Going La La Read Free Page B

highly unattractive side parting.
    Mr Good-looking straightened up in his chair, nonchalantly loosened his tie and undid the top button on his collar. ‘So is there anything you’re particularly interested in?’
    Yes, you , thought Frankie, watching his Adam’s apple bobbing seductively up and down against the pale clean-shaven skin of his throat and wishing she was one of those confident, mouthy types like Rita who wouldn’t think twice about chatting a guy up. ‘Erm, not really,’ she mumbled awkwardly. Stick her with a bunch of girlie mates and she could talk the hind leg off a donkey – hell, she’d even been a member of the debating society at university (albeit she’d only gone once after discovering it consisted of blokes in corduroy jackets with elbow patches spouting a load of old twaddle) – but unexpectedly coming face to face with the best-looking bloke she’d seen all year had turned her into someone with the vocabulary of David Beckham.
    Mr Good-looking continued staring at her, waiting expectantly.
    She tried again. ‘But I’m willing to consider anything. You see, I’ve got less than two weeks to find a new flat.’
    ‘Why, what happens in two weeks?’ His brow furrowed with concern. It made him look even more handsome.
    Frankie bit her lip. It was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate on her housing problem and not on the estate agent. ‘Our landlord kicks us out.’
    ‘Us?’ He picked up a Mont Blanc pen from his desk and began twirling it between his fingers like a propeller.
    ‘My flatmate Rita and I. Luckily she’s OK for a couple of months because she’s away in a panto.’
    ‘She’s an actress?’
    ‘You could say that . . .’ A smile played on Frankie’s lips as she tried not to laugh at the thought of Rita trotting around on stage in her black and white Friesian costume.
    Sharing her smile, he rested his chin on his elbows and leaned across the desk towards her. ‘You do realise that with it being nearly Christmas, it could take a little longer than two weeks to find you a rental property—’
    Frankie interrupted. ‘It can’t. I’ve got to find somewhere.’ She thought about Figgins the landlord, with his nicotine-stained fingers and revolting habit of wiping his constantly running nose on the back of his cardigan sleeve while he spoke to her chest. She wasn’t going to ask him for any favours.
    ‘There’s nobody who could put you up for a couple of weeks?’
    She shook her head.
    ‘A boyfriend perhaps?’ He lowered his voice against the steady hum of the office.
    ‘Nope.’ She smiled, feeling surprised and slightly embarrassed. Anybody would think he was chatting her up.
    He was. Breaking into a broad grin, he gave the bezel on the face of his very expensive-looking Rolex a satisfied twirl. ‘Well, I’m sure we’ll be able to come up with something . . .’ He nodded, swinging his legs from behind his desk. Easing himself up from his black leather chair, he strode past one of his portly pinstriped colleagues and over to the filing cabinet. ‘But first I’ll need to take a few details.’ Yanking open the top drawer, he grabbed a photocopied piece of paper, slammed the drawer shut, strode back across the room and handed it to her. ‘By the way, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Hugh. Hugh Hamilton.’ He held out his hand.
    Standing up, Frankie hurriedly pulled off her pink woolly mitten. ‘I’m Frankie. Pleased to meet you.’ She shook his hand, trying not to blush as his fingers wrapped warmly around hers. Was she imagining it or was he holding on to her hand for just a little too long? Nope, this was definitely longer than normal. A gust of excitement fluttered in her stomach, and she couldn’t help hoping there might be more on the market than she’d bargained for after all.
     
    Over the next week Frankie met Hugh many more times. Unfortunately, it was only on a strictly professional basis, and after looking round a dozen dodgy flats