Good Deed Bad Deed Marcia Morgan (life books to read .txt) đ
- Author: Marcia Morgan
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âOh, Iâm not calling about the decorating.â There was a short pause on the other end before he continued, his tone slightly apologetic. âI hope youâll forgive me for being opportunistic, but I couldnât resist taking a chance on inviting you to share a meal with me. Iâd like to continue the conversation we started at the shop.â
âMr. Warren, Iâm not sure that would be appropriate, given that Iâm basically your employee until your office is decorated. And Iâm not sure what conversation youâre referring to.â Worried that she might be dressed-down by her boss if she offended a client, she said, âDoes the additional conversation you require have to do with your re-decorating project?â
Not to be discouraged, âClive Warrenâ proposed an alternative arrangement. âNo, it isnât about the job. Iâd just like to continue the perfunctory getting acquainted conversation we were having. As you may recall, it was interrupted.â
Olivia didnât remember much about the conversation, only that he didnât have a long wait before she accompanied him into her bossâ office to discuss the project. Once again not wishing to be impolite, she said, âYes, I remember there was only a short wait before Mr. Saunders called us into his office.â Extemporaneous responses to the manâs suggestion were becoming more difficult.
âAfter you had introduced me and left your employerâs office, he had nothing but glowing things to say about your taste. But after all, this project is just for a place of business, not a castle, so I would be more than satisfied to work with one of the other associates.â He waited for Olivia to respond, but met with her silence, he said, âThat would be a more than acceptable tradeoff for the privilege of spending an evening with you.â
A few more moments of silence ensued while Olivia pondered the issue. If she had observed correctly, he seemed just a little older than she was, attractive, but more in the way of a rugby player who hadnât shied away from the occasional broken or bloody nose. That, along with the strong jaw and close-cropped hair, had been at odds with the fashionable business attire he sported when they first met in the office. He was definitely rugged looking, well built, and when speaking he revealed, only slightly, his comprehensive school education. She deduced that he couldnât be dull, or a lay-about. After all, if he did actually play rugby, he might be quite intelligent. She had heard it called âa thinking manâs gameââan upper class game that originated in private schools. She reminded herself not to be elitist and focused on the fact that he was employed, with his own office, and he could afford to redecorate it.
Picturing an evening alone in her quiet flat, Olivia spoke. âAs it happens, I am free this evening. Perhaps we could meet for a drink and then see if it turns into dinner.â
âGreat. But I donât want you to have to get a taxi or, heaven forbid, use the Tube at night. So where in your neighborhood might we get a decent meal? And which is your neighborhood, by the way?â
âI live in Soho,â she said, adding, âLet me think for a minute.â Olivia decided on one of her favorite places, visited infrequently due to the prices.â Are you okay with Italian?â
âSure,â âCliveâ answered, âYou canât go wrong with Italian.â
âThen I suggest Princi. Itâs just around the corner on Wardour Street, and Wardour intersects with Broadwick. But I must warn you, itâs a bit pricey. If youâd like to go elsewhere, thatâs fine.â
âNot a problem. I didnât intend to take you to your local âchipper.ââ
His attempt at humor made Olivia relax a little, and she responded amicably, âOf course I knew that. But there could be a happy medium.â
âNo, itâs Princi. No changes. Why donât I meet you there at eight? Iâll call for a reservation. Iâll probably use my GPS so I wonât be late. You wonât have far to go, will you? I could pick you up, if you like. Iâd prefer that.â He gave her no chance to answer before asking, âWhere exactly is your flat?â
Without a momentâs hesitation Olivia told him quite specifically where she lived, but still chose to meet him at the restaurantâ a must for a first date, if this was truly a date. They ended the call, and she ran up the stairs, already thinking about what to wear.
Olivia reached the door of her flat and began to fumble with her purse, reaching deep inside for the key. Her fingers soon found it, and as she put it into the lock, the house phone began to ring. Once inside, she dropped everything on the entry floor and rushed to catch the call. Just as it went to voicemail she picked up the receiver and said, âHello, Olivia here.â
âOh, youâre there. Good. I wasnât going to leave a message. It would have been too long. Well, I guess I could have just said to call me.â
âIs that you, Valerie? Itâs been so long I canât quite recognize your voice.â She was glad to hear from her ex-sister-in-law, but didnât want to gush. âWhy didnât you just call me on my cell?
âI donât know. I just figured the call might be more pleasant if you werenât out somewhere and trying to hear over the din of cars and whatever else.â Valerie sounded on edge, anxious.
âTo what do I owe the honor of this call?â Olivia asked, making a meal of the whole âout of touchâ thing.
âAre you trying to be clever or just being
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