Chapter 3

3

Thankfully, I’m saved by the bell before making that offer. Or at least, I’m saved by my phone pinging again.

I usually protect Rex’s time. Guard it like Gramps once guarded Buckingham Palace. Today I pounce on a chance to swerve Reece’s help me request by interrupting my boss mid-talk—a decision that also staves off Reece’s suggestion that we stop texting each other.

Reece will stop, though. And he’ll be right to.

Here’s the real truth.

I should have been the one to suggest it.

I want to escape that guilty feeling. Maybe that’s why I rap on the door more loudly than I need to before swinging it open.

Inside, every head turns.

“Lord Heligan?” I hold up my phone. “Sorry, I just heard from Timothy Smallbone’s PA.” We both grimace, but Smallbone still holds the purse strings to a large donation. According to Rex, he’s been a dick since their shared school days. This donation isn’t even Smallbone’s money, but nothing makes him happier than making Rex beg for every penny.

“Sorry,” I repeat. “He’s demanding you call back. I don’t think he’ll wait.”

These children won’t wait either, a point that Rex makes as he gets to his feet. “Keep them busy for me? Play a little game until I can get back?”

“Me?” Unlike wielding my lint roller, entertaining kids isn’t in my skill set, and a sea of little faces study what probably looks like horror on me.

“No,” Rex says on his way out. “I meant Reece, but now you mention it, go ahead. That way Reece can listen in on my call.”

I follow him out into the hallway, prepared to argue until Rex says, “Reece, you’ll need to learn how to handle slippery knobs like Smallbone.” His nose wrinkles. “Christ, what a mental image.” They stride down the hallway together.

Just as quickly, Reece turns back.

“You’ll be okay in there with the kids, Jack?”

“Of course I’ll be okay.” I do what Gramps suggested for scary moments, mentally swishing an imaginary Horse Guard cloak around me for protection. Not that children scare me, but?—

Reece is suddenly closer. “Only I know this isn’t a school, but that room is kinda like a classroom, and I remember you didn’t have a great time in those.”

“Me?” I’m surprised enough that my voice rises. A host of little faces turn to the hallway window, wide-eyed and watching, so I whisper, “How do you know that?”

Those lines around Reece’s eyes are joined by forehead furrows. “Because you told me.”

Admit to a weakness?

I didn’t need to live in London for long to learn that was a homing signal for dickheads, so I do what this city also taught me and get strident. “I did not.”

“Huh.” Here he goes pulling out his phone again. “I could have sworn you did. It was right after I started counselling some trainee teachers about how to spot childhood trauma and to recognise their own, so school days were on my mind.”

I still don’t remember mentioning a weakness to him.

He turns his phone to show me.

“Look.” He types four letters spelling nope into the search bar above our chat thread. Plenty of examples appear as Reece says, “If I typed anything school-related, that’s how you always answered. With a flat nope. It’s why we had to make a new rule, remember?” He brings up the one and only time we typed in full sentences to each other.

“No repeats allowed?”

“That’s right. No repeats allowed.” He crosses his heart as if we’re a pair of kids, not adults. “Only honest, first reactions. See word, say feeling.” His brow creases some more. “I suppose it won’t matter once I sign the foundation papers and become…”

My boss.

Reece tries again. “I mean, when we have to…” He seems to struggle with what is another simple four-letter word, so I say it for him.

“Stop?”

At the end of the corridor, Rex turns, his own phone pressed to his ear. His eyebrows rise in question, so I say, “Speaking of stopping. Smallbone won’t ever stop giving Rex grief, so how about you go listen in on how to make him part with his money? The quicker Rex can hand over that job to you, the better. He’s great at investing other people’s money but hates asking for any for himself. You taking over the fundraising will do him a massive favour.”

I’m not sure if my throat is tight all over again at the thought of having silent mornings in the future or because Reece picked up that my school days weren’t a good time. For now, I get my shit together and let myself back into the room where children wait.

This audience has high Heligan expectations.

It isn’t their fault they’ve ended up with a small-town stand-in.

“H-hello, children,” I say to rows of disappointed faces, including their social worker and a translator I booked before Rex even knew this date was in his diary. “I’m Jack, Lord Heligan’s personal assistant. I can…”

Do what?

Sort sticky notes by size or colour?

“I… I can answer any questions you have until he finishes his phone call.”

All I get in return is silence along with scrutiny that takes me back to my old classmates staring.

Freezing again now is stupid.

I’m a professional, dammit. An expert at herding aristocratic bankers, not a shy kid being laughed at. I’m an old hand at schmoozing men like Smallbone with no problem, and I definitely don’t need a Horse Guard cloak here where nothing should make me feel this small.

I still jump when the door reopens.

