Page 25 of That Reunited Feeling

“While I’m here and you’re here,” he says, still enamoured with his genius plan. “And I’m between assistants. You could do it. You’re obviously great at getting things done. And, importantly, you’re not a stranger.”

“Being able to locate Tupperware and fix an outside faucet doesn’t qualify me to work for the owner of a global billion-dollar company.” Or how about I set aside the excuses and am honest. “Also, fuck no. Of course not. You can’t think I want to spendmoretime around the man who shat on me. Why would I want to do that?”

“Perhaps this is a way for me to make up for shitting on you.”

“And exactly how would spending time with you—and I don’t want to spend time with you, by the way, I really don’t—be such a treat to make up for that?”

“I pay well.”

The realization of what he’s trying to do hits me like a raging torrent of boiling lava.

I push my plate away. “Ah, right. Now we get to it.” I slam my hands onto the table and stand up. “You want to buy away your guilt.”

“It’s not that.”

“It’s totally that. Why else would you askme, the last person on earth who’d ever want to work with you, to do it?”

“Because I don’t want to miss bands I want to see again. And I’m certain you appreciate and understand how important that is.” His demeanor doesn’t change. He doesn’t rise to meet my temper. He stays still and calm, his eyes soft. “I came here to rest and relax, not go through the mountains of paperwork being sent to me from London. You could sort out some of that too.” He picks up his fork and gets to work on the cheesecake again as if everything’s fine and I’m not leaning over the table virtually yelling at him.

He shrugs. “And it would only be temporary.”

His calmness is infuriating. I’d prefer it if he yelled back. “Is this what happens to people who make money? Even to you? They think they can just buy people?”

The backs of my eyes and my throat burn. This is insulting and offensive and upsetting, but there’s no way this man is going to see me shed one more tear over him.

“You might be the mighty Tom fucking Dashwood now. But I’m Hannah Hepburn and I am not for sale.” I spin around and head for the door, the burning in my eyes turning to prickles.

Before I’m halfway across the kitchen, the front door flies open and Dylan hurtles in.

“It was amazing,” he says, wide-eyed and obviously high off robots and aliens beating the crap out of each other. “Best movieever.”

I sniff and run my fingers under the lower rims of my eyes. “Did you?—”

His arms drop to his sides like they’re being pulled down by giant weights. “Yes, Mom.” He adds an eye roll for the full teenage effect. “I wore my ear plugs.” He turns to Maggie as she walks into the kitchen behind him. “Didn’t I, Mrs. Dashwood?”

Maggie’s dazed eyes meet mine. “He did. I checked. Wish he’d had a spare pair, to be honest.” She sticks her little finger in her ear and jiggles it. “But I’m sure this ringing will stop soon.”

“Then we went for pizza,” Dylan says, virtually bouncing again now. “Best nightever.”

Seeing him happy is all I want. All I wish for. Every day. It’s my whole life’s purpose. Not a single other thing matters. Least of all the cool, rich, hot guy sitting at the table behind me, eating chocolate cheesecake.

I pull Dylan to my side as I look at Maggie. “You took him for dinner too? Thank you so much.”

“You are very welcome. He is delightful company. And, until this evening”—she rubs her ear with the heel of her hand—“he made me feel young.”

She wanders toward Tom. Her face lights up as she scans the dining table. “Well, I’m happy you two had a nice dinner and made a dent in the food.”

Tom gestures to the counter where the Tupperware containers are still laid out. “I’m making Hannah a takeaway box too.”

“Excellent,” Maggie says, looking at him the way I look at a happy Dylan. “I hope you both had a lovely evening.”

Tom leans back in the dining chair, stretching out and linking his hands behind his head. “Hannah’s going to be my assistant while I’m here.”

Bastard. “Oh, no. I’m?—”

“What a fantastic idea!” Maggie clutches her chest, like all her dreams just came true. “I never even thought of that.”

“You thought of most other things, though,” Tom mumbles.

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