then?”
“Maybe just a few.” Sean arranged himself in his seat so that his ankle rested up on his knee. “OK, let’s see, I’m twenty-six years old, I have a sister called Ursula, as you know. A father called Alfie—who to my absolute joy is the owner of a James Bond-themed pub in Glasgow, which he runs with my stepmother, Diana. Oh, and I quite boringly work for an investment company.”
“And what do you invest in, property?”
“No, companies.”
“How?” I asked to be polite, even though I wasn’t really interested in what Sean did for a living.
“Well, we help out companies that are having a few problems. We either invest heavily in them until they’re rebuilt and back on their feet again, or we just buy them out there and then.”
“How do you make money out of that? Oh wait, I know. You buy them at a ridiculously low price because they’re struggling, then build them up and sell them on when they’re successful again.”
“Something like that, yes. That’s very astute of you, Scarlett. I’m impressed.”
“Richard Gere,” I said knowingly.
“What?”
“If you owned this investment company, you would be like Richard Gere in Pretty Woman .”
Sean looked blank.
“In Pretty Woman ,” I explained, “Richard Gere plays this bastard businessman, who swoops in and buys businesses when they’re at rock bottom and just about to go bust. Then he sells them on at a later date when they’re successfully making money again, for a huge profit.”
“Sensible man.” Sean nodded approvingly.
“So, if you were the owner of this company, then you’d be just like him.”
“A bastard, you mean?”
“That’s right.”
“I am.”
I looked at Sean to see if he was winding me up again, but his face was completely serious. “What do you mean—you own this company, or you’re actually just a bastard?”
“What do you think, Scarlett?” Sean placed his elbows on the table, rested his head on his interlinked hands, and looked at me with a challenging expression.
As I sat back in my seat and tried to consider this, I was much too aware of Sean’s pale blue eyes scrutinizing my every move. “Well,” I said eventually, meeting his gaze, “you do live in a very affluent part of Notting Hill, so I guess you might be telling me the truth.”
Sean grinned and leaned back. “I’ll take that as a compliment—I think.”
“So why didn’t you tell me that to begin with?” I demanded. “Why the pretense?”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t the boss, just that I worked for the company. And I do work for them. I work damned hard in fact.”
“So how come you’re sitting here with me then and not out somewhere arranging mega-bucks deals?”
Sean shrugged. “Perks of being the boss, I guess.”
“Lucky you.”
A porter came through the carriage trundling a food trolley, so we bought some lunch for the journey and settled back to eat it.
“So, your family isn’t too keen on this movie obsession?” Sean asked, tucking into his sandwich.
“OK, stop right there,” I said, putting down my baguette before I’d even had the chance to open it. “Unless you want me to get off at the next station, you can stop calling it that right now.”
“Easy,” Sean said, raising his eyebrows. “Bit touchy, aren’t we?”
He did that a lot, I noticed—raised his eyebrows. In fact his whole face was very expressive. The eyebrows in question were the exact same shade of sandy blond as his permanently tousled hair. He didn’t look much like the owner of a large successful business as he sat there tucking into an egg sandwich in his blue jeans and gray T-shirt—he’d also lost his look of Jude Law now too. No, the person sitting opposite me definitely bore more than a passing resemblance to Ewan McGregor.
“All right, how about we use some business terminology?” Sean thought for a moment. “You’re having a difference of opinion and are unable to reach a satisfactory conclusion where
“Maybe just a few.” Sean arranged himself in his seat so that his ankle rested up on his knee. “OK, let’s see, I’m twenty-six years old, I have a sister called Ursula, as you know. A father called Alfie—who to my absolute joy is the owner of a James Bond-themed pub in Glasgow, which he runs with my stepmother, Diana. Oh, and I quite boringly work for an investment company.”
“And what do you invest in, property?”
“No, companies.”
“How?” I asked to be polite, even though I wasn’t really interested in what Sean did for a living.
“Well, we help out companies that are having a few problems. We either invest heavily in them until they’re rebuilt and back on their feet again, or we just buy them out there and then.”
“How do you make money out of that? Oh wait, I know. You buy them at a ridiculously low price because they’re struggling, then build them up and sell them on when they’re successful again.”
“Something like that, yes. That’s very astute of you, Scarlett. I’m impressed.”
“Richard Gere,” I said knowingly.
“What?”
“If you owned this investment company, you would be like Richard Gere in Pretty Woman .”
Sean looked blank.
“In Pretty Woman ,” I explained, “Richard Gere plays this bastard businessman, who swoops in and buys businesses when they’re at rock bottom and just about to go bust. Then he sells them on at a later date when they’re successfully making money again, for a huge profit.”
“Sensible man.” Sean nodded approvingly.
“So, if you were the owner of this company, then you’d be just like him.”
“A bastard, you mean?”
“That’s right.”
“I am.”
I looked at Sean to see if he was winding me up again, but his face was completely serious. “What do you mean—you own this company, or you’re actually just a bastard?”
“What do you think, Scarlett?” Sean placed his elbows on the table, rested his head on his interlinked hands, and looked at me with a challenging expression.
As I sat back in my seat and tried to consider this, I was much too aware of Sean’s pale blue eyes scrutinizing my every move. “Well,” I said eventually, meeting his gaze, “you do live in a very affluent part of Notting Hill, so I guess you might be telling me the truth.”
Sean grinned and leaned back. “I’ll take that as a compliment—I think.”
“So why didn’t you tell me that to begin with?” I demanded. “Why the pretense?”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t the boss, just that I worked for the company. And I do work for them. I work damned hard in fact.”
“So how come you’re sitting here with me then and not out somewhere arranging mega-bucks deals?”
Sean shrugged. “Perks of being the boss, I guess.”
“Lucky you.”
A porter came through the carriage trundling a food trolley, so we bought some lunch for the journey and settled back to eat it.
“So, your family isn’t too keen on this movie obsession?” Sean asked, tucking into his sandwich.
“OK, stop right there,” I said, putting down my baguette before I’d even had the chance to open it. “Unless you want me to get off at the next station, you can stop calling it that right now.”
“Easy,” Sean said, raising his eyebrows. “Bit touchy, aren’t we?”
He did that a lot, I noticed—raised his eyebrows. In fact his whole face was very expressive. The eyebrows in question were the exact same shade of sandy blond as his permanently tousled hair. He didn’t look much like the owner of a large successful business as he sat there tucking into an egg sandwich in his blue jeans and gray T-shirt—he’d also lost his look of Jude Law now too. No, the person sitting opposite me definitely bore more than a passing resemblance to Ewan McGregor.
“All right, how about we use some business terminology?” Sean thought for a moment. “You’re having a difference of opinion and are unable to reach a satisfactory conclusion where
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