“So?”
I feel a little indignant. How can he look so calm when I’m tying myself up in knots?
“So! Sage will be livid! I’ll be on Team Lois and you’ll be on Team Sage and it’ll all kick off and—”
“It will not kick off.” Finally, Luke does sound angry. “I’m not having this anymore! The so-called feud is over. Sage is a grown woman, and she needs to start acting with a little dignity and maturity.” He glowers at me, as though it’s my fault.
“It’s not just her,” I say, to be fair. “It’s both of them. Lois wore the same dress as Sage to an event, and then Sage bailed out of this charity thing—”
“Whatever.” Luke cuts me off. “It’s over. And as for your career, you are an independent woman, and if Sage has any problem at all with you working for Lois Kellerton, she can answer to me. OK?”
He sounds so forthright, I feel a glow of pleasure. I knew all along he’d support me. (Well, I kind of knew.) Our drinks arrive, and Luke lifts his up to clink mine.
“To you, Becky. First client in Hollywood. Bravo. I hope for your sake she’s not as nutty as my client.”
I can’t help giggling. It’s so unlike Luke to dis his clients—he’s usually far too discreet.
“So, is Sage difficult to work with?”
Luke closes his eyes briefly and takes a swig of his drink. As he opens them, he’s smiling wryly. “Trapped inside that gorgeous, curvaceous body is a spoiled teenage girl with arrested development and the biggest sense of entitlement I’ve ever come across. And I’ve worked with bankers,” he adds, rolling his eyes.
“She’s worse than bankers?” I say, playing along.
“She thinks she should be able to do exactly as she likes. All the time.”
“Can’t movie stars do what they like?”
“Some can. When they reach a certain level.” Luke takes another gulp. “Sage thinks she’s Hollywood royalty. But she’s not. Not yet. Her trouble is, she had very easy, very early success, and nothing since has quite matched up to it.”
“So how can she get that success again?”
“That’s what we’re working on. But it’s a work in progress.” Luke has that wry smile again. “Believe me, even the most obnoxious hedge-fund types in London are less of a pain in the butt than Sage Seymour. When I speak to boards of directors, they listen. We agree to an action plan. We put it in motion. When I speak to Sage … who knows if she’s even listening?”
“Well, Aran thinks you’re brilliant,” I say. “He told me so the other day.”
“Aran’s great.” Luke nods. “We see eye to eye, at any rate.” He lifts his glass up again. “And that’s why, my darling, I hope for your sake that your client is less nutty than mine.”
I grin at him as I sip my drink. It’s nice to have a proper chat, the two of us. These last few weeks have been such a whirlwind; I’ve barely seen Luke, let alone spent time together as a couple. I’m about to share this thought with Luke when a guy in a tuxedo with long, glossy dark hair passes by. He must surely have used hair straighteners and about a whole bottle of product. I glance at Luke and see that he’s noticed the guy too.
“Shall I grow my hair like that?” he says, his mouth barely twitching.
“Yes!” I say with emphasis. “Definitely! I loved it when you had long hair.” I lean over to stroke his hair. “I adore your hair. The more of it, the better.”
When we went on honeymoon, Luke let his hair grow and even had little plaits. But as soon as we got back to London, he whipped it all off again. I’ve always thought that Long-hair Luke was slightly different from Short-hair Luke. More relaxed.
“You should wear long hair and flip-flops to work,” I suggest. “That’s the L.A. way.”
“British men don’t wear flip-flops to work,” he says firmly.
“You’re an Angeleno now,” I retort.
“Hardly!” says Luke, laughing.
“Well, nearly. And Minnie’s definitely a mini-Angeleno. She loves coconut water. And you know she has lessons in yoga at preschool? She’s two and she’s doing kundalini yoga. They start by studying Sanskrit and they waft saffron scent through the air, and then the teacher asks each of them to vocalize what the session means to them.”
“What does Minnie say?” asks Luke, with interest.
“I’ve only sat in on one session,” I admit. “She said, ‘Bum bum bum.’ ”
“ ‘Bum bum bum.’ ” Luke splutters into his drink. “Our articulate child.”
“It was pretty accurate!” I’m starting to laugh myself. “They were doing downward dog. You should do kundalini yoga, too, you know,” I add to Luke teasingly. “When you’ve grown your hair down to your waist and bought a pair of baggy trousers, you’ll fit in perfectly.”
“D’you want to fit in perfectly, Becky?” As Luke holds my gaze, he seems to be asking me a bigger question.
“I … don’t know,” I say. “Yes. Of course. Don’t you?”
“Maybe,” says Luke, after a pause. “Strange place, this. Some bits I relate to. Others, not so much.”
“Well, everywhere’s like that,” I point out. “Remember when you did that job with those designers in Hoxton? You kept telling me how different they were from City people.”