Page 10 of His Until Christmas

Reece is suddenly closer. “Only I know this isn’t a school, but that room is kinda like a classroom, and I remember you didn’t have a great time in those.”

“Me?” I’m surprised enough that my voice rises. A host of little faces turn to the hallway window, wide-eyed and watching, so I whisper, “How do you know that?”

Those lines around Reece’s eyes are joined by forehead furrows. “Because you told me.”

Admit to a weakness?

I didn’t need to live in London for long to learn that was a homing signal for dickheads, so I do what this city also taught me and get strident. “I did not.”

“Huh.” Here he goes pulling out his phone again. “I could have sworn you did. It was right after I started counselling sometrainee teachers about how to spot childhood trauma and to recognise their own, so school days were on my mind.”

I still don’t remember mentioning a weakness to him.

He turns his phone to show me.

“Look.” He types four letters spellingnopeinto the search bar above our chat thread. Plenty of examples appear as Reece says, “If I typed anything school-related, that’s how you always answered. With a flat nope. It’s why we had to make a new rule, remember?” He brings up the one and only time we typed in full sentences to each other.

“No repeats allowed?”

“That’s right. No repeats allowed.” He crosses his heart as if we’re a pair of kids, not adults. “Only honest, first reactions. See word, say feeling.” His brow creases some more. “I suppose it won’t matter once I sign the foundation papers and become…”

My boss.

Reece tries again. “I mean, when we have to…” He seems to struggle with what is another simple four-letter word, so I say it for him.

“Stop?”

At the end of the corridor, Rex turns, his own phone pressed to his ear. His eyebrows rise in question, so I say, “Speaking of stopping. Smallbone won’t ever stop giving Rex grief, so how about you go listen in on how to make him part with his money? The quicker Rex can hand over that job to you, the better. He’s great at investing other people’s money but hates asking for any for himself. You taking over the fundraising will do him a massive favour.”

I’m not sure if my throat is tight all over again at the thought of having silent mornings in the future or because Reece picked up that my school days weren’t a good time. For now, I get my shit together and let myself back into the room where children wait.

This audience has high Heligan expectations.

It isn’t their fault they’ve ended up with a small-town stand-in.

“H-hello, children,” I say to rows of disappointed faces, including their social worker and a translator I booked before Rex even knew this date was in his diary. “I’m Jack, Lord Heligan’s personal assistant. I can…”

Do what?

Sort sticky notes by size or colour?

“I… I can answer any questions you have until he finishes his phone call.”

All I get in return is silence along with scrutiny that takes me back to my old classmates staring.

Freezing again now is stupid.

I’m a professional, dammit. An expert at herding aristocratic bankers, not a shy kid being laughed at. I’m an old hand at schmoozing men like Smallbone with no problem, and I definitely don’t need a Horse Guard cloak here where nothing should make me feel this small.

I still jump when the door reopens.

Reece says, “Hey, kids,” and settles on the floor instead of sitting stiff-backed in a chair like me. He’s relaxed in front of these silent children. “Has Jack told you what he does for Lord Heligan yet? Or shall I give you some clues?”

I fully expect him to list my admin duties. Instead, he comes out with a feeling.

“Jack makes Lord Heligan happy.”

I must let out a surprised sound.

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