If I Never Met You: A Novel

“I’ve had an absolutely mad idea, while at the bar,” Jamie said, and Laurie sincerely hoped it didn’t—shock, horror—involve getting naked. She would feel both embarrassed for him and dismayed by him. “It’s either a fit of divine inspiration or the stupidest notion ever to spring into a human mind.”

“High stakes, here,” Laurie said bullishly, but she cringed. Him setting it up like this meant it was potentially embarrassing if she said no. She’d not had so much as a hint of sleaze from Jamie, but, well. That might be the secret of his success.

“You want to get back at Dan Price? Realistically, unless you mean the kind of revenge that could see you getting sent to prison, that will involve making him angry, bewildered, and jealous, am I right?”

“Yes . . . ?” Oh God, he was going to try it on? I’ve got a fiendish plan—it involves you sitting on top of me. What’s in it for me? Oh, merely the joy of seeing you prevail over this terrible gentleman.

“I need to show my conventional settledness to get this promotion.”

“Yeeesss . . . ?”

Oh God.

“What if we pretended we were dating? Proper whirlwind romance, stuff of fairy tales. Social media nowadays is the perfect place for showing off.”

“Me and you?”

“Yes. I mean, I know I’m not as good for your brand as you’d be for mine,” Jamie said, taking a deep glug of his beer.

Laurie sensed behind the bravado, he was slightly nervous about her response. This seemed an odd reversal of power. He was the one everyone wanted to be seen with. All the girls dreamed that they’d be your partner.

“How would it work?”

“We could post loved-up pictures on Facebook, Instagram, whatever. Praise each other to the skies. All over by Christmas, once it’s served its purpose, because they’ll give me a verdict on the partnership by then. But we both go around saying we’ll always care about each other or whatever. A no-fault divorce where we stay best of friends.”

“People would buy it? You and I have barely spoken before now.”

Laurie shrank from saying: No one is going to think Hermione Granger here is having it off, big style, with Draco Malfoy.

“If we sell it well enough.”

“You think Salter and Rowson would approve? Am I really impressive enough to get you your promotion?”

“Are you kidding?! You’re the golden girl. The haloed one. The star. Salter adores you. I struggle to think of anyone’s image who could do me more good by association.”

“You say this, and you didn’t know my name earlier!”

Jamie covered his eyes with his palm. “Aaaargh. Only because Michael refers to you as Lozza. I could hardly call you Lozza and couldn’t remember what it was short for.”

Laurie laughed.

“And Dan would think I’d moved on and was having an absolute ball?” Laurie toyed with the stem of her wineglass and thought, Dammit if this idea doesn’t have immediate appeal.

She was flattered. Might as well admit that element to herself. Jamie Carter was prepared to publicly declare himself in love with her? This Greek God was prepared to anoint her his Phony Goddess? It did feel like the most-longed-for boy in school asking you to prom.

It’s because you’re in favor with Mr. Salter and Mr. Rowson, she reminded herself. You’re swot girl offsetting his louche image, remember. The whole POINT is you’re not a natural choice for him—you’re subverting the rock-star-and-supermodel expectation.

“Oh, we’d make sure it was obnoxiously romantic,” Jamie said. “We’d blow Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan out of the water. We’d make Sleepless in Seattle look like a Ken Loach film.”

“Hahaha. Hmmm. I mean, if I wanted to mess with Dan’s head . . . it’s certainly not what he’s expecting . . .”

Laurie knew that this urge to hurt Dan, to get his full attention again, was beneath her and unhealthy. So what, though? Life, she had realized fully, was extremely unfair.

“I don’t know Dan Price very well, but I do know male psychology,” Jamie said. “Was he ever jealous?”

Laurie nodded vigorously. “A lot. Very.”

She wanted this known. She had mattered, once.

“Then I promise you, he can be again. We could help each other.”

