He caught my eye. I quickly looked away, taking the first opportunity I could get at playing hard to get. In the hope of reeling him in, of spiking his intrigue at the woman sitting in a crowded bar on a Friday night, oblivious to the noise and chaos all around her as she sits on her own reading a book.
Hoping that the book gave him the impression that I’m alone and not waiting for anyone.
It worked, because I could feel his eyes on me as I sipped my drink. Looking back, that was the moment I had him. Intrigued, he let his guard down and let his ego take over. Isn’t that what all men do?
Whereas women are generally led by our intuition. Isn’t that what they say? Always trust your gut.
Because your gut doesn’t know how to lie. It just feels. And it feels everything. From the tiniest flicker of emotion to the very extreme. I’ve always lived by that rule.
And right now, my sense of intuition fared me well, because I knew I’d already sucked him in as he slipped away from the table of rowdy drunken staff and made his way toward the bar. Towards me.
As he stood beside me, I pretended not to notice him scanning the book’s cover, keeping my eyes down, pretending to be too enthralled in the story, flicking my way through the pages.
‘You look as if you’re a million miles away,’ he says. I look up and smile at him then, even though we are both aware his opening line is weak.
‘I’m an unapologetic bookworm,’ I say, shrugging my shoulders, before looking around the packed bar, as I’ve only just noticed how busy the room’s become. ‘And I’ve lost my phone, so…’
‘You’ve read it?’ I ask, and he thinks I’m warming to him now that we have something in common. I can see straight through him, see how he’s pleased with himself by impressing me with his love of books.
‘George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four. Absolutely. It’s one of my all-time favourites. So accurate, yet so bloody depressing,’ he says earnestly.
I can tell he’s trying to read me and suss me out. His eyes scan my body for hints I’m welcoming the interaction. But of course, I’m not going to make it easy for him just yet.
He’s already thinking I’m a contradiction.
Beautiful, but I play it down. Wearing a simple black dress. Flat shoes. My red, curled hair sweeping loosely just below my shoulders. My face natural, fresh, unlike the other women in the bar who all look as if they’ve tried too hard.
He drinks me in, licking his lips when he’s talking. I know he likes what he sees.
‘You know they say that seeing someone reading your favourite book is like the book recommending a person.’
I laugh then, despite myself.
‘Yeah, well, I spotted this on one of those “books you must read this lifetime” articles. It’s not my usual read. Fascinating though and chilling at the same time. Makes me glad I stay away from social media, if I’m honest,’ I say, casually, tucking a strand of loose curls behind my ear.
‘All that “Big Brother is watching you”?’ He nods, I see the way he’s taking in what I’m saying in, probably making a mental note that he won’t be able to look me up online like he normally does with the women he meets. Women who make it too easy to find out all about them these days, the ones who lay everything out there for the whole world to see. Their thoughts, their beliefs, their favourite song, their favourite food.
There’s no mystery anymore.
As he smiles at me, I know I was right all along. I pose a challenge and he’s more than keen to pursue me.
‘So, what do you think? A literary genius or did he have a vivid premonition of the future?’ he says. I smile and realise that he’s not interested in the book, but he wants to keep talking and he’s trying to keep my interest on him.
‘Well, I’d say he was definitely on to something, I mean look around. Everything we do is documented these days.’ I nod towards a group of ladies on the table next to us, taking pouty selfies and no doubt uploading them to their various social media accounts, every one of them distracted by their phones. ‘Do they look as though they are “living their best lives”? Because that’s what they’re telling the world right now, as they update their Facebook status and their Instagram whatever’s. The irony, hey?’
‘You might be right there. Maybe Old Georgie-boy’s book was a warning to us all, ’eh? That it only gets worse from here on in.’ He smiles, pursing his mouth thoughtfully. ‘Though I must say, it’s a very deep read for a place like this. I’m surprised you can concentrate on the book with all the noise? I’d have probably sat out in the lounge area. Unless you’re meeting someone, of course?’
‘It sucked me in, I thought I’d have a drink and flick through a few pages to see what it’s all about. I must have zoned out,’ I say. ‘Easily done, though, isn’t it, when you find a book as good as this.’
‘Well, good luck with finishing it. They have a band playing here later, apparently. It’s one of my employee’s fortieth birthday. And if that lot are anything to go by…’ He points over to where the group he’d left are now sitting in a large booth at the back of the room. Already drunk and talking over each other. A couple of the women were dancing. ‘Let’s just hope none of that lot manages to get hold of a mic. Because believe me, it won’t be pretty.’
I laugh, fully aware that he’s dropping details about his workforce into the conversation in a bid to impress me.
‘Can I get you another drink?’ he offers, nodding at the barman before I have a chance to reply and taking out his black credit card, flashing it purposely. I pretend not to see.
‘I’ll have a Scotch please,’ I say to the barman. It’s his turn to laugh then, as he shakes his head, holding up two fingers to the barman.
‘Scotch? Lady after my own heart. That’s my tipple too.’
Before he can pass his card to the barman, I instruct him to put the drinks on my tab. ‘No, please, it’s on me.’
The look on his face tells me he’s not used to women buying him drinks. ‘I’m Rebecca,’ I say, holding out my hand and shaking his.
‘Jamie. Jamie Dawson,’ he says.
And he’s watching me. Wondering if I’ll make the link to Dawson Recruitment. The company he owns in the huge building next door to the hotel we’re in. But I give nothing away. Not so much as a flinch.
‘Well, it’s been a pleasure meeting you, Jamie. But I think I’ll make my getaway before that band starts up.’ Downing my drink, I gather my things together and stand up. Slipping my handbag over my shoulder and picking up my book as if to leave.
‘You don’t fancy hanging around for another?’ he says, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice, only he doesn’t quite achieve it. And he looks embarrassed at appearing too eager, too desperate.
I look at his face and realise these were unfamiliar feelings for him.
‘Sorry. I’ve got an early start,’ I say, as the barman places my tab down in front of me and I sign for the drinks I just bought.
‘Oh, go on. One more for the road,’ he insists, unused to not getting his own way. He nods to the barman to pour us both another, but I’m up from my chair and crossing the room, making my way through the main bar doors without so much as a glance back.
Leaving him there, in a room full of people, feeling suddenly alone again. And as he drains the Scotch, I know that he’ll see the scrawled writing I left on the receipt.
Room 117. Rebecca X
I know he’ll smile and finish his drink before coming to find me.