Page 8 of The Player

“Oh yes, Con. Six guitars to match six lucky outfits.”

“Is it to camouflage his distinct lack of any musical ability?”

“You may say it in that tone of voice, but our bank balance will certainly never agree with you.”

He runs his fingers through his hair. It makes the strands stick up in a curiously endearing way. “Just for once, I’d like the ability to say no to a ridiculous job like this.”

“Well, unfortunately, David didn’t leave us that choice,” I remind him softly.

David had been away a lot before he died, and we were to find that his time away had primarily been taken up by running up huge debts. It’s taken us three years to break even again, and that’s with a lot of creative manoeuvring.

I grab his hand. “Soon,” I whisper. “We’ll get there eventually, and you’ll be able to wave away any attempts to make you craft Chanel guitars.”

He smiles wryly at me. “Promise?”

I become aware that I’m standing far too close to him and that he’s watching me with a wary look on his face. I step back flustered, and unfortunately, I collide with the bin. It’s only with a lot of flailing that I recover myself without falling on my arse, and of course, it’s in time for Tim to come back and witness it.

“Oh dear,” he smirks. “Someone needs dance lessons.”

“They’d be no good,” I say lightly, trying to ignore my red cheeks. “I’ve got about as much dancing ability as John Sergeant onStrictly Come Dancing.”

“It’s true,” Con laughs. “He’s hardly Anton du Beke.”

“I’d have been a terrible partner for him. He’d have lost that fixed smile of his very quickly.”

“Yes. You’re much too sharp.” It’s said almost too affectionately, and Tim frowns.

“So, are we going to see this workshop?” he says sharply.

Con looks at me. “Only if Frankie has finished with me?”

I’d like to start,I think and then jerk.What the fuck?

“Of course,” I say and then pause. “Why are you back? You never said.”

“It’s your birthday tomorrow.”

I groan. “I’m ignoring it. Please, can you do the same?”

“No,” he says implacably. “I’m bloody sick of ignoring it.”

“We just have so much other stuff that we need to focus time and money on.”

“Did you not just say that we’ve got someone interested in me making six guitars? I’m sure that was you.”

“Well, yes, but?—”

“Great,” he interrupts. “So, we can focus on your birthday now. Wonderful.”

“Oh no,” I start to say, but with his usual immaculate timing, he exits the room, sweeping Tim after him and leaving with the last word.

I look over at Mandy, and she offers me a sympathetic smile. “It’s no good arguing with Con,” she informs me wisely. “He’s got a way of winning any arguments.”

I shake my head and walk into my office, closing the door with a snap. However, that layer of wood isn’t enough to stop me from hearing Tim’s husky laugh. I look down at my hands that have tightened into fists.

What is happening here?I wonder.Why do I feel so antagonistic towards Tim?

“Beyond him being a bit of a wanker,” I say out loud and then sigh.

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