“You want money?” I say in astonishment, and Nadine swivels her head, looking annoyed.
“I want a partnership,” she says. “It’s not about money; it’s about meshing talent and ideas. It’s about channeling my energy and drive into greater pathways.” Then her eyes narrow at me. “What did you think I wanted?”
“Sex!” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
There’s a startled silence. Craig’s eyes have widened. Luke has turned to look at me with an expression I’m too flustered to read.
“Sex?” says Nadine at last. She’s staring at me with such an amused gaze, I feel nettled. She needn’t act like I’m a moron for even thinking it.
“My friend read online that you’re into sex parties,” I say defensively to Craig. “In Moscow and stuff. Threesomes and…things.” If Nadine didn’t know about the sex parties in Moscow, then too bad. Welcome to the sisterhood.
But she doesn’t even flicker. In fact, she rolls her eyes impatiently, as though I’m distracting her from the task at hand.
“Yeah, yeah, we’re into that.” Craig shrugs, as though he’s saying he likes a bit of golf at the weekends. “But that’s not what tonight is about.”
“What we get up to is our own affair,” says Nadine, a bit snippily. “But if you think that’s why we invited you—” She breaks off and runs her eyes over my high-necked top as though enjoying a private joke. “Let’s say…you’re not the type.”
Not the type? At once I feel offended to my core. They’re rejecting us? On what grounds? Why aren’t I the type?
“I’m brilliant in bed,” I retort indignantly. “And Luke’s even better!”
“Sweetheart,” says Luke, his mouth twitching, “thanks for the recommendation. But…too much information? It’s been a great evening,” he continues politely, putting his wineglass down. “And thank you both. But maybe—”
“You’re not leaving?” Nadine’s voice has tightened. “You’re not even giving me a chance! Why do you think—” She stops herself midstream and smiles again. “I’ve got the pitch ready. I’ve prepared it all. I think I deserve this opportunity.”
I glance at Luke and I can tell he feels a bit stuck.
“All right,” he says after a moment. “I’m happy to listen.”
“Let’s go next door,” says Nadine, getting to her feet and swishing her hair back. “I’ve got my presentation ready there. Why not bring your drink?” As she ushers Luke to a door behind us, she shoots me a sidelong glance. “Don’t worry, Becky, I won’t jump him.”
Ha bloody ha.
When Luke and Nadine have closed the door behind them, Craig pokes the fire, and it crackles a bit, and then we sit in silence. I feel unspeakably awkward—but Craig doesn’t seem to be awkward at all. In fact, he seems barely aware of my presence.
“How’s the music going?” I say at last. “Have you got any new songs you could play us?”
“What?” he says absently. “No, not really.”
“So…where are you going to travel to next? Any more weekends in Warsaw?”
“Not sure,” says Craig in the same distracted tone.
“So…er…what d’you think of the situation in Venezuela?” I try in desperation.
“Venezuela?” He looks blank.
How can he look blank? Venezuela’s, like, his specialist subject! I want to exclaim, “You used to bang on about Venezuela all the time! And you used to play the guitar all the time! And you used to be able to make conversation!” But I’m not sure he’d even hear me.
If Suze could see us, she’d have to take back everything she said. Sexual tension? Flirting? What a joke! He’s not even looking at me. Instead, he keeps glancing at the door behind which Luke and Nadine have disappeared and taking deep swigs of wine.
“Wonder how it’s going,” he says, his tone a little tense. “She’s so talented, Nadine. She deserves a break, you know? She works so hard at her business plans. I say to her, ‘Babe, have a rest,’ but she won’t. She’s driven, you know? Driven.”
“She’s quite different from you,” I venture.
“Yeah. That’s what I admire.” Craig’s eyes shine. “She’s got her shit together. She’s got a plan. First woman I’ve ever met who had a plan.”
At once I want to object to this. I always had plenty of plans! He just never listened to them. But, actually, I’m a bit tired of talking to Craig. Once you get past the leather and the raspy voice, there’s not much to him.
“You want to watch telly?” he says suddenly, and I gape at him. This is the last straw. He’s invited