This certainly isn’t her idea of romantic.
What is Niccolo's real motive? Are his feelings genuine, or is she just a pawn to be used in his game strategy, whatever that might be?
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Best Book Bit:
I was actually rather confused that Niccolo wanted to take me out. We’d met six months ago, when his Mercedes Jeep bumped right into my little Corsa at a red light in the middle of Kingston. I was priding myself that, for once, I was going to be on time for work. But of course, I wasn’t.
I’d got out of my car in a blazing temper.
“You cannot be serious!” I’d exclaimed, reminding myself of John McEnroe’s tennis vocabulary, as I surveyed the damage. “The light was red!”
And out of the Mercedes stepped this guy who looked like a Greek god. I was stunned into silence for a moment as I took in the tall and well-built frame, coupled with the tanned skin and sun-bleached blond hair which couldn’t possibly have been the result of any beach in Britain. I figured he was probably in his early thirties (a few years older than me), and was dressed in an extremely expensive-looking executive suit.
“I’m so sorry.”
I could trace a slight accent in his quick, smooth reply. Italian, perhaps? That would explain the sun-tan, which was a relief for me as I didn’t want to imagine this Greek god lounging under a sunbed. It didn’t go with any of the possible fantasies I was conjuring up in the split second that I’d seen him.
Why he was wearing shades in this cloudy weather was another mystery, but it probably explained why he’d driven straight into my rear bumper. He obviously couldn’t see where the hell he was going. Just as I was thinking this, he took his shades off. His eyes were dark brown, almost black, a contrast to the blond hair, which probably meant that the Californian highlights had come out of a bottle.
In all honesty, I wasn’t too sure if this mixture of looks was appealing or not. Too high maintenance, Anna my pet, as my Nan, God bless her, would have warned me. But in any case, I was letting my thoughts run away with me. The likelihood of bumping into him again, or rather him into me, were slim.
“The insurance will cover the damage,” he continued in his enticing voice as I caught him sneaking a glance at my rear. Not that I really minded him looking, especially considering how lush I found the whole of him, but really, it should have been my car’s rear that he should have been examining!
“You mean your insurance.” I corrected. Though I wasn’t too sure who was going to “cover my rear” at work this morning. And so, yet again, I arrived late. Not my normal five minutes (blame it on the City traffic lights), but a good hour over. Why is it that being late is fashionably acceptable, even recommended at times, in every social context, and yet, so unfortunate that this perception doesn’t transfer in quite the same way to the world of work? Especially for me, who has the art polished to perfection.
Fashionable or not, it got me fired that very day, despite the evidence that for once it wasn’t my fault. I’d always thought my boss was hard-nosed, and this pretty much confirmed it. Though now I could also add hard-hearted and inhuman. I’m not sure if the fact that I’d once turned him down for a dinner date has anything to do with it, or if he really thought I could make up a fantastic lie and reverse into a wall just to piss him off. Either way, I was fired, and there was sod-all I could do about it (except find myself a lawyer and press charges for discrimination in the workplace). But in all truth, I was actually relieved to get out of that suffocating job.
That had been six months ago, and it had been the best day of my life. Not so much for the whip-lash to my neck that I’d had to endure for the next few days, or the humiliation of being told, right in front of my fellow work colleagues, that I was no longer employee of the month.
Or, for that matter, employee at all. It was a telemarketing firm and every one of my colleges simultaneously picked up their earpieces and started dialling furiously whilst I walked out onto the street and into the pelting rain. But rather because it was the push I needed to sort myself out. An alarm clock set half an hour earlier would have worked wonders too, but it was a bit late for that
The tone reminded me of movies such as Bridget Jones's Diary and My Best Friend's Wedding - a smattering of romance and humor.
My favorite part was the encounter between Niccola's ex-girlfriend and Anna at the restaurant. It was awesome!
I would like to have experienced a bit deeper romance between Anna and Niccola, but perhaps that will happen in future versions? This story is a nice solution to fill the space of time during a short train or bus ride - thirty to forty-five minutes well spent!