Millie's Game Plan by Rosie Dean Page A

raised his head and looked down at me, a knowing smile on his face, as he stretched out a hand to take the keys from me and unlock the front door. Pushing it open, he stepped aside to allow me through.
    ‘Thanks,’ I said. The obvious next line would have been: Do you want to come up for coffee? But the last thing I needed was for him to catch Sacha with her uniform unbuttoned and hair dishevelled, lying on the sofa looking like she needed a good seeing-to. No. This was one man I wanted to keep to myself. Instead I whispered, ‘Could you just pop my camera things inside the hall?’
    Did I detect a pause? Was he waiting for the coffee suggestion? I’d killed the mood and I knew it. But that was okay. I had an invitation to a party and his phone number, which gave me the whip hand. And it felt good. Super good. This was the start of something big – for sure.
    ‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ I said. ‘And thank you so much for looking after me and bringing me home. Not quite the evening you had in mind, I imagine.’
    ‘True.’ He nodded, his eyes half-lidded. ‘It was much better.’
    I smiled and leaned against the door frame. ‘Night, then.’
    ‘Night Millie,’ he said.
    I watched as he walked away. He was tall and perfectly in proportion, with short, thick, dark hair tapering into his neck. How long till I ran my fingers through it? I wondered.

Chapter 11
    After letting myself into the flat, I pulled the silliest of silly faces at myself in the mirror. ‘Yessss!’ I hissed at my reflection. ‘Millie’s scored.’
    ‘That you?’ Sacha croaked from her bedroom.
    I wandered through. She was lying on her tummy, not fully awake but happy to hear about my evening. I sat on the bed.
    ‘Guess what?’ I whispered.
    ‘His holiness was there?’
    I shook my head and told her about Lex and his invitation to the party. She was momentarily interested till I told her it was in London. Had it been local, she’d have been in with a shout.
    ‘Long way to go if it’s crap.’
    She had a point. If things didn’t work out, I might find myself stranded and pissed in the city, with no quick cab ride home. I didn’t even know which part of London. ‘I can’t see it being crap. He’s a wine merchant and has really posh friends who sail over from France…in their own yacht.’ She nodded in acknowledgement then looked at me again.
    ‘What happened to your hand? Did the vicar break it, after all?’
    ‘No. It was really embarrassing…’ I proceeded to tell her the whole story, which had her fully awake and propped up on her elbow.
    ‘Great. That lets you off the cricket, then,’ she said.
    Hmmm…if I was to be really thorough with my project, I shouldn’t be counting my chickens just yet.
    As I stood to go she said, ‘Is that the same hand your cute vicar whacked?’
    I looked down. ‘It is.’
    ‘Strange. Night.’
    Strange indeed. But it highlighted how much the first injury had been a rehearsal for the real thing. My focus had changed. Top priority was Lex Marshal.
    Lex.
    Lex and Millie…Millie Marshal…Mrs Millie Marshal of Marshalhampton House. I supposed I should have been grateful it wasn’t Marshalhampton Manor.
     
    Next day, my performance at Zealand Pharmaceuticals was – although I say it myself – outstanding. Overnight, I had assumed the status of heiress apparent to the Marshal estate, which gave me an astonishing inner-confidence. Even Gus from the graphics department, who carried my gear, remarked on how well I’d pitched. Although, the level of surprise in his praise rather took the edge off. So, as the train pulled out of Waterloo Station and the client rang to say we’d won it – I felt invincible. Simon Sodding Ostler had as much chance of catching up with me now, as a tortoise on roller skates.
    High on my success, I went and stood in the corridor to ring Lex. I wanted to call while I was still buzzing. I would come across as thrusting, corporate and businesslike, which was