Page 54 of The Reno
Call Mum back
“So, just so I can get this right, you’ve moved in with your builder.” Willa’s familiar voice came down the phone. She had texted me about fifteen minutes earlier.
Free for a chat?
I would usually be fast asleep at seven in the morning if it weren’t for the fact Liam mentioned he left the house atseven thirty.
Plus, it wasn’t like I’d slept.
I’d been too excited to start the renovation, so I was up at five a.m., like a kid at Christmas.
Willa continued, “The builder you’re paying has offered you somewhere to live?”
“Well, yeah, but it’s not as bad as you think. He’s a mutual friend, I guess. He’s close with my uncle and auntie. And he grew up with my cousin, Lydia.Andhe came to my dad’s funeral.”
The explanations came tumbling out of me, and I internally winced at the defensive tone. I did not mention the whole car park debacle but listed off my justifications with no sense of shame.
“Isn’t that a bit weird?” Willa asked gently.
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I slapped my hand on my head. “I think we’re friends now. Kind of.”
“Friends?” Willa repeated.
I thought Liam and I were friends. Kind of. We seemed to have settled into a suspension of hostilities since the afternoon tea event at the club. Mostly. He had offered me somewhere to live and made me dinner. Friends did that sort of thing, didn’t they? And we’d both agreed that if I lived here, I would rebrand his business in return.
Friends helped each other out.
“Yes, friends.”
I could hear Willa’s scepticism from the pause down the phone.
“Just be careful, okay, Kat. What do I always say—”
“Don’t shit where you eat.”
“Don’t shit where you eat,” she repeated with vigour. “And you’re living with the man renovating your bloody house. What if he makes a move on you, and you have no choice but to accept? I know he’s a family friend, but just—just lock your doors.” She paused. “But I suppose he has the keys, doesn’t he? Given it’s his house.” I could hear her frown down the line.
“I’ll be fine, Wills. I promise.”
“It’s just the power balance—”
“I’m rebranding his business in return for staying here. And you know how much I could charge for that if I wanted to.”
Willa hummed, still unsure.
“And I’ll keep you updated. It’s all on track to finish in two months. Then, I’ll be back in London; I can buy my own place and be ready to start work again. All of this chapter about my dad will be behind me. And you won’t have to worry about me.” I ignored the deflated feeling that gave me.
“I always worry about you,” Willa said dryly.
“Hey!” I complained. “How are things at work?” I changed the subject away from my liabilities.
“Fine.” A single-word answer was all I was going to get.
“And John?”
John was Willa’s on-again, off-again boyfriend. I fucking hated John. Willa was the Miranda to my Carrie, always more practical than me, but it didn’t always mean she was invincible. Even if she’d prefer it that way. John—or as I like to call him, “fuck-face John”—was controlling and manipulative. When I’d first met him, I’d had an instant visceral hatred response. We’d met in the new buzzy restaurant in Soho, and all night, John had subtlycontrolled Willa, monitoring what she ate and drank. I thought maybe I was going mad because everyone else seemed to like him; even Willa’s dad, who was notoriously hard to impress, seemed to like him. They went golfing together.
