Page 88 of Sleep

“No,” he said softly. “Not at all. I understand. But if you need to go, if you want me to take you home, stay with you—whatever I can do for you, I will do it. Just say the word. I have my driver on standby to take you anywhere you need to go.”

“I have the car.” Shit.

“So, next on my agenda…”

He was so lovely, in all his silly ways, wriggling on the sofa and reaching down to pick up his glass of water—the only healthy thing we’d managed to consume so far—I couldn’t help but smile.

“Yes, Mr Templar?” I said with a wink because someone had to lift the mood. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear myself.

“You need to accept this job.”

“That is a job for someone else. Someone who isn’t me. The person they think I am doesn’t even exist.”

“Smyth and France are the top recruitment firm in the city. Highly reputable and known to use very effective and, dare I say, unconventional methods to get their way. My mother has used them, as have I, and my HR team…well, I’m sure they’ve already contracted them to find me a new financial controller.”

“Was that who you sacked?”

“I know you’re changing the subject, but yes, I did. If Smyth and France are offering you a position, you can add a good chunk to their remuneration figure and start negotiating. If there’s one thing I know, there will be plenty of wiggle room within that contract. What have they offered in terms of numbers?”

“An insane amount,” I whispered. “And while we’re talking numbers…”

“Mabel. I will not let you pay rent. Good God, do you honestly think I care? Have you any idea how much you’ve done for me in the past couple of weeks? It’s almost Christmas, the wind is howling outside, I should be struggling through an absolute nervous breakdown by now and waiting for that heart attack my doctor keeps threatening me with, but instead…”

He leaned over and kissed me, and kept kissing me, touching me.

I wasn’t a hugger. Ha bloody ha. I was right there, in his arms, my face in his shirt.

“I feel so alive, Pickle, that it’s actually hard to deal with. Did I tell you I came out to a client today? Just said it while he was talking about his family, and I had to wonder—who am I, and what have you done with the old Jonathan Templar?”

I smiled into the cotton fabric, a button digging into my cheek and no doubt leaving an imprint as I pressed myself harder against him. It felt right, being here like this, his hands in my hair, his lips against the top of my head.

“I know what you mean,” I said. “I’ve never felt like myself around people I’ve dated. I’ve always tried to be who they want me to be. It’s exhausting enough at work, having to constantly cater to what other people need, never mind having to do that in private too, become someone I’m not. But from the first time I met you, you saw me for me. I appreciate that, and here I am. I feel like myself—truly like myself. Like I’ve broken free of something and now I’m Mabel Donovan and…okay. Confession time. I have the grand total of fifty-eight pence in my bank account, and I can’t even pay the ULEZ charge for the car that’s parked downstairs. I’ll get a fine, and I can’t pay that either. And now those idiots want to pay me more money than I’ve ever seen for a job that I am in no way—”

“Shush. You are. Do you know what my mother said when I told her about you?”

“Is this her doing?”

“God no. If there’s anything my mother detests, it’s undeserving people being given things they haven’t fought for. Not that she thinks you’re undeserving, but she would rather kick the ladder from underneath you than give you a hand up. People should work for their successes, she’s always said, and let me tell you, I had to work for mine. I wasn’t just handed this job on a silver platter. So no, this has nothing to do with her, but she did get her people to do some digging on you.”

“Her people.”

“My mother runs fourteen charitable foundations, sits on the Olympic Committee, the British Athletic Association’s board and several other organisations. She’s incredibly well-connected and likes to know who she’s dealing with. But, to return to my point—do you know what she said about you?”

“No?”

“She said you were working well below your qualifications, and whoever was holding you ransom down at that insignificant restaurant needed a kick up the backside. She fully approves of you, by the way. That, my Pickle, should tell you a lot, because Mother does not dish out compliments unless they’re deserved.”

“Okay,” I said quietly. That was a lot to take in.

“As for that Mark of yours…”

“He’s a dick.”

“Yes. Probably. But he’s also your friend.”

“I still need to figure that one out.”

“I think you already have.”

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