Reece says, “Hey, kids,” and settles on the floor instead of sitting stiff-backed in a chair like me. He’s relaxed in front of these silent children. “Has Jack told you what he does for Lord Heligan yet? Or shall I give you some clues?”

I fully expect him to list my admin duties. Instead, he comes out with a feeling.

“Jack makes Lord Heligan happy.”

I must let out a surprised sound.

Reece flashes a smile my way. “You do. I’ve heard it, just like this.” He hams up what sounds suspiciously close to Rex’s laughter whenever I call him an email-avoidant dipshit. He’s got that Heligan hur hur hur down pat, and I can’t help grinning when the interpreter repeats it. So do some of the kids, and like dominos toppling, it sets off a hur hur hur chain reaction.

“Amazing,” Reece says over their giggles. “Happy is exactly how Jack makes Lord Heligan sound every single day they work together. It’s a very important part of his job. Now, I wonder if anyone can show me what happy looks like?” He squints for a moment at a sea of smiling faces, mine included, where he lingers. “Perfect,” he says softly before refocusing on the children. “I bet Lord Heligan would like to keep some of your smiles just in case Jack isn’t around one day and he has a sad moment.”

My smile drops quicker than Rex’s pants in a Horse Guard barracks.

Not because I think Rex has spilled my leaving beans earlier than I wanted. I sag because Reece is only telling the truth.

Fuck, Rex is going to be sad, isn’t he?

Here’s the real kicker.

I will be too, won’t I?

If Reece notices me acknowledge that, he doesn’t show it. He’s too busy tapping a finger to his lips like he’s thinking hard about a problem. “I wonder how we could remind Lord Heligan about being happy if he has a sad day?” He also nudges a tray filled with crayons, and I take the hint.

I get down on the floor beside him. “Could the children draw being happy on some of these, maybe?”

See, a sticky-note obsession can be useful.

I pass out limited edition squares of puppy-bordered paper, and, before I know it, Reece gathers together a selection of crayoned smiley faces, plus a silly cross-eyed face from me. I snatch that one back, and draw a proper smiley on the reverse, then I draw a heart around it, because Rex does have a huge one.

Reece takes it. “Perfect,” he murmurs again. “You all are,” he says more loudly, the pad of his thumb smudging the heart I crayoned. “Thank you. All of these smiles will be a great reminder to be happy if Lord Heligan ever needs one. Now, here is something for all of you.” He hands out smiles he’s drawn for each of these children who didn’t ask to wash up in Britain. “You can keep these in your pocket. Know that it’s there for you, just like Safe Harbour will always be here for you all. Because it can be hard to be happy when you’re somewhere new and it seems like everyone else is celebrating, can’t it?” He glances at the Christmas tree in the corner of this room and taps his lips again. “It can even be lonely. I wonder what other Christmas feelings we could draw together?”

Hands shoot up, and don’t ask me how it happens, but before I know it, the children are in groups having a little emotion-drawing contest the interpreter helps with.

These kids already know scared and frightened . They’ve all lived lost and lonely . Today they add safe and loved to that list, along with hopeful , which Rex must read from the doorway.

“Fabulous work.”

He crouches to look through their little drawings, fingertip lingering over one I crane my neck to see. He’s found an image showing worry, and he does what comes so easily it must be coded into Heligan DNA. Rex seeks out who drew it and lets them know they don’t have to be alone with that scary feeling.

This is what he’s built for.

This.

I’d never tell him that or his head might swell too much to fit inside his helicopter, but he really is a knight whose shining armour is wasted in the world of banking.

Protect more billionaire fortunes?

This is worth more to him.

Rex looks through some more of the children’s drawings and laughs at my cross-eyed contribution.

“Jack drew that.” Reece flips it over to show Rex what I also drew on the reverse, and Rex’s eyes gleam, the sentimental wotsit.

“Thank you,” he tells me hoarsely, and something bubbles up inside that I can’t let spill in public. I guide Rex to the rear of the room and choke this out instead of doing something stupid like taking back my notice.

“How did you get on with Smallbone?”

“Terribly,” he mutters. He also huffs out the kind of gusty sigh that means he lost his cool and regrets it. “He still won’t confirm the donation from his bank. It isn’t even his money, so I don’t know why.”

I do.

“He wants you to beg for it.”

Rex huffs as children he had a hand in saving share their feelings, then shares one of his own with me. “I hate that. Having to get on my knees for someone like him.” He swallows, his turn to sound as gritty as the carpet. “But I will. For them.”

I bow my head over what is left of my first Christmas gift of the season, shuffling and sorting, and it only takes a minute to come to at least one decision I can stick to. I don’t even care if my tongue pokes out while I’m thinking—there’s only Rex watching, and this is more important than my face and throat feeling hot and blotchy. I don’t even think about all those ha ha, loser comments. I’m too busy coming up with a solution for him.

I take Rex’s phone and dial Smallbone’s number.

