Page 5 of His Until Christmas

Maybe I still have some of those crumbs on me—Rex reverses our usual roles by making sure I’m neat and tidy. He straightens my scarf, his movements slow and careful. So is his eye contact. “No, of course I haven’t told Pops. You said you wanted to do it yourself. I haven’t told a soul, but maybe bear this in mind.” He really has the sweetest smile for a cutthroat banker. “You don’t have to tell him at all, Jack. Or leave. I can be flexible. Yes. That’s what I’ll do.”

“You’ll do what?”

“I’ll be flexible by keeping an admin office here in town. You can work from my study in the Kensington house, just as long as you stay on to organise us.”

“Us? But I don’t organise anything for Arthur.” The duke is scarily self-sufficient for someone almost in his eighties, plus me working from here is unlikely to make Rex pay any more attention to his email inbox.

“No,” Rex says. “I don’t mean that Pops needs your PA talents.”

I don’t need to ask who else does.

Rex gestures out of the sleet-streaked window at a figure waiting in a distant doorway.

Even from the far end of this street, I recognise who has come all the way from Cornwall to meet us. I’d know those wide shoulders anywhere. My flatmate Patrick has a similar broad set. His brother Calum has another. This set belongs to the oldest of the three brothers, and to someone who will be my boss in the new year if I stay on Rex’s payroll.

They also belong to someone I almost kissed once before he made it clear we couldn’t be anything more than friends. Tell that to feelings that surge to the surface each morning when we play a text-based game of word association.

Reece Trelawney.

This morning, he typed London, and this cityislife to me, but if I don’t want to end up as bad as Lito Dixon, leaving is my only option.

2

Thankfully,traffic lights buy me some time. Normally, that would be my cue to fret about Rex missing the start of a meeting. Today I’m grateful. This pause gives me time to regroup. It also gives time for Rex to make a sales pitch he has no idea I’d already be sold on if things were different.

“That’s who really needs you.” He points as if I can’t see for myself. “Reece.”

Sirens scream, only they don’t come from passing police cars. These alarm bells are only in my head and wail a too-late warning.

Don’t wish he was single.

I mean Reece, not Rex, who is actually a rather lovely advert for matrimony, even if he used to give plenty of Horse Guard helmets a good spit and polish. These days, he’s soppy about partnerships, which include ours. “Listen,” he says, hitting me with the kind of honesty that is so rare in this city. “Yes, I want to keep you. But Reece is the one whose workload is about to double once I restructure the foundation. The management part is new to him. He could easily sink without support.”

“Valentin could help keep him afloat.”

That’s Reece’s boyfriend—although, despite my grumbled suggestion, I’m pretty sure Valentin isn’t true PA material. My job plays to strengths I’m also pretty sure Valentin would see as weaknesses, like the big boys at school did if they ever caught me waltzing in circles.

Their laughter and pointing fingers taught me to fade into the background, which is part and parcel of what I do daily to help my boss shine in public. That means being unobtrusive. Valentin is anything but. The man loves cameras—when he isn’t strutting red carpets in front of paparazzi at boat shows, he stars in self-made videos for his YouTube channel, many featuring Reece mid-rescue.

Rex can’t have heard my grumble. “Who can keep him afloat?”

It’s hard to rein in a huff. “Valentin Juno. You know? Raven’s wing hair. A face that makes Timothée Chalamet look puffy.” Rex still looks blank, so I keep going. “He’s got that sexy French accent as well as a really cuddly boyfriend. And he’s the heir to the Juno speedboat empire, remember? At least that means he might be useful. If you can get on Valentin’s good side, he might talk his father into donating one to the foundation.” I come up with a marketing pitch on the fly. “How about this? ‘Trust Juno to speed to the rescue.’ I bet his dad would cough up more than one speedboat for that kind of advertising.”

Rex doesn’t answer, which isn’t like him. He lives and breathes raising cash for his favourite obsession. Something strange happens to his face, and his silence is so unusual that I have to break it.

“Are you okay? I did warn you about taking too much Viagra. Should I call an ambulance?”

He ignores my questions, intent on asking one of his own. “You think Valentin is Reece’s boyfriend?” Rex can’t have watched the same videos as me. He shakes his head firmly.“No. I think that’s massively unlikely but let me just check.” He doesn’t mean he’ll check on Valentin’s relationship status. He leans closer to ask a completely different question. “You thinkReeceis cuddly?”

Shit.

Rex studies me for a long and piercing moment as Hackney blurs outside the cab window into a sea of grey with splashes of graffiti brightness. I only know that because studying street art like we’re at the Tate Modern is safer than engaging in what I can guarantee is coming unless I can divert him.

I clear my tight throat. This still comes out sounding strangled. “I could ask Valentin if his father would like to donate one if you wanted?”

“Donate one what, Jack?” Rex asks smoothly, and yes, here comes his teasing. “One cuddle with Valentin’s not-boyfriend? Because I’m pretty sure I’d know if he and Reece had ever been an item. Besides, Pops would have told me. His gossip radar misses nothing. Now, how about you tell me more about this cuddle you’d like with Reece?”

Denial isn’t only a river. It’s the only way to avoid admitting what has topped my Christmas list for what feels like forever. Distraction comes a close second. I go for broke with both, getting busy with my lint roller while saying, “I just meant Valentin could be the key to next year’s fundraising.”

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