Page 31 of Oz
I stare at him and then at the car. “Voilà, what?”
He smiles. “I’m going to give you your first driving lesson.”
I hold my hands up. “Oh no. No, thank you. It’s very kind of you but I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“I think it’s a really good idea,” he says firmly. “This isn’t London. The nicest thing you could say about the transportservice around here is that it’s sporadic.” He looks at me. “We’re far from anything, Oz, and I don’t want you feeling trapped. If you can drive, you can go where you want.”
“You are aware I have a lot less than six months now to complete a task that Jesus would have baulked at in his miracles phase? I barely have time to sleep, let alone jaunt off to the seaside and have some fish and chips.”
He immediately looks worried. “Have you had a day off since you came here?”
I hesitate. “That’s not the point,” I start to say, but he groans.
“Oh my God, that’s terrible. You’ll be burning out.”
“Slow down. I think that happens to hedge fund managers, not building site organisers.”
His lips quirk. “Is that your new job title?”
I put my hands on my hips. “Does it suit me?” I turn around. “Does my new job title make my bum look big?”
There’s a protracted silence and I suddenly realise that I’m actually talking to my boss and not flirting in a club. He’s so lovely it’s hard to remember. I turn slowly back and swallow hard as his eyes seem to cling to my arse.
“Sorry,” I mutter and he jerks and looks up.
“Why?”
I shrug. “You’re my boss. I keep forgetting it.”
He stares at me and suddenly smiles. “I have the same problem, Oz. Why do you think that is?”
I open my mouth and shut it quickly because I cannot think of a thing to say that wouldn’t land me in worse trouble than I’ve just got out of. For a second, disappointment seems to flit across his face, but then he clears it and claps his hands together.
“Well, shall we do this?”
I breathe in deeply, trying to dispel the strong urge I have to fall on him and kiss his face off. “There’s nothing I can say that’s going to change your mind, is there?” I say resignedly.
He smiles happily. “Nope.”
He presses the button to open the locks and gestures me sunnily into the driving seat. Climbing in next to me, he turns to face me. “First lesson. When we’re getting in and out of a car what should we be looking for?”
“I’m thinking serial killer swans now,” I say morosely and try to stop the uptick of my lips at his laughter.
“Apart from swans, what other disasters should we avoid?”
“Disasters? It’s notThe Towering Inferno. Oh, my God,” I say, starting to panic. “I haven’t started the engine yet. What’s going to happen?”
He snorts. “I’m thinking maybe just look around so you’re not going to open the door and bang into a cyclist or pedestrian.”
I subside. “Oh. Okay, that sounds doable.” I wave my hand. “Carry on.”
His lip twitches. “Thank you.” He straightens up in his seat, the leather creaking, and I try to inhale his fresh, sweet scent without being too obvious or looking like I’m having an asthma attack.
He pulls out an old book and starts to thumb through the pages.
“What’s that?” I ask.
He cradles it protectively as if he thinks I’m going to rip it from his hands and feed it to the thuggish swans.
