Jane Linfoot - High Heels & Bicycle Wheels

She took a large gulp of air. Given the way today was shaping up, she was starting to wish she’d bitten the bullet, stayed home in London and faced her demons. At least then she could have had the soothing benefit of retail therapy.

Beside her, Cressy’s wiggle had escalated into overdrive, apparently to zero effect.

Time for action. Not necessarily evasive action. Any action at all would do.

‘Here, have that muffin.’ Bryony stuffed a cake at Cressy, who jerked to a standstill, staring at her open-mouthed. Then Bryony strode purposefully to find refuge on the far side of the car, pulled herself up to her full five foot nine plus heels, put on her best production-assistant-in-control voice and motioned to the rack on the car roof.

‘So is this the bike you and Annie are going to ride today then?’

Annie, being Annie Brooks, one time super-athlete, turn-her-mind-and-body-to-anything-and-win, morphed into mega-successful presenter of Sporting Chances , who always wore state-of-the-art running shoes. Bryony squinted down at her own wedge-heeled trainers which she’d panic-bought in an attempt to fit in with the gym bunnies on the Sporting Chances team. Four-inch heels rather than five was the only concession she’d been able to make towards a sensible appearance. It wasn’t her fault; she’d had an addiction to towering heels since the age of three. At least she’d made an effort with her Sweaty Betty Zero Gravity Leggings – not that she understood the technical spec, but at least the name was cool. Whatever. Annie was a super-brave, super-talented, super-woman. She was going places. And she was beyond crazy if she was ready to get on the back of a push bike for a ten-mile ride with this guy.

Based on the knowing way he was slow-blinking at her, Bryony guessed that he knew he’d got to her.

‘Yep. The tandem. That would be the one.’ He leaned a shoulder on the car and shot her one long, laid-back, wicked grin. Zap! One electric bolt arrived on target, oblivious of the cycles zooming round the car park, the gathering crowds and the milling pedestrians hovering around the car bonnet. ‘It’s the tandem challenge I’m contracted for. Champion cyclist teams up with famous sports presenter; it’s a golden ratings combination for the sponsors.’

Whatever. She got the joke, though the last part had a curiously hollow ring to it.

‘It’s shaping up to be a great day.’ She flashed him another PR smile to counteract any wobbles he might be having. It was her job to smooth things here, and celebrity ego-massaging was something she could do in her sleep. ‘You’re going to be a great pull.’

The fraction of a second pause was long enough for her to kick herself for what she’d just said, not long enough for her to jump in with something to neutralise the statement.

‘Sounds like an offer I can’t refuse…’ His face split into a slow grin, even more wicked than before. ‘Thanks, we’ll discuss the details later.’

Jeez, this guy was a nightmare. She prayed her cheeks weren’t entirely bright-red and opted for flat-out dismissal as the best tactic. ‘We all know I’m talking crowd-pullers here, Jackson.’ An eye-roll and a deep sigh hopefully emphasised the put-down.

‘Fine, no need to get your Nikes in a twist.’ He was straight back at her with a low rumble of laughter and enough smoulder in his eyes to bring the back of her neck out in a hot sweat.

Definitely time to get this show on the road.

‘Okay. You get the bike down; I’ll go and find Annie,’ she barked, and he jumped.

Nice work.

Great. The power had shifted. She was back on top. Business as usual.

‘That’s still the best proposition I’ve had this morning.’ He gave her a smirk.

She raised one eyebrow at him and gave him an icy stare, to finally put him in his place. So, even though he might be King of the cycling world and distantly related to the Prince of Darkness when it came to pulling women, he didn’t miss the bit about her being in control.

Here. Today. Now.

Behind the car Cressy erupted like a one-woman volcano.

‘Annie? Jeez, sorry. That’s what I came to say. How the hell did I forget?’ She slashed a raspberry muffin smear across her cheek, inadvertently spraying a shower of cake over Jackson as she spluttered. ‘Annie’s in the Ladies being sick. There’s no way she’ll be able to ride.’

So Annie was out.

And given that they needed a female on the tandem with Jackson – orders from on high, after a rush of phone-calls – that left Cressy as the only option. Or Bryony. And the message from the top was that they could fight it out between them, but one of them was going on the back.

‘There are times when I hate this job.’ Bryony grimaced, rolling her eyes around the car park. Bike riding was so not her thing. ‘The way we always go the extra mile to make things work.’

‘Ten miles looking at that butt may not be so bad.’ From the way Cressy was grinning, Bryony could tell that she was well up for it. ‘I was in love with choppers when I was a kid. Did stunts and everything. It’ll be like old times.’

Cressy in love with choppers? No change there then.

‘Phew. I’m pleased that’s settled.’ Bryony released one sigh of relief. She would have died rather than ride on that tandem.

Cressy stooped, rifling enthusiastically through the bag Annie had thrust into her hands as she left.

‘It’s all very rosy in here…’ Cressy screwed up her face, squinting up at Bryony. ‘But there’s one teensy problem.’

Bryony’s stomach sank.

‘Namely?’

Cressy waved a cycling shoe in her direction.

‘Look at the size of this. It has to be a seven. These beauties clip on to the pedals, and my mini-feet will slip right out of them.’ She shrugged, gave a guilty grimace. ‘Sorry babe, but it looks like this one’s down to you.’

‘Can’t you borrow some that fit you?’ Desperation was mounting in Bryony’s chest.

‘Maybe I could have done if we’d known about it earlier, but right now I can’t see anyone in cycling shoes with small feet.’ Cressy gave a hopeless shrug as she scanned the car park. ‘If I could I’d have grabbed them already.’

‘Can’t you change the pedals or something?’ Bryony’s voice rose to a squeak.

‘I doubt we’d get any others in time,’ Cressy glanced at her watch and sighed. ‘But even if we did I’m still in heels, and there’s no way that fits with Jackson’s major champion look.’

Damn and double damn.

This couldn’t be happening, could it? Bryony chomped her lip, determined not to scowl. Scarborough was so not her lucky place, but it wasn’t Cressy’s fault.

‘Talk about Cinderella in reverse.’ One last desperate ploy to wriggle out of the hot seat. ‘There’s no way I’ll fit into that Lycra, though.’

‘It’s not as if you’ve got a choice. At least Lycra’s stretchy.’ Cressy gave Bryony’s hand a pat; if it was meant to be comforting, then it failed. ‘It’ll squeeze you. Make the most of your assets for The Howler.’ Cressy shot her a wicked smirk as she shoved the kit towards her. ‘You know he’s called that because he’s so great in bed that he makes women…’

Bryony cut her off swiftly. ‘Yep, I did the reading too. Blowing In, Jackson Gale, The Official Biography .’

Trust Cressy to zero in on the bedroom side of things; although, something about this particular guy had her own brain hanging in exactly the same place. Great minds…

She made a mental note to stop that. And fast .

‘Aww, Bry, tell me you haven’t been reading biographies again?’ Cressy grimaced at her. ‘There’s no need to take it so seriously. Hot Stuff magazine has all the low-down and it’s so much more readable. And that Lycra certainly made the most of his assets.’