“Mr. Smallbone? This is Lord Heligan’s personal assistant. So sorry to disturb you, sir. I know your time is precious.”

I glimpse Rex gagging and have to close my eyes before he makes me laugh midway through a call that I hope will make a difference.

“And I know your board of directors already agreed to make a donation to Lord Heligan’s foundation, so I thought you might be interested in hearing about how we intend to publicise their generosity. How? By holding a celebration party. Where? That’s yet to be determined. Perhaps on the island of Kara-Enys, in the duke’s castle.”

Rex frantically shakes his head. He’s right to. His grandfather would never agree to share his home with someone this oily.

I speak quickly before Rex can cut me off with that truth. “Regardless of location, it will be an extremely exclusive event.” It’s also bogus. There is no celebration planned, and the duke would rather eat glass than host Smallbone, but I’m all in on this lie now.

All in?

These party details come so easily, anyone listening might think I’d already spent months planning, But Gran was a housekeeper for a lord and lady when I was little. I watched her make magic every Christmas for them. I also crack one eye open to see Rex crossing his own at me for real, so I close my eyes again and keep earning myself more coal from Santa.

“Oh, you hadn’t heard about the celebration? Yes, that’s because…” I think so hard my tongue actually does meet the tip of my nose. “Because organising it is a last-minute leaving present to the foundation from me before I relocate. To where? New York, most likely.” That’s putting the cart before the horse—I won’t formally interview until that partner visits London the week after next, but it does get the conversation back on track. “This gathering will be limited to the foundation’s best donors. It should be a fantastic evening for the biggest contributors. A chance for the great and the good to mingle.”

Anyone who has worked in London’s financial square mile knows that Smallbone’s real currency is social climbing. He so loves to network that I’m surprised he doesn’t wear crampons to work.

“That’s why I hadn’t contacted you until now.” I do my best to sound sorry. “Because the donation from your bank hasn’t yet reached the foundation.”

I let him huff and puff some excuses before I go for broke.

“I quite understand. Your PA has let you down.” I open my eyes purely to roll them at Rex, then get back to my fictional party planning. “That’s why I’m calling, sir. Because I can only send out the foundation’s photographer to take publicity headshots once the cash is deposited.” I lower my voice. “I shouldn’t really tell you this, but another twenty thousand or so would put you right at the very tippy top of the list.”

Rex stills, barely breathing as children draw more emotions behind him. His own is easy to name. It’s the same desperate hope I’ve seen in photos of Cornish rescue missions, so I push through with another lie, and this one is a whopper.

“If we receive the donation today, of course your photo would be on all the invites and publicity materials.” I wet suddenly dry lips. “Maybe even beside the photo of his Grace, the Duke of Kara-Enys.”

Men like Smallbone are surprisingly easy to bait. He’s always been gutted that his family doesn’t have a title. Give him a chance to lord it over someone who does? He jumps at the chance as soon as I add, “A significant additional donation would put your photo right above his grandson, Lord Heligan.”

Bingo.

“Oh?” I aim for surprised. “You’ll personally finalise the donation right away?” I steal Rex’s word of the day. “Fabulous.” Then I pause. “Oh, but you’ll supply your own headshot for the publicity packet?”

That’s just as well. My offer of a photographer was also bogus, part of a web of lies I go ahead and tie in a neat bow for Rex’s future PA to deal with.

“That’s absolutely fine, and no hurry. Like I said, the potential date isn’t fixed yet. We’re hoping for before Christmas or sometime in the new year.” Or never. “Thanks so much, Mr. Smallbone, and a very merry Christmas to you.”

I’ll never forget Rex’s expression when I end the call.

It’s too complex to draw on a Post-it and too sweet to belong to a jaded banker. I’m so fucking glad he’s leaving that world behind him. I’m also on an instant high—I really do love solving problems for Rex. And for Reece, it turns out.

He still works with the children. Now Reece holds up a sad face drawn on a sticky square of paper. “I feel like this sometimes.” He models so much more than a sad expression.

Fuck, he looks heartbroken .

It’s so authentic that I can’t help doubting Rex’s not-boyfriend assertion.

Reece even sounds it, and I hate to hear this heartache from him. “What could I do if this feeling was mine?”

Hands shoot up, but I’m already shouting out my solution for a heart that won’t quit aching. “You could hide it.”

That’s essentially what I’ve done for what feels like forever, and children giggle, but I’m not sure the feathering around Reece’s eyes expresses humour. “Or, Jack?”

He’s asking me to try harder.

Heat rises, that throat-clambering Judas.

“Or…” I tell my tongue tip to behave and to leave the end of my nose alone. “You could slip it into a desk drawer then slam it closed as fast as you can?”

Reece has a different suggestion. “How about sharing it with someone? Get whatever makes you sad off your chest so it doesn’t linger.”

