Page 6 of Best Man
I stare at him, feeling my own lips twitch because his laugh is so contagious. You could actually catch his laughter like a little germ and feel it taking root in yourself.
After a few minutes, he stops laughing and looks contemplatively at me. I try a smile, but I think the true glory is a bit wasted today with my sunglasses on. I probably look like I’m still pissed.
Zeb shakes his head. “That explains Mr Sampson’s email.” His voice wobbles slightly and I frown at him. “He apologises for the fracas at the party and would like to tell you that the package was picked up and put back where it belonged.” His voice falters again but he firms his expression. “He says how happy he was with the service and would definitely like to use you again.”
I stare at him. “So, that’s good, then. Brilliant.” I clap my hands together. “Another satisfied customer.”
“Let’s not speak too rashly. That goes against the grain.” I open my mouth, but he holds his hand up. “No, I’m not explaining that.” I subside back into my chair. “Let’s face it, these last few months have been rather eventful for your career at the agency.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I say uneasily.
“Really?” he says silkily. “You wouldn’t? Hmm, let’s see. Last month you were asked to escort Mr French to an office party and what happened?” I mutter something and he smiles mockingly. “No need to whisper.”
“I fell on the buffet table,” I say clearly. “Because someone tripped me up.”
He smiles. “Yes. Yes, you did, and then what about the next week when I asked you to sort out Miss Hendon’s garden, and you decided that her prize collection of ferns were actually weeds and pulled them up?”
And he’s off. It’s almost admirable how he can speak without notes. He’d have a great career on the after-dinner speaking circuit. Although only if the title of the speech was The Misadventures of Jesse Reed, I think sulkily.
There’s a big, expensive-looking, square envelope on his desk with Zeb’s name on it in italics. It looks like an invitation of some sort, and Icrane my neck to try and see more while he rants on. However, I can’t, so I’m forced to grin and bear it.
Finally, after what seems like a week, he lets me go with the suggestion that I pull my socks up. I contemplate telling him that I’m not wearing any, but I abandon that when I see the glint in his eye. Instead I half salute and scarper.
Once the door shuts behind me, I look at Felix and fall to the ground, groaning dramatically.
He laughs. “Was it bad?”
“Define bad,” I mutter into the carpet. I raise my head. “He’s vile sometimes.”
He shrugs. “But fair.”
“He’s even more bad tempered than usual,” I mutter, getting up and slinging myself into the chair next to his desk. “Is Patrick giving him a hard time?”
Patrick is Zeb’s partner of six years. He’s a beautiful man and quite a bit younger than Zeb, but from the photos I’ve seen of them together they seem to be happy. I consider that. Maybe. Patrick looks like he’d be bloody hard work, but luckily that’s Zeb’s problem and not mine.
Felix stares at me. “Didn’t you know?”
“Know what?”
“They split up.”
“Get away. When?”
He smiles. “Last year sometime.”
I sit up straight. “Why didn’t I know this?”
“Didn’t know the subject interested you,” Felix says casually as he rifles through the paperwork. He shoots me a quick glance and I feel my cheeks flush.
“Well, obviously I like to know these things,” I say robustly. “His mood directly impacts my job security situation.”
“Oh, okay,” he says, overdoing the nodding. “Of course.”
“Does everyone know?”
He shrugs. “Probably. Zeb hasn’t advertised it, but he hasn’t exactly hidden it. Plus, Patrick came into the office shouting a few times which sort of gave the game away, as did the furniture removal.”
Zeb lives in a three-storey flat over the agency offices. I’ve heard it’s lovely. Heard, because I’ve never been invited up.
