How to Get Over Your Ex Read online

  ‘So you’re just going to hide out here for the next twelve months?’

  Yes.

  ‘No. I’m going to take a year off life to just get back to who I really am. To avoid men altogether and just remember what I liked about being by myself.’ The idea blew across her mind like the leaves on the gravel path ahead of them. But it felt very right. ‘It will be the year of Georgia.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘The year of Georgia?’

  ‘To please no one but me.’ To find herself again. And see how she felt about herself when left alone in a room with no one else to fill the space.

  ‘Well, then, think about how much you could do for yourself with a blank cheque behind you.’

  It was a seductive image. All those things she’d always wanted to do—secretly—and never had the courage or the money to do. She could do them. At least some of them.

  ‘What would you do,’ he went on, sensing the shift in his fortune, ‘if money was no object?’

  Build that time machine... ‘I don’t know. Self-improvement, learn a language, swim the English Channel?’

  That got his attention. ‘The Channel, really?’

  She shrugged. ‘Well, I’d have to learn how to swim first...’

  Suddenly he was laughing. ‘The Year of Georgia. We could mix it up. Get a couple of experts to help us out with some ideas.’ Grey eyes blazed into hers. ‘Fifty thousand pounds, Georgia. All for you.’

  She stared at him. For an age. ‘Actually, I really just want all of this to go away. Can fifty grand buy that?’

  The compassion returned. It flickered across his eyes and then disappeared. ‘Not literally, but there’s an extra-special level of feeding-frenzy that the public reserves for those not wanting the attention. Maybe fronting up to it will be a way to help end it?’

  That made some sense. There was a seedy kind of fervour to the interest of the English public specifically because she and Dan were both trying so hard to avoid it. Maybe it tapped into the ancient predator parts of mankind, as if they were scenting a kill.

  ‘You were willing to sell us your marriage before,’ he summed up. ‘Why not sell us your recovery? How is it different?’

  ‘Sharing the happiest time of my life with the world would have been infinitely different.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Is that what you thought? That marrying him would make you happy?’

  ‘Of course.’ But then she stumbled. ‘Happier. You know, still happy.’

  It sounded lame even to her own ears.

  ‘Clearly Bradford thought otherwise.’ Then he took a breath. ‘Why did you ask him if you weren’t certain of his answer?’

  Her brow folded. ‘Because we’d been together for a year.’

  ‘A year in which he thought you were both just enjoying each other’s company.’

  For a moment she’d forgotten—again—how very public her proposal was. And Dan’s decline. Three million listeners had heard every excruciating word. She hid her shame by dropping her gaze to the path ahead of them.

  ‘So...what? His twelve-month expiry date was approaching?’

  She lifted her eyes again. ‘It was your promotion, Mr Rush. “Give him a leap year nudge,” you said in all your advertising.’

  His eyes flicked away briefly. ‘We didn’t imagine anyone would take us literally.’

  She stared at him as a small cluster of walkers passed by. Her friend’s illness was none of his business. Nor was Kelly’s eagerness to see a happy ever after for two people she loved. ‘I misunderstood something someone close to him said,’ she murmured.

  Actually her mistake was in hearing what she wanted to hear. And letting her mother’s expectations get to her. Her desperate desire to fill the void in her life with grandchildren. And then she’d awoken to EROS’ promotion and decided it was some kind of sign.

  And when she’d been shortlisted and then selected...well...

  Clearly it was meant to be.

  And exactly none of those was even close to being a good excuse.

  ‘I accept full responsibility for my mistake, Mr Rush—’

  ‘Zander.’

  ‘—and I’ll need to seek some legal advice before answering you about the contract.’

  ‘Of course.’ He fished a business card from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘You’d be foolish not to.’

  Which was a polite, corporate way of suggesting she’d been pretty foolish already.

  It was hard to argue.

  * * *

  ‘I think you should do it,’ Kelly said, distracted enough that Georgia could well imagine her stirring a pot full of alphabet spaghetti in one hand, ironing a small school uniform with the other, and with the phone wedged between her ear and shoulder.

  A normal day in her household.

  ‘I thought for sure you’d tell me where he could stick his offer,’ she said.

  Kelly laughed. ‘If not for those magic words...’

  Fifty thousand pounds.

  ‘You say magic words and I hear magic beans. I think this has the potential to grow into something really all-consuming.’

  ‘So? Did you have any other plans for the next twelve months?’

  The fact it was true—and that Kelly didn’t mean to be unkind—didn’t stop it hurting all the same. No, she had no particular plans that twelve months of fully paid stuff would interrupt. Which was a bit sad.

  ‘George, listen. I don’t want to bore you again with my life-is-for-the-living speech, but I would take this in a heartbeat if someone offered it to me.’

  ‘Why? There’s nothing wrong with you. You don’t need reinvention.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with you. This doesn’t have to be about that. This is an opportunity to do all the things you’ve put aside your whole life while you’ve been working and saving so hard. To live a little.’

  ‘You know why I work as hard as I do.’

  ‘I know. The whole “as God is my witness, I’ll never be hungry again” thing. But you are not your mother, George. You are more financially secure than most people your age. Isn’t there any room in your grand plan for some fun?’

