The Pretend Boyfriend novel Chapter 37

He bares his teeth at her. She snarls back.

Oooh, he's got to be careful about this one. He has a feeling she's going to cause real trouble between Sam and him. Provided Sam and him are actually a couple, of course, which they are not. Even then -

His cellphone vibrates. He eases it out of his pocket and frowns.

It's his penthouse alarm. It is going off. Barring any glitches, this means someone - impossibly - has broken in.

Sam is extremely stoked as she weaves through the superbly-dressed opera crowd to the bar, where Henry Moody and his wife are standing, ordering drinks. Her feet grind to a halt as her nerves suddenly bolt up her spine. She has never, ever done this before. She has never solicited business in this manner.

What if Henry Moody laughs in her face? What if he shoots her down? Chases her away like some door-to-door Avon saleslady?

He's not going to let you get near him with a ten-foot pole anyway, so you've got nothing to lose.

Except your job.

She straightens her back. It's either she braves herself up for rejection ... or lose her new apartment.

She taps her way to Henry Moody, clutching her gold lame purse. I look like a million bucks, she assures herself.

"Mr. Moody?" she says, her voice faltering a little.

Henry Moody turns. He is a man in his seventies - frail, a little stooped, mousy-haired and bespectacled. But the blue eyes that peer at her from behind them are intense and bright.

"Yes?" he says.

Butterflies swarm in Sam's stomach. Especially when Mrs. Moody gives her a look of 'how dare you interrupt my husband on a Saturday?' dislike.

"I'm Samantha Fox." She puts out a be-ringed hand.

He takes it, clearly charmed. Sam is somewhat surprised. She doesn't have enough confidence yet in her own feminine wiles to gauge if she will instantly make an impact.

"Henry, darling, shouldn't we be going in for Act Three?" Mrs. Moody says pointedly.

Sam says in a rush, "We've met before at a charity benefit."

Henry frowns in puzzlement. "Forgive me, but I can't remember ... and I would certainly have remembered such a pretty young thing as yourself."

"Henry," chides his wife.

"I've got one of those really unmemorable faces." Sam laughs. Oh gawd. She sucks so badly at this. "I was with Landry and Sons, but they have been taken over recently by Sapphire. We've just launched our latest product, the A677, which is guaranteed to make the old model, the CG506, look like last century's invention. And at half the price too."

Henry Moody looks genuinely interested. "I've been using the CG506 in all my factories."

"I know. If you would permit me - "

"Henry, we really have got to go in." Mrs. Moody firmly grasps his elbow.

SOMETHING CAME UP, AND IT'S NOT MY DICK. GOTTA RUSH. SEE SAM HOME SAFELY, WILL YA?

Frowning, she checks her own cellphone, which has been put on 'Silent'.

FOR A GOOD MOOD, BREAK A LEG.

She can't help smiling. And also wondering what the hell is up with Brian that he had to rush off like this?

The alarm has long been deactivated when Brian arrives at the doors of his penthouse. Two security guards are waiting for him.

"We can find no signs of breaking or entering, sir," one of them says, indicating the door. "It may be that the alarm system is faulty."

It's true. The doors do not appear tampered with. And it's unlikely someone climbed in through the window, seeing as they are thirty-three floors up.

"Thanks, Gus," Brian says. He inserts his key into the lock. Pushing the doors apart, he enters his apartment.

The complex alarm system on the side of the door is flashing. Brian swiftly disarms it.

"Zone Three," he pronounces. "That would be ... " he raises his head skyward " ... the bedroom."

"Let us check it out, sir," Gus says.