Page 56 of That Reunited Feeling

Christ, imagine if we’d started a few minutes earlier and Hannah was bent over the sofa when Maggie opened the door.

Also, imagine Hannah bent over the sofa…

My dick shifts at just the thought of it.

But here, now, with my phone in the palm of my hand, reality is slapping me in the face.

London.

That’s where my life is. It’s where my work is. And it’s where my now apparently not actually resolved divorce is.

Louisa can wait till tomorrow for an answer to her greedy text and supercilious lawyer’s email. I need to sleep on that one before I send an alcohol-fueled response that sets out my feelings on the ownership of the French house with total clarity.

My instinct is to just let her have it. It’s true that I’m not that fond of the South of France. And giving it to her would be the swiftest way to get her to shut up and go away.

I learned quickly that was always the line of least resistance with Louisa—do things her way, let her have what she wanted, and life was simpler.

I shove the phone, and with it my London life, into my pocket, run my fingers through my hair, and head back into the room.

“We were just wondering what your best man speech is going to be like,” Elliot says, referring to Walker’s wedding.

“Well, it’ll definitely include the story about how he thought he could grill tomatoes in a toaster and the whole thing burst into flames,” I tell them as I walk around the table.

“Great name for a business, though,” Max says, pointing to the Toasted Tomato Craft Brewery sign on the wall.

“All good?” Walker asks quietly as I retake my seat next to him and place my phone face down on the table.

“I’ll deal with it tomorrow,” I tell him.

“You need an assistant,” Elliot says as all eyes turn to Connor and Max who, for reasons unknown to me, are arm wrestling.

“Hannah’s my temp,” I say without thinking, my brain preoccupied by a greedy ex-wife and two men in their thirties behaving like competitive teenagers.

Elliot’s and Walker’s heads snap from the contest to me.

Damn. Why did I have to let that slip out?

“Thought she hated you,” Walker says.

“Oh, she does.” I shift in my chair. “But she needs work experience. And a reference. And some cash. She’s moving to California.” I drain the whisky glass, the smooth liquid coating my throat and warming my insides. “And I needed some help with stuff, so…” I shrug.

Max drops Connor’s hand to the table and raises his fists in victory.

“You cheated.” Connor sounds like a fifteen-year-old who didn’t get his own way.

Max leans back in his chair, freshly topped-up glass in hand, and gives me the knowing and slightly superior look he’s spent most of his life perfecting. “It’s totally going to happen.”

“What is?” I ask.

“You and Hannah. Totally going to happen.”

“No, it’s not.” Man, I hate lying to these guys. “I’ve only been divorced for five minutes, for fuck’s sake. I’m not ready for another relationship. I’m not looking for one. I don’t want one. I need to spend some of my adult life alone. This is just a work thing with Hannah. It’s just practical. It works for both of us.”

Most of that is true.

“Methinks he doth protest too much,” Connor says, raising his brows.

I run my fingers around the edge of my phone. My life with all its successes and issues is in London. And yet, I still don’t feel like I belong there.

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