Page 40 of Sleep

“So this is one of those Netflix series.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, the fake dating one where they make a deal and then everything goes wrong and someone dies.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“I think it might be.”

I took a deep breath. I was an honest man, a gentleman, and I stood by my word.

“Confession time,” I said. “I don’t have Netflix. I don’t actually have a TV. Jenny gives me a weekly lowdown on popular shows and films so I can make small talk with clients, pretend I live a normal life when I don’t.”

“Kind of like a life briefing?” They nodded. “I do that with my staff as well. Give them world topics to pitch or avoid and things to bring up in gentle conversation. I do my homework, like I did with you.”

“What did you learn?” I leaned down for the whisky and refilled our glasses.

“If I summarised the Google searches, you come across as a ruthless businessman with far too much money.”

“Sounds about right.” We clinked our glasses. “I would like to be a little more than that. Much more than that. But this is not…” I had to smile. “A Netflix drama. This is me in a lonely penthouse that I thought would make me happy, begging you to stay so I can see if having someone here would make a difference. If it would make me relax knowing you were here.”

“In the guest room?”

“In the guest room. For a couple of weeks. See if it helps. It would be doing me a tremendous favour, and in return, it will at the very least give you a brief reprieve from flat-hunting while we figure out if we’re cut out for what this could become, perhaps a more permanent solution if it seems a good long-term arrangement.”

“That’s a lot of offers. Threats? Promises?”

“A little bit of everything. I’m grumpy, exhausted and done.”

“Not done, I hope.”

“I haven’t attempted to throw myself off the balcony, not yet.”

“Good.”

There was that look again. The cheeky one, when I knew there was something coming that would once again throw this discussion off course.

“I need some questions answered. A few assurances. I have a couple of stipulations of my own.”

“Acceptable terms that I will consider. I’m all ears.”

“We’re back to where this conversation started, because that’s where we need to start if this has any chance of taking off.”

“Okay.”

“Jonny? Do you in any way identify somewhere on the queer spectrum?”

This time I laughed. It felt surprisingly good to do so.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “But I think there could be some truth in those hunches of yours.”

“Then why me?”

“Because…” Golly, this whisky was good stuff. “I’m not in the habit of connection with people. But…”

“Yes?”

“The more I went for dinner downstairs, the more I was coming for the chance of seeing you rather than for the food. The food’s okay.”

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