into her eyes. 'I really do. It's been ages
since I've felt about someone the way I feel about
you. I meet so many girls in my job, and most of
them are lovely, but you're in a different league.'
He gazed at her with his incredibly blue eyes, in
a way that sent a shiver down her spine. Is he telling the truth? Angel wondered. He seemed completely
sincere and she wanted to believe him.
They spent the next three hours in the café,
chatting and laughing, reading the papers together
and pointing out fellow clubbers and celebrities to
one another. Once again, Angel couldn't believe she
was now part of this world, but Mickey explained
relationships, networks and personalities. He
apologised again for the paparazzo incident,
explaining that his manager was always at him to get
publicity and had simply worn him down that day.
He listened sympathetically when Angel complained
that Carrie was exactly the same, but
suggested that maybe it was preferable to drop the
media a hint and control the situation, rather than
being caught out when you least wanted it. Angel
said spiritedly that she didn't want it at all. After the
misery of the last two days, Angel was elated. She
loved being in Mickey's company. The sexual
tension between them was so intense. Every time
their legs touched by accident, Angel felt a frisson of
excitement. She really, really liked him.
One latte became two; then they were
exhausted from travelling, from smiling and posing
all day – and from the disappointingly empty
answerphone. She checked both her home phone
and her mobile again, but there were no messages
– only one from her mum calling to say hello. She
sank onto the sofa and kicked off her heels. It was
all very well telling everyone that she didn't want
anything more to do with Mickey, but all she could
think about was his hand on her thigh, his kiss, his
eyes looking into hers. She groaned, pushed herself
off the sofa and wearily wandered into the bathroom
and then to bed.
She was woken at ten by the doorbell. Still half
asleep, she stumbled to the door and opened it,
only to be confronted by an enormous bouquet of
the most beautiful pale pink roses, which completely
obscured the delivery man, who had to lean
to one side to say, 'Shall I take these in for you,
love? I've got quite a few more to bring in from the
van.'
Angel nodded, then watched in amazement as
the man proceeded to bring in three more equally
huge bouquets – one of red roses, one of white, one
of yellow, spilling onto every surface of her tiny
living room.
'Somebody likes you,' the delivery man joked, as
he handed Angel the card and left.
I don't know what your favourite colour is –
hopefully one of these is right. So sorry about the other
night, I was an idiot. I've tried to stop the story.
Please say you'll see me again. Mickey x.
It was the most full-on apology she had ever
received and while it didn't make up for what he
had done, at least it showed he was sorry. She paced
up and down for a few minutes, wondering what
she should do. The thought of not seeing him again
filled her with disappointment. She did want to see
him again, very much. Finally, she picked up her
phone and called him, her heart beating wildly.
'Thanks for the flowers, Mickey,' she said quickly
when he'd picked up, sounding sleepy. 'They're
gorgeous, and—' she paused, taking another deep
breath and daring herself to go on '—for future
reference, my favourite colour is pink.'
'Does that mean you'll see me again?' Mickey
asked hopefully, much more awake.
'I could meet you this morning, if you're free?'
'Just tell me where.'
An hour later Angel and Mickey were sitting in a
café on Hampstead High Street. Mickey hadn't
arrived empty-handed, the first thing he did was
give Angel a perfect single rose in pale pink.
'You're being very charming,' Angel joked. No
one had ever sent her flowers before, let alone four
bouquets in one day.
'I want to charm you,' Mickey said seriously,
looking into her eyes. 'I really do. It's been ages
since I've felt about someone the way I feel about
you. I meet so many girls in my job, and most of
them are lovely, but you're in a different league.'
He gazed at her with his incredibly blue eyes, in
a way that sent a shiver down her spine. Is he telling the truth? Angel wondered. He seemed completely
sincere and she wanted to believe him.
They spent the next three hours in the café,
chatting and laughing, reading the papers together
and pointing out fellow clubbers and celebrities to
one another. Once again, Angel couldn't believe she
was now part of this world, but Mickey explained
relationships, networks and personalities. He
apologised again for the paparazzo incident,
explaining that his manager was always at him to get
publicity and had simply worn him down that day.
He listened sympathetically when Angel complained
that Carrie was exactly the same, but
suggested that maybe it was preferable to drop the
media a hint and control the situation, rather than
being caught out when you least wanted it. Angel
said spiritedly that she didn't want it at all. After the
misery of the last two days, Angel was elated. She
loved being in Mickey's company. The sexual
tension between them was so intense. Every time
their legs touched by accident, Angel felt a frisson of
excitement. She really, really liked him.
One latte became two; then they were
Similar Books
