Chapter 4

4

What’s the worst that could happen? Rex sending me on another mission before dinner, that’s what.

He scuppers all of my safety-in-numbers plans by messaging me just as I leave the office. Behind me, lights turn off, the wheels of finance coming to a rare early halt for the first of the season’s parties. Bankers stream out, each clutching a secret Santa gift to swap before an evening of getting blotto on company Prosecco. I’m jostled by them as I read Rex’s message.

Rex: I left a folder on my desk. Could you grab it on the way here?

I turn on my heel to do so, but I also frown.

All he left on his desk was a page of interest rate calculations. He’d also doodled boxes with bars on the edge of the sheet of paper. My heart had a little clench at that sign of how trapped he’d felt lately when I slid it into his desk drawer.

It clenches again at his next message.

Rex: I mean on my desk at the Kensington house. If you swing past and grab the reorganisation papers, Reece can sign and then head back to Cornwall straight after supper.

I hurry to do that, dodging merry bankers on the way to the station who must have started their parties early. A wickedly cold breeze chases me down Threadneedle Street past the Royal Exchange building and towards Bank Station, where I only pause to take a quick nighttime selfie.

The Duke of Wellington sits on horseback outside the entrance to the Underground, horse and rider both wrapped in Christmas lights and tinsel, and yes, I’m a short arse, so only half of my face makes it into the photo with him, but Gran is used to only seeing parts of me. Besides, the important thing is that she gets to see this statue, because who doesn’t love a mounted soldier? I know she did, like me, so I send it to her. Then I run for the Tube, and I only pause again when I almost reach Rex’s Kensington address and another message pings into my phone.

I pull off my gloves to unlock it, expecting to see a reply to my selfie. A huff of laughter clouds my screen when I see what actually waits for me in the group chat I share with my housemates.

A photo of Sebastian fills my screen. His cheeks bulge like a hamster’s, only he looks ferocious instead of cute and cuddly, and Patrick explains why.

Patrick: Seb’s already cleared one breadbasket. Penny won’t give him any more until you get here. Everyone else has ordered. Want me to order for you?

Another message pings as I scurry along a row of posh townhouses.

Sebastian: omfg pls hurry i am starving

He sends a snap of his own to show the owner of our usual Friday-night venue holding a breadbasket captive. Penny has been caught mid-laugh. Rex looks more serious in the background. He’s intent on whoever sits across the table from him, and I don’t need to see Reece to picture him looking back at Rex as intently. I already had an up-close experience of being the centre of his attention this afternoon, didn’t I?

That does make me pause.

Share a restaurant table with Reece after what almost happened?

I didn’t only cover him in glitter. I’d been millimetres from giving him a second kiss he didn’t ask for.

Now I’ll have to return to the scene of the first time we got up close and personal and nothing happened.

I’m not sure I can face that reminder. Handing off Rex’s paperwork and making an excuse to leave right away without eating would be less messy.

ha ha, loser

The blackboard affirmation on my lock screen sends a different message, so I go ahead and get braver than I believe.

Jack: On my way. Order for me.

First, I just need to grab that folder, so I turn my key in the front door of Rex and Arthur’s townhouse, then pause again once the door closes behind me. It’s dim inside, muted streetlight all that illuminates the alarm control panel, and this time, I freeze for a different reason.

Wait.

Shouldn’t the alarm beep until I tap in the code?

It doesn’t, and I jump out of my skin when the study door at the end of the hallway creaks open. Light floods out for a moment to show it isn’t a house burglar who flicks off the study light as he exits. It’s Reece, who looks equally startled to see me.

That faint streetlight glow shows him clutching a set of keys I recognise. Of course I do. I gave Rex that helicopter keyring last Christmas. I’m also going to kill him for what instantly feels like a setup.

“Jack,” Reece says in an action replay of our first meeting today outside a community centre. The difference now is that I can’t let myself reply like I’m a love interest in one of Gran’s favourite rom-coms.

I clear my throat and aim for businesslike rather than breathy. “Reece. I thought you were already at the restaurant.” I head for the study, edging past him. “I just need to grab?—”

“A folder for Rex?” He lifts a hand to show he already found it. “With reorganisation papers for me to sign?”

This building was designed for entertaining. For parties full of dancers. Both of us should fit through this wide doorway.

We don’t.

I’m not suggesting Reece blocks my way. He even steps aside to let me pass. I still grind to a halt after he flicks on a hallway light, which doesn’t only bathe him in gold. It also highlights how my boss must have kept himself busy between this afternoon’s meetings.

Rex popped home to do a little light Christmas decorating, only he didn’t set up a tree or hang fairy lights and tinsel.

A familiar sprig of cardboard mistletoe hangs above Reece, and all the breath leaves my body, and not in a Heligan hur of laughter. I wheeze out an unprofessional, “Rex, you massive wanker.” Then I do laugh, although it sounds more strangled than happy—a touch hysterical, to be honest—and stopping isn’t easy until I notice Reece’s brow has furrowed.

With worry.

For me.

I can see that with my own eyes, and I hear it loud and clear when he murmurs, “Shit, I did upset you.”

I stop laughing in a hurry. “You did? When?”

Reece has good hands, right? Strong and steady. It’s weird to see one of them shake. He sweeps it through hair as golden as the light we stand in, and unsteadily answers, “Earlier. At the community centre. In the hallway.” We’re in another hallway right now with the exact same mistletoe spinning high above us as he makes what sounds like a confession. “I thought you were aiming for a kiss. In reality, I crowded you, Jack.”

I don’t get a chance to dispute that version of what happened. He launches into an apology, which takes a surprised second or two for me to process.

“I’m sorry, Jack. I know better. I really do. Seeing Ian tonight when Rex and I got to the restaurant was another reminder.”

“Ian?” I could instantly slap myself for sounding like I don’t know the man he mentions. “Oh, Ian .” He lