Page 43 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
He raises an eyebrow. “Depends who you’re passing.”
I level him a look, but he’s already smirking like a man far too pleased with himself.
“Look,” he says, dropping into his seat across from me. “You’re welcome to hang around. I can ask Miranda for some fresh coffee, since that’s clearly what’s keeping your calendar open.”
I don’t rise to it. I’ve known Callum too long, and if I show even the smallest crack, he’ll widen it with both hands.
“Do you want to go over the numbers or not?” I ask, keeping my tone dry.
He grins. “Sure. But if you think I haven’t noticed the fact you’re suddenlyveryavailable for in-person chats, you’re kidding yourself.”
I give him nothing.
“I am doing this all for free, mate. I could be charging you an arm and a leg!” I remind him that I am only here to give him a helping hand.
Callum laughs. “Charge what you like,mate. But if you’re going to orbit the house like a hungry crow every few days, at least be honest with me.”
“Itisabout the work.”
“Sure it is.”
I glance at the notebook I brought, and flip it open just to give my hands something to do. “I don’t have time to orbit anyone.”
He tilts his head. “Right. And all these drop-ins—just good business?”
“Checking progress.”
“You know there’s email, right?”
I give him a long look.
He gives me one right back.
Eventually, he shrugs, lifts his tablet and taps it to life. “Fine. Investor notes. Round three. Let’s get on with it, before Miranda leaves and you come up with a reason to ‘check in’ again tomorrow.”
I don’t answer.
Because I’m not entirely sure I wouldn’t.
We work in relative silence for the next half hour—or at least, Callum works. I contribute just enough to keep up the illusion that I’m entirely focused on the spreadsheet and not, say, mentally tracking the sound of movement from the living room.
At one point, there's a faint rustle and a low laugh from Miranda—something quick and off-hand, followed by Stella saying something I can’t quite catch.
Callum glances up at me. I don’t look back.
Exactly thirty-two minutes in, the door creaks open and Stella steps in without knocking. The look on her face is pure mischief disguised as helpful admin.
“Just letting you know,” she says lightly, “Miranda’s heading off now.”
The pause that follows isn’t long, but it’s noticeable. Long enough for me to register it.
Callum closes his laptop with theatrical slowness. Then looks at me. Stella looks at me. Like we’ve hit the climax of a play I didn’t agree to star in.
Callum leans forward, elbows on the desk, expression unreadable except for the faint glint of amusement in his eyes.
“If you’re planning to offer her a lift,” he says casually, “we can call it there.”
I don’t blink. Just shift slightly in my seat and glance at the clock on the wall, as if I’m only now realising the time.
