Cupcakes and Christmas: The Carrington’s Collection: Cupcakes at Carrington’s, Me and Mr. Carrington, Christmas at Carrington’s by Alexandra Brown

Author:Alexandra Brown
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: Romance, General, Fiction
ISBN: 9780007564668
Publisher: HarperCollins UK
Published: 2013-12-12T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

Hi Mr Carrington (see what you’ve done to me),

Thank you so much for the beautiful flowers, what a brilliant surprise! I LOVE them.

And to answer your question in the last email … I SURE HOPE SO!

And I sign off with this, seeing as he obviously didn’t mind the hugs and kisses last time.

Luv,

Georgie xoxoxo

A few minutes later, he replies.

Hi Georgie,

You’re very welcome. I thought the flowers might cheer you up seeing as you had to return to rainy Mulberry-On-Sea, not that I’m enjoying the sun here at all. Definitely not; in fact, please think of me stuck indoors toiling away for the greater good of Carrington’s …

Are you around tonight? Wondered if you fancy a chat? I could call you.

Mr Carrington, to you xx

Oh yes please. I fancy that, Mr Carrington. A lot!

So here I am in my flat having polished off two large glasses of pink wine and half a pizza, and I still haven’t heard from Tom. I even had a blissful bubble bath, figuring the phone would ring the very minute I submerged myself into the water – that’s usually what happens when I’m waiting on a call, but nope, nothing.

And then it dawns on me. Does Tom actually have my number? You know, I’m not entirely sure he does. Whenever we’ve spoken on the phone before it’s been at work, usually with him in his office upstairs and me ducked in the alcove talking quietly into the staff phone on the wall. Crap! I can’t exactly email him to ask, which would just be like saying ‘why haven’t you called me yet?’ And that won’t do … Oh no, no, no! Sooo uncool to be that woman who waits by the phone. Desperate. I can’t imagine that the type of women he’s used to carry on like that, but then they’re probably way too busy with hectic and extremely glamorous social calendars to be bothered by a mere phone call from one of their many ‘to-die-for’ gorge admirers. I flick on the DVD player and settle down for a Mad Men boxset-fest instead. I can always rely on Don to distract me.

I’m two episodes in when my mobile buzzes and I practically skyrocket myself off the sofa, only to feel instantly crushed on seeing that it’s Eddie calling, and not Tom.

‘Tom just rang asking for your mobile number. I gave it to him, and then realised I should have checked with you first. Is that OK?’ Eddie says really fast and I’m sure my stomach does an actual backflip.

‘Of course it bloody is!’ I bellow, and for some ludicrous reason, I leg it into the hall to check my hair in the mirror above the side cabinet before grabbing my bag and turfing all the junk out to locate my new MAC lipstick in Chatterbox pink.

‘OK, calm down lover, only I thought it best to check, seeing as you went bonkers the last time I slipped up and gave that hot guy in the club your number.

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