  She blinked, wounded both by Kelly’s too-accurate summation of her entire life’s purpose and by the implication of her words. ‘I’m fun.’

  Kelly’s gentle laugh only scored deeper. ‘Oh, love. No, you’re not. You’re amazing and smart and very interesting to be around, but you’re about as much fun as Dan is. That’s what made you two so—’

  Kelly sucked her careless words back in. ‘What I’m saying is, you have nothing to lose. Take this man’s fifty grand and spoil yourself. Consider it a consolation prize for not getting to marry my stupid brother.’

  ‘He’s not stupid, Kel,’ she whispered. ‘He just doesn’t love me.’

  In the silence that followed, two little boys shrieked and carried on in the background. ‘Well, I love you, George, and as your friend I’m telling you to take the money and run. You won’t get a chance like this again.’

  Kelly dragged her mouth away from the phone but not well enough to save Georgia’s ears as she bellowed at one of her boys. ‘Cal, enough!’ She came back to their conversation. ‘I’m going to have to go. World War Three is erupting. Let me know what you decide.’

  Moments later, Georgia thumbed the disconnect button on her mobile and dropped it onto her plump sofa.

  No surprises there, really. Of course Kelly would take the money. And the opportunity. She’d come so close to being robbed of life—and her boys of a mother—she was fully in marrow-sucking mode. And she was right—there really was nothing else going on in Georgia’s life that a bunch of new activities would interrupt.

  Her objections lay, not with the time commitment, but with the implication that she was broken. Deficient.

  About as much fun as Dan. Did Kelly know what an indictment that really was? Mr Serious?

  So that was three for three in favour. Kelly and her gran both thought it would be good for her and
her mother...well, what else would a woman incapable of managing her money or her impulses say?

  Which was part of the problem. Truth be told, Georgia had nothing against the idea of a bit of self-development of the social kind. She wanted to be a well-rounded person and maybe she had gone a bit too hard down the other path these past years. But the pitch of her mother’s excited squeal was directly and strikingly proportional to her level of discomfort at the idea of frittering away fifty thousand perfectly good pounds—no matter how free—on meaningless, fluffy activity.

  Her mother would have spent it in a week. Just as she spent every penny they ever had. They’d bounced through seven public houses before her gran called a halt and took a thirteen-year-old Georgia in with her.

  And then it would be gone, with nothing to show for it but a fuller wardrobe, a liver in need of detox and a sleep debt the size of Wales.

  She stretched out and pulled the well-thumbed EROS contract into her lap. It had her lawyer’s recommendation paper-clipped to the front.

  Sign, he said. And attached his invoice.

  So that was four for four. Five if you counted the handsome and persuasive Zander Rush.

  And only one against.

  THREE

  March

  Zander’s assistant made an appointment right at the end of his day for her to sign the contract and so walking back into EROS was only half as intimidating as it might have been if it were full of staff.

  An oblivious night-guard had just sat down at Reception instead of the two gossipy girls she’d met there the first time she visited, and most of the workstations in the communal area were closed down for the evening. Georgia clutched a printout of Zander’s new contract in her hand and quietly trailed his assistant past the handful of people still beavering away at their desks. Most of them didn’t raise their heads.

  Maybe she was yesterday’s news already.

  Or maybe public interest had just swung around to Dan, instead, now that the calendar had flipped over to March. Drop Dead Dan. Apparently, he was fielding a heap of interest from the women’s magazines and the tabloids, all determined to find him a match more acceptable than she. More worthy. London now thought he was too good for her. Not that he’d put it like that—or ever would have—but she could read between the lines. She didn’t dare read the actual lines.

  She shifted in her seat outside Zander’s office.

  Behind the frosted-glass doors, an elevated voice protested strenuously. There was a low murmur where the shouted response should have been and then a final, higher-pitch burst. Moments later one of the two doors flung open and a man emerged—flushed, rushed—and stormed past her. He glanced her way.

  ‘A lamb to the bloody slaughter,’ he murmured, a bit too loud to have been accidental, before storming down the corridor and into one of the studios off to one side. She followed his entire progress.

  ‘Georgia.’ A smooth voice dragged her focus back to the doors.

  She straightened, stood. Reached out her hand. The tiniest of frowns crossed Zander’s face before he enclosed her hand in his and shook it. His fingers were as warm and lingering as last time. And still pleasingly firm. ‘I was beginning to think we’d never see you again.’

  ‘I had to think it over.’ And over. Looking for any reasonable way out. And avoiding the whole thing, really.

  ‘And?’

  She sighed. ‘And here I am.’

  He stood back and signalled at his assistant, who was politely keeping her eyes averted, but not so much that she didn’t immediately decode and acknowledge his signal. Did that little finger-twiddle mean, Hold my calls? Bring us coffee? Or maybe, If she’s not out in five minutes interrupt me with something fake but important.

  Perhaps the latter if the furrows above his brow were any indication. He didn’t look all that pleased to see her. So maybe she really had taken too long with the contract.

  ‘I needed to be sure I understood what you were asking.’ Ugh, way too defensive.

