Page 11 of Gold Digger
“Lottie,” he said in a warning tone, and that’s when I did roll my eyes.
“I need the money, dufus. Why do you think I’m working there?” He blinked again.
“Dufus?”
I bit my lip. What was wrong with me today? Luckily his frown had melted to a smile. For a duke, this guy seemed to really enjoy getting insulted. Despite his naturally overbearing nature, which he’d demonstrated on a few occasions now, the duke surprised me. For some reason he clearly didn’t want me working at that bar, yet he hadn’t ordered me not to. Instead, he did this:
“Would you like a cup of tea?”
“What?” I said in shock.
“You know, tea,” he said in a patient tone. “Brown, British, hot liquid. You drink an inordinate amount of the stuff. Tea.”
“How do you know I drink tea?”
“You leave little clues,” he said as he pulled down one of the super-fancy, ultra-delicate china cups from the display cabinet just along from where all the standard mugs and kettle were. The teacup looked totally ridiculous in his huge hands as he raised it toward me. My face flooded with heat. I was the worst cleaner in the history of cleaning. Not only had I been using those beautiful, exquisite, antique china cups to drink my tea out of, but I’d been leaving them dirty around the house for my employer to find.
“Cheese and rice,” I breathed as he flipped the kettle on to boiling. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have been a) stealing your tea, b) drinking it out of priceless china or c) leaving said priceless china around your house.”
He smirked as he pulled a matching saucer out of the same cabinet, then carelessly chucked the teacup onto it so that the china rattled.
“Careful!” I snapped before I could stop myself. “Or I mean, itisyour china so I guess, er… be careful if you want to. It’s just it’s really pretty and…”
“I think my favourite teacup findage was the one I discovered in my shower, right there with the shampoo.” He was opening up the teabag tin now and putting one directly into the cup. I bit my lip to stop myself from telling him that you don’t make tea that way – you have to use the pretty teapot and the tea-cosy, then let it brew for at least five minutes, then add a splash of milk to the cup, then and only then do you add the tea. “You don’t take sugar, do you?”
“You can’t make me tea,” I said in a horrified whisper. He looked between me and the teacup and raised his eyebrows.
“Evidence would point to the contrary,” he said in a dry voice.Point to the contrary– he was so posh! Who spoke like that? Dukes, that’s who.
He’d now chucked the teabag onto the counter (there was clearly a limit to a duke’s kitchen abilities) and was about to hand the cup to me when he paused. “Oh, I nearly forgot.” He grabbed the biscuit tin, selected a custard cream, put it onto the saucer next to the cup and then brought it all over to me.
“You know that I eat your custard creams,” I whispered, mortified.
He chuckled. “Lottie, you eat about three packets a week. Who do you think makes sure there’s a steady supply?”
I slumped into the kitchen stool in front of my tea. What was the point of pretending to be the perfect professional now? May as well enjoy the tea (despite the substandard way it was prepared).
“So,” he said, taking the stool next to me and making my heart skip a beat when his leg brushed mine. “About the chess game…”
Chapter 7
Duke of Fuckingham
Ollie
“I have a crush on my cleaner.”
“You… what?” Felix’s voice rose, and Mike choked on his coffee.
“My cleaner. I have a crush on her.”
“Mrs Higgins?”
I stared at Felix. “Yes, dufus.” Wow, I was really picking up her little non-swears now. “I have a crush on a sixty-five-year-old grandma who hates my guts.”
“Totally tracks,” Mike said without missing a beat. “You rich, aristocratic dudes are weird. Nanny fixations and all that. Who knows who you want to fuck? Probably gone through all the posh birds in London within your age bracket.”
“Why don’t you sod off back to Little Buckingham to your little woodwork projects, yeah?”
