Page 138 of Love ad Lib
He sighed. ‘I actually wanted to talk to you this evening about your fee for the living history tour.’
‘My fee? What?’
‘Your payment for staging a three-hour interactive performance, which saved my family’s arse.’
‘But I don’t want any money for that. It was fun.’
‘I’m pleased it was fun for you, because it was also brilliant. Do you think I could have pulled that off? Estelle? Myparents? None of us could. And anyway, this is your job. You should be paid for it. Do you think plumbers show up and work for free just because they enjoy it? If you hadn’t stepped in, not only would we have had to refund people’s money from bank accounts you now know are empty, but we would have been slaughtered on review sites. You saved us, Libby.’
She was silent. How could he get through to her? He hated money sometimes. It bought you freedom but it also led to conversations like this, plus guilt, unhappiness and a feeling of obligation. As long as he could feed himself and pay his bills, he didn’t give a shit if she had all his money. Using what he had to make her happy made him infinitely happier than the thought of spending it on himself.
He rubbed his hands over his face, then dropped them to his lap.
‘Libby, do you appreciate what I’m saying? If I came and saved your family from public shame and a bill they couldn’t afford by doing my job, wouldn’t you want to pay me?’
She was still silent, but understanding flashed across her face.
‘My parents can’t afford to pay you, but I can. If you won’t accept the second half of the money for being my fake girlfriend, then will you at least accept it for the awe-inspiring job you did on the tour?’
This time he let the question hang in silence and waited for her response.
‘Thank you, Henry,’ she said, her voice low.
Halle-fucking-lujah. His shoulders relaxed.
‘But…’
‘Yes?’
‘I want to pay for dinner.’
No fucking way. He’d spent over a hundred pounds on this feast. He wasn’t letting her foot the bill.
He cleared his throat. ‘I didn’t get any receipts and have no idea how much it was. Why don’t you buy the next one? Or…’
‘Or what?’
‘You said you liked cooking?’
She nodded.
‘Would you cook for me sometime?’
Her smile lit up her face. ‘I’d love to. When?’
‘Tomorrow?’
Her cheeks flushed. ‘Which meal?’
He got off his stool and moved closer. She turned to him, pressing her delicious breasts into his chest as he reached his arms around her. Her face was lifted towards his, her pink lips parted. She was utterly irresistible. He kissed her and she whimpered.
‘How about we start with breakfast?’ he murmured.
‘Sounds like a plan,’ she whispered, before pulling his mouth back down to hers.
28
Libby navigated herself out of dreamland the next morning, directed towards consciousness by a deep rumbling snore.