  His eyes finally found hers and they didn’t carry a hint of judgement. ‘And do you?’

  She waved the sheaf of papers. ‘All signed.’

  A disproportional amount of relief washed across his face. He sat back in his expensive chair.

  She tipped her head. ‘You weren’t expecting that?’ She hated the thought that maybe there’d been more room for negotiation after all. She hated being played.

  ‘I’ve learned never to try and anticipate the actions of people.’ His eyes drifted to the door where the man had just stormed out.

  ‘I had one question...’

  The relief vanished and was replaced by speculation. ‘Sure.’

  ‘It’s about the interviews. Is that really necessary? It seems very formal.’

  ‘We just need an idea of who you are, so we know what we’re starting with.’

  ‘By filling out a questionnaire? I thought maybe if I had coffee with your assistant, told her a bit about myself—’

  ‘Not Casey. She’s not subjective enough.’

  ‘Because she’s a woman?’

  ‘Because she’s a card-carrying member of Team Georgia.’

  Oh. How nice to have at least one person in her corner.

  ‘Unless you were angling for a free lunch?’

  She glared at him. ‘Yes. Because all of this would be totally worth it if only I could get a free bowl of soup out of you.’

  His scowl moderated into a half-smile.

  ‘What about one of your other minions,’ she tried.

  His eyebrows shot up. ‘Minions?’

  ‘You have an assistant to do your bidding. And that man leaving just now didn’t look like a man who enjoyed fair and equal status in his workplace.’

  His frown deepened. ‘I don’t have minions. I do have staff.’

  ‘Then any one of your staff.’

  He studied her across the desk. ‘No. Not one of my staff.’

  She sighed. ‘I’d really rather not do a questionnaire, Zander. It’s too impersonal.’ And a little bit insulting. As though a computer could tell her what was missing in her life when she was still struggling to work that out.

  ‘Not one of my staff and not a form.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Me.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘I’ll interview you.’ He reached for a pen.

  ‘N-now?’ she stammered.

  The half-smile graduated. ‘No. I’m just making a couple of notes for Casey for tomorrow.’

  She swivelled in her chair. ‘She’s gone?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘I thought you... Didn’t you signal for her to do something for you just now?’

  ‘Yes, I told her to go home. Just because I keep long hours doesn’t mean she has to. She’s got a young family to get home to.’

  So they were...alone? Why on earth did that make her pulse spike? Just once. She’d walked in a secluded wood with him. Being alone in an office wasn’t all that scandalous. Except that it was his office, full of his comfy, oversized furniture and all of a sudden she felt a lot like an outclassed Goldilocks.

  She pushed half out of her chair. ‘I should go.’

  ‘What about the interview? I thought we could go and grab a drink, talk. I can get what I need.’

  For a bright woman, an astonishing amount of nothing filled her head just then. He prowled to the front of his desk and stood by her chair so that she had no choice but to stand and let him shepherd her out of his office.

  ‘The contract...’ she breathed.

  He relieved her of the pages, flicked to the back one and signed it, unread. She pressed her lips together. ‘I should have gifted myself a luxury car in small print.’

  His lips parted, revealing smooth, white, even teeth. ‘Where would you drive a luxury car?’

  ‘You never know. Maybe that’s something I’d like to get experience with—I’ve never driven anything flashier than a Vauxhall.’

  His eyes softened as t
hey alighted on her. Then he reached deep into his trouser pocket and tossed her a bundle of keys. They were still warm from his body heat. Toasty warm. She lifted her eyes to his.

  ‘Never too early to get started. Consider this the first Year of Georgia activity. Driving a luxury car.’

  ‘Not your Jag?’ she gasped.

  ‘Not flashy enough for you?’

  Excitement tangled with dread. ‘What if I scratch it? Or dent it?’ Or drive it into the Thames in her excitement?

  ‘You strike me as a careful driver.’

  He ushered her out of the door, keys still lying limp and unwelcome on her palm. She closed her fingers around them.

  ‘Besides,’ he said, ‘I have outstanding insurance.’

  * * *

  Why would you even care?

  Her words had haunted him ever since she’d uttered them, wide-eyed and confused, when he’d first hit her with his counter-proposal. He did care—very much—on a personal level that even he barely understood, so he’d been shoving the echo of her words way down deep every time it bubbled to the surface.

  Rod and Nigel were already celebrating a ratings coup—even bad PR was good PR in the communications industry—but they’d left the details of what the coming year would entail up to him. As long as Zander got her on board, that was all they cared about. Locking down the contract and making the best use of the publicity windfall.

  This desperate attempt to make sure she got something back for her troubles, that was all him. It just didn’t seem right to screw a girl at the most vulnerable moment of her life.

  And he knew all about that moment. He’d lived it. He knew how it shaped his life.

  It was stupid; he could hardly say that he’d bonded with Georgia the moment he decided to shield her from the prying eyes waiting in Reception. Back in the elevator. But he had. She’d lingered somewhere in the back of his mind from the moment she’d fallen so gratefully on the gesture, and then she’d popped up, unsolicited, when he wasn’t armed.

  In the middle of important meetings.

  Late at night.

  Out on the roads as he thudded one foot in front of the other.