Page 8 of Best Man
“Not really.” I tug at my tie. “It’s only seven o’clock. I’m not sixty andMidsomer Murdersis a repeat.”
He chuckles. “Can you come back in?” he says apologetically.
“Now? Why?”
“Zeb needs to see you.”
“Oh, has he forgotten a misdemeanour he needs to bollock me about?” I say sourly. “What a tragedy.”
He laughs. “Can you come in or not?”
“I notice you’re not denying it.” I look at Charlie and sigh. “Okay, I’ll be there in a bit.”
I click End and Charlie grins at me. “Going to pay a late-night visit to Mr Super Sexy?”
“I wish you wouldn’t call him that.”
He nudges me with his foot. “You wish I wouldn’t, or that you didn’t call him it in your head?” I groan and he laughs. “You’re in denial, Vivian.”
He likes to call me this, and no matter how much I tell him that I’m not a prostitute with thigh-high boots, he keeps at it.
“I didn’t kiss him on the mouth, Daddy,” I say in a high voice.
“You’re my boy now,” he growls, and I snort.
“Okay, enough. It’s making me uneasy. I’m going to have a shower.”
“Make sure you clean all your crevices,” he says and chuckles to himself.
Half an hour later, showered and dressed in Levis and a black shirt, I push my hand through my still-wet hair. “Right, I’m off. I’ll be back later. You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” he says firmly. The doorbell rings and his face brightens. “That’ll be Misha.”
“I’ll get the door on my way out.” Kissing him on the head, I walk into the hall and open the front door. I grin at Misha. He’s dressed in a grey suit and with his black hair, olive skin, and bright blue eyes, helooks as good-looking as normal. And as irritable. Surly and handsome looks great on him.
“You scrub up nicely.” I laugh, and he grins at me.
“Not half as nicely as you. Look at you with the whole matching-your-eye-to-your-shirt-thing you’ve got going on.”
I snort. “Baby, I wrote the fashion bible.”
“I’d be slightly more reassured if you’d written the actual Bible.”
As I step back to let him through the door, I grab his arm. “He had a turn,” I whisper.
Worry flares in his eyes. “Is he okay?”
“Bit fragile. But it wasn’t a bad one.”
“I hate them,” he says slowly but fiercely. He gives me a half-hearted smile. “You on your way out?”
“Been called back in.”
“What have you done now?”
I shake my head sadly. “So predictable. You staying with him?”
He instantly nods. “I’ll kip on the sofa if you’re not back.” He eyes the lounge. “I might kip here anyway.”
