I still shiver as soon as his breath coasts across my ear to carry this murmur. “I’m pleased for you.” He follows that with a low, quiet question. “If New York is what you really want, that is? Only…”
“Only?”
I don’t mean for my lips to brush his jaw when I ask that, or for me to freeze at the faint prickle of his stubble. It’s a fleeting connection because we stand so closely, that’s all. Who knows why my fingers tingle, or why my heart gallops at our accidental contact, which never happens when I kiss any of the frogs that fill London.
Him turning so our mouths brush is a really shit reminder of the last time he had to let me down gently in a restaurant hallway, so I back off in a hurry.
I don’t leave fast enough to avoid spotting evidence that I just got too close to an employer who I can’t let myself crush on. Glitter is all over Reece’s sweatshirt. The logo printed on his chest sparkles, and I’m not the only one to notice. Rex is at the hallway window, and I have no idea what else he witnessed. He stands with his head tilted, looking directly at that glitter on Reece. On me too. His eyebrows rise, so I do what any PA who prides themself on professionalism would.
I skedaddle, only turning when Reece calls out, “I’ll… I’ll still see you tonight? At Penny’s restaurant, yes?”
For dinner?
I nod as cardboard mistletoe spins above someone who has no idea that he just dodged a bullet. One last dinner will be fine, I promise myself. All I have to do is not be alone with him anywhere near green leaves and white berries.
Rex will be there to ensure that.
So will Sebastian and Patrick, and there’s safety in numbers.
What’s the worst that can happen?
4
What’sthe worst that could happen? Rex sending me on another mission before dinner, that’s what.
He scuppers all of my safety-in-numbers plans by messaging me just as I leave the office. Behind me, lights turn off, the wheels of finance coming to a rare early halt for the first of the season’s parties. Bankers stream out, each clutching a secret Santa gift to swap before an evening of getting blotto on company Prosecco. I’m jostled by them as I read Rex’s message.
Rex:I left a folder on my desk. Could you grab it on the way here?
I turn on my heel to do so, but I also frown.
All he left on his desk was a page of interest rate calculations. He’d also doodled boxes with bars on the edge of the sheet of paper. My heart had a little clench at that sign of how trapped he’d felt lately when I slid it into his desk drawer.
It clenches again at his next message.
Rex:I mean on my desk at the Kensington house. If you swing past and grab the reorganisation papers, Reece can sign and then head back to Cornwall straight after supper.
I hurry to do that, dodging merry bankers on the way to the station who must have started their parties early. A wickedly cold breeze chases me down Threadneedle Street past the Royal Exchange building and towards Bank Station, where I only pause to take a quick nighttime selfie.
The Duke of Wellington sits on horseback outside the entrance to the Underground, horse and rider both wrapped in Christmas lights and tinsel, and yes, I’m a short arse, so only half of my face makes it into the photo with him, but Gran is used to only seeing parts of me. Besides, the important thing is that she gets to see this statue, because who doesn’t love a mounted soldier? I know she did, like me, so I send it to her. Then I run for the Tube, and I only pause again when I almost reach Rex’s Kensington address and another message pings into my phone.
I pull off my gloves to unlock it, expecting to see a reply to my selfie. A huff of laughter clouds my screen when I see what actually waits for me in the group chat I share with my housemates.
A photo of Sebastian fills my screen. His cheeks bulge like a hamster’s, only he looks ferocious instead of cute and cuddly, and Patrick explains why.
Patrick:Seb’s already cleared one breadbasket. Penny won’t give him any more until you get here. Everyone else has ordered. Want me to order for you?
Another message pings as I scurry along a row of posh townhouses.
Sebastian:omfg pls hurry i am starving
He sends a snap of his own to show the owner of our usual Friday-night venue holding a breadbasket captive. Penny has been caught mid-laugh. Rex looks more serious in the background. He’s intent on whoever sits across the table from him, and I don’t need to see Reece to picture him looking back atRex as intently. I already had an up-close experience of being the centre of his attention this afternoon, didn’t I?
Thatdoes make me pause.
Share a restaurant table with Reece after what almost happened?
I didn’t only cover him in glitter. I’d been millimetres from giving him a second kiss he didn’t ask for.