Page 20 of His Until Christmas

He isn’t smiling when I return with papers and find a pen for him to sign with. “I’ll witness your signature.”

He neither smiles nor speaks until I hand the pen over. Then he doesn’t take what I offer. I mean, yes, he takes the pen but only to set it down on top of papers that will make him one of my employers until I serve my notice period. What he won’t accept is me changing the subject.

“I’m sorry some arsehole made you feel trapped again and scared you.”

I don’t deny a feeling I just watched kids be brave enough to draw on Post-its. Instead I say, “I’m strong enough to look after myself just fine.”

He doesn’t answer, and it takes me far too long to register that he’s tidying clothes for me that he had a hand in rumpling.

I should do that myself.

Instead, I let him.

Reece takes care of me, and forget everything I just said about being strong. I’m so weak for this kind of slow and careful treatment that I don’t realise my fly is still open until he gently zips it.

He finishes by retrieving a stupid hat I should shove deep into my coat pocket. I let him adjust it for me because apparently slow and careful really does it for me. Then he does pick up the pen, and Reece reminds me of another rule I’d forgotten for the last few hot and hurried minutes.

He makes a husky statement.

“No repeats, Jack?”

That was our text-based agreement.

I hear it over and over on the way to Penny’s restaurant, where we find our dinners cooling and a table full of more friends than I expected.

Ian is here with his husband, who smiles around a mouthful of pasta.

Rex is here too with his better half, who raises his glass. “New York’s gain is London’s loss,” he says as if I’ve scored that job already. “But congrats on getting to PA for someone new before you leave.”

“Before I leave?”

Rex says, “Yes,” and my heart sinks.

Has he farmed me out early to one of the other partners at the bank?

They’re fine if boring. They just aren’t Rex.

I’m nowhere near ready to say goodbye to him, so this comes out strangled. “What do you mean I’ll be someone else’s PA?” I slump, the bell on my Santa hat tinkling. “For how long?”

“Just until Christmas.” Rex promises. “Don’t worry, Jack. You’ll like him.” His eyes sparkle. “I’m pretty sure you do already.” He raises his voice next, as well as his glass, which he uses to get the attention of the whole table.

All heads turn at theting ting tingof his fork against crystal, every glass rising to join in the toast Rex makes.

“To Jack. An irreplaceable PA. And an irreplaceable friend.”

Oh my God. Is he about to blub?

That’s my first assumption when his eyes gleam even brighter. But here’s the thing about my boss: He’s a nightmare, remember? One who can’t be left alone for a single moment, or trusted not to fall on his Heligan sword given the slightest reason. That’s what he does by raising his glass one more time, only it isn’t himself that he sacrifices.

It’s me.

“But Jack is even more irreplaceable to the foundation, and the amazing fundraising project you announced this afternoon is a good example.”

“Project?”

Rex is wreathed with smiles. “Yes. The foundation celebration,” he says, as if what I fabricated in a phone call to someone slimy wasn’t a complete work of fiction. “Even if it is too late to hold a party this year, you should have just long enough left in London to create a template we can use going forward.”

He raises his glass even higher.