Page 3 of His Until Christmas

“Who, Lito? He isn’t a photographer.” I make my voice as pompous as I remember my first boss sounding. “He’s the director of a prestigious, award-winning photographic agency.”

Rex snorts. “Prestigious, my arse. But did we just drive past him?” He scans the crowds of Christmas shoppers as our cab crawls through traffic. “Want me to ask the driver to stop? I’ll throw a snowball at his weepy willy for you.”

“I can throw my own snowballs just fine. Besides, it’s sleeting, Rex, not snowing.”

“Well, I’m sure I can find something to hurl at his diseased knackers.” He grabs a discarded newspaper. “Or I could shove this sideways all the way up his rec?—”

“No need.” I smooth the angry feathers Rex is always so quick to ruffle for me. “I didn’t see Lito Dixon, and I’m not leaving because of him.” Or maybe I am, if only tangentially.

Even thinking about why is messy, but I’m a PA, paid to make lives neat and tidy for important people, so I keep going. “Plus, we don’t have time to stop.” I distract Rex with some juicy financial gossip. “But I did hear through the PA grapevine that Lito’s agency is seriously close to folding.”

“Good.” Rex lets that tight roll of newspaper unfurl, his ruffled feathers settling, bless him. “Couldn’t happen to a more deserving arsehole.”

Both of my housemates would agree with Rex, although one of them would hesitate before wishing ill on anybody. That’s Patrick, who looks just like his ice hockey-playing middle brother but is actually as soft as butter. He proves that daily by chalking positive affirmations likeI am braver than I knowon our kitchen blackboard. Sebastian is a different matter. Yes, he’s all about justice, but don’t go thinking that makes him gentle. He’d crowdsource the cash for a guillotine if that meant he got to see Lito’s head roll.

I’m going to miss both of them.

And Rex.

And London, even with Lito in it, if I do get a New York offer and decide to take it, but leaving once my notice period ends is the only way I can think of to stop history repeating. Or at least it’s one sure way to snuff out a ridiculous case of pining.

Not over Lito.

Ugh.

He was the one who couldn’t take no for an answer, not me.

It’s someone else who makes my heart clench, then pitter-patter. But, to steal a trope from Gran’s favourite rom-coms, my interest is unrequited—and unnoticed, I hope to everything holy.

My secret crush is happily loved up with a high-profile boyfriend, and, if wishing that weren’t the case wasn’t already pathetic, next year will bring a change to Rex’s work situation that means I’d have to see said crush daily, and…

I can’t risk making someone else feel as suffocated as I used to.

Not when I can still remember my stomach twisting before work every morning.

I won’t do that to him.

Rex nudges my knee. “Who the hellareyou thinking about now?”

He studies me the same way Gramps used to after bad days at school, so I raise my chin and aim for a diversion. “Maybe I’m thinking about global markets. About interest rate fluctuations. How about you do the same?”

He pulls a face that I’d tell him looked constipated if I didn’t spot something else out of the cab window, and here goes my heart all over again. This time, it clenches as we pass a troop of mounted Horse Guards. They trot on glossy chargers, each Guard wearing a plumed helmet, and I can’t help a smile the window reflects as wistful.

Gramps would know how to sort out this fucking stupid knot I’ve tied myself into.

I wish he was still here to ask how.

Rex must notice my smile turn watery. He searches out the window for a reason to cheer me up—when he isn’t being nightmarish, he really is the best boss.

“A-ha!” He must have spotted the same Horse Guards. “If it’s a man in uniform you’re holding out for, I do have some oldcontacts.” His eyebrow waggle is comedic, and I have to stifle a snort. I also have to stifle preemptively missing this to-and-fro of care dressed as banter, this assessing of each other’s mood as easily as breathing, which isn’t in any PA handbook but…

It’s magic.

I order myself to get it together only to fail right away, this time by unprofessionally whispering, “Of course you have regimental contacts. Office scuttlebutt is that you shagged most of the Hyde Park Barracks when you were single.”

“I couldn’t possibly confirm that.” His smile flashes, the handsome devil. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.”

“A gentleman?” I don’t hold in my next snort, and his laughter only makes me doubt the decision he brings up again.

---