Emma

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟗

They went for lunch at San Carlo, in the centre of Greensboro. Emma was far too ecstatic to refuse his offer. She was also ravenous. Happily, San Carlo was one of those buzzy, glamorous establishments who weren't bothered about their clientele adhering to a formal dress code. So long as you were buzzy and glamorous too, jeans were fine.

Flushed with success, Emma ordered seared scallops and fettuccine Alfredo. James chose the mussels, followed by a rack of lamb.

"You lied," she announced, when the waiter had brought their drinks. "You said he was smart."

"He's more than smart! He's cute and fun to play with. Milo has character." James couldn't stop grinning. "Bags of personality and that's what counts. I promise you, you won't regret this."

"Look at me," James sat back and gestured to himself with an air of despair. "I'm five foot eleven, I played football for my country. I have an image to maintain. People expect to see me with a certain kind of dog, something sleek and powerful with a name like Charlie or Max. When they catch sight of me with a scruffy little handbag-sized apology for a mutt called Champ... well, I'm just going to be a laughing stock. I'll never live it down."

James wasn't worried. He knew she didn't mean it. Even as he listed Milo's many shortcomings he was smiling, despite himself. What's more, he had already paid the dog shelter and filled in all the necessary forms. By two o'clock the rest of the paperwork would be completed and they could go back there and pick up Milo.

"You saved his life. Imagine being kept behind bars when you haven't done anything wrong. And he'd been there for ages." James reminded her. "Another week or so and it would have been curtains for Milo. He'd have had to be put down."

"Okay, fine, you can stop the emotional blackmail now. You've made the sale. I'm not about to change my mind and send him back to death row." Emma paused. "I don't think they do that anyway, you know."

Emma didn't either, but it sounded good. And you could never be absolutely sure.

"Let's change the subject." She stuck her elbows on the table and reached for the marinated olive. "Tell me about this business of yours. What made you go into management development?"

Their first course arrived and James told her how he had set up the company. More recently he had begun producing management training videos. The business was young, but doing well, due in part to his own high profile as the rugby star who had led his country's team in both the Six Nations and the World Cup.

"Then again," James added, "I've worked hard to build the company up. It didn't happen on its own. You have to put in the hours."

"And then there's your modelling." Emma mischievously reminded him, unable to resist it. There was a range of sportswear endorsed by James Douglas. She imagined him at a photoshoot, having a tantrum because the stylist hadn't got his hair exactly right or maybe going into a strop because his latte was the wrong temperature.

"Don't knock it," Sensing her amusement, James said bluntly, "signing that contract was what enabled me to get my own business up and running in the first place. If they're willing to pay silly money to have my name on their clothes, that's fine by me. Here, try one of my mussels."

Moments later, Emma caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror of the many gilded mirrors lining the walls of the restaurant. It gave her a jolt to see herself unexpectedly like that, leaning forward with her elbows resting on the table, laughing and tilting her head back as James deftly tipped the mussel out of its shell and into her mouth.

Anyone looking at them now would think they were a couple. Damn, from the way they're carrying on they might even think they're a couple of newlyweds!