He’s saying that for the children’s benefit.

I know that.

I don’t know why it leaves me agitated or when I picked up a pot of glitter from a tray of craft supplies. All I know is that my hands twist it as he looks directly at me and makes a promise. “Your worries are worth hearing. Anyone who cares about you will want to listen, so don’t ever be afraid to tell them if you’re unhappy. Or to tell them anything you’re feeling.”

Don’t be afraid?

If I tell him about feelings that have stacked up one word at a time, he’ll be first in line to drive me to the airport for a role I wouldn’t have applied for if not for Gran lighting up at the prospect.

My hands twist again in agitation, that pot opening in a reminder of the only city I want to stay in—I’m covered in glitter, sparkling and silver like London is at Christmas.

Shit.

My lint roller captures some. The front of my suit still glints, a lost cause, like me as I quietly tell Rex, “I’ll head back to the office now. Say goodbye to Reece for me, will you?”

“Thanks again for wrangling Smallbone,” Rex murmurs. “See you later for dinner?”

I nod, already leaving, although I don’t make it too far.

I haven’t even reached the end of the hallway before a hand lands on my shoulder.

It isn’t one of Rex’s.

“I just upset you.” Reece is too good at this emotion business—worry is right there on his surface, like he doesn’t care who sees it. “I’d never want to kick off our new working relationship on the wrong foot. I’m sorry.” He glances back at a hallway window that offers a glimpse of children Reece was only trying to help. Perhaps that’s why I do exactly what he told them by blurting my real issue, or almost.

“We won’t have a working relationship. I mean, not in Cornwall. Because I’m leaving. And maybe relocating.”

“Relocating? To where?”

“New York. Probably.”

Here’s proof I’m no emotion expert: I can’t read him, or guess what his voice pitching this low signals. “When?”

“Early next year if my interview goes well.”

“That’s…” He swallows. “That’s soon. Does… Do Patrick and Sebastian know? Or Calum? No one mentioned it to me.” He saves the name with most impact for last. “Not even Arthur.”

Rex’s grandfather reminds me so much of my own. I shake my head, then stutter. “I-I only told Patrick and Sebastian this morning. I-I was going to message Calum later.” I’m pretty sure he’ll be happy that we’ll both be on the same side of the Atlantic. I’m less certain of the duke’s reaction.

“I’ll tell Arthur at the end of next week when he comes to town for our annual Christmas shopping trip.” I meet Reece’s eyes and make myself speak with more conviction. “I need to tell him myself.” He nods, so I keep going. “Anyway, that’s why you and I won’t have a working relationship. Because I’ll be gone. Today is probably the last time I’ll see you face-to-face.”

Reece doesn’t nod again, or shake his head either. He doesn’t move a single muscle as decorations sway above him in a reminder of the one and only time I blurred boundaries with him. He must notice my glance up. He looks up too, then stills again at what hangs directly above us.

Mistletoe.

Yes, this sprig is cut from cardboard. And it has been painted instead of being the real deal like the sprig we once stood under in a restaurant hallway. Like then, I jump again to the wrong conclusion about him pulling me closer.

He isn’t about to kiss me like I once assumed.

He’s hugging me goodbye, that’s all.

I’m getting what I asked for—a great big Trelawney cuddle—and his breath gusts warmly like it did when he met our taxi.

Sleet doesn’t chase it now.

I still shiver as soon as his breath coasts across my ear to carry this murmur. “I’m pleased for you.” He follows that with a low, quiet question. “If New York is what you really want, that is? Only…”

“Only?”

I don’t mean for my lips to brush his jaw when I ask that, or for me to freeze at the faint prickle of his stubble. It’s a fleeting connection because we stand so closely, that’s all. Who knows why my fingers tingle, or why my heart gallops at our accidental contact, which never happens when I kiss any of the frogs that fill London.

Him turning so our mouths brush is a really shit reminder of the last time he had to let me down gently in a restaurant hallway, so I back off in a hurry.

I don’t leave fast enough to avoid spotting evidence that I just got too close to an employer who I can’t let myself crush on. Glitter is all over Reece’s sweatshirt. The logo printed on his chest sparkles, and I’m not the only one to notice. Rex is at the hallway window, and I have no idea what else he witnessed. He stands with his head tilted, looking directly at that glitter on Reece. On me too. His eyebrows rise, so I do what any PA who prides themself on professionalism would.

I skedaddle, only turning when Reece calls out, “I’ll… I’ll still see you tonight? At Penny’s restaurant, yes?”

For dinner?

I nod as cardboard mistletoe spins above someone who has no idea that he just dodged a bullet. One last dinner will be fine, I promise myself. All I have to do is not be alone with him anywhere near green leaves and white berries.

Rex will be there to ensure that.

So will Sebastian and Patrick, and there’s safety in numbers.

What’s the worst that can happen?