He fixed his gaze on her steadily and Laurie knew she was getting a variant of his seduction routine. Laurie had never met a proper ladies’ man before, only gobby lads who fancied themselves as busy scorecard shaggers and weren’t worthy of the title, really.

She was anthropologically curious. To other women this must be magic, and to her it was a card trick. She’d quite enjoy doing a Penn & Teller on his act, deconstructing it.

She looked at Jamie’s intense dark blue eyes and glowing skin, the light sweat on his brow, that thick dark hair you wanted to push your fingertips into, and wondered what age he was when he discovered how beautiful he was and the power he wielded over women.

Awareness of that power, plus having a quick wit and no heart of his own—a dynamite combination. His laid-back manner, his playful sense of humor, his ability to focus exclusively on you—these were the ingredients, Laurie figured, that added up to a man who made husbands jealous. He should ditch the law and become a high-class gigolo, working La Croisette in tennis whites for diamond-rattling divorcées.

Had fortune and fate vomited him into her lap at precisely the right time?

“It is mad. And yet. It appeals,” Laurie said hesitantly.

Jamie broke into a broad smile. He had her.

“You’d have to meet up with me every so often to create our dynamite content, but apart from that. We need to set terms and conditions for this showmance. Text me your personal email and I’ll message you over the weekend.”

They agreed they were both awash with drink and needed to head home to find food, and Jamie insisted he’d see Laurie into a taxi.

As they stood on the pavement, Laurie’s teeth chattering, her arms folded tightly across her body, she said, “I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“You were told that Eve was off-limits. You want this major promotion. You still took her out to talk work. Why? I mean, the risk versus reward doesn’t seem to stack up.”

Laurie knew what she thought had happened, and nothing he was going to say would persuade her otherwise. She was curious at how he’d explain it away.

“She asked me out, not the other way ’round, and so technically she took me out. Eve’s no wallflower.”

Laurie tilted her head. “Still . . .”

“Ack, I got very annoyed with the idea her sixty-two-year-old uncle gets to choose who she’s allowed to socialize with. I can be like that sometimes. An obtuse little twat. Yes, it was a risk, but if I’d given in to their rubbish, I couldn’t have lived with myself.”

“You were, in fact, respecting her agency and autonomy?”

“Precisely,” Jamie said, grinning. “And she’s going places. I was networking, if you want the unvarnished version. That was the incentive.”

“With a twenty-four-year-old?” Laurie raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“I’m not kidding, she’s ferocious. Photographic memory, doesn’t miss a thing, would leave any of us for dead without checking for a pulse. She told me her nickname is Eve of destruction. One day she’ll have her name above the door, of that I’m sure.”

“Yet you didn’t close the deal?”

She could tease Jamie that Eve wasn’t into him, but Laurie remembered the body language from the night in question.

Laurie wouldn’t have dared be this personal and pushy if she wasn’t hammered. But this was her professional training. Pursuing something until you felt you understood it. You couldn’t advocate for someone without it.

“I know it runs contrary to what you think of me, but I’m perfectly capable of enjoying female company without it having to end in bed.”

To be fair, Laurie had felt that herself, only hours previous.

“Plus, she was, as you said, way too young for me.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-one.”

“I thought you were younger!”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, though I bet you meant immature. How old are you?”

“Thirty-six.”

“I thought you were younger,” Jamie said, tip of his tongue in corner of his mouth.

“Thanks!” Laurie huffed.

“I thought it was a compliment when you said it?”

Laurie rolled her eyes.

“Here you go,” Jamie flagged a Hackney. “I’ll email you over the weekend?”

“Yes! Thanks.”

It was only as the cab pulled through the streets that Laurie noticed the pitfall in this plan, the part that didn’t suit her, at all—she hated being a scandal. She was an intensely private person, maybe because her parents, in different ways, were such a show.

Plus, they had some significant credibility hurdles to clear.

Which was going to be harder, persuading everyone Jamie Carter could settle down, or that Laurie Watkinson could fall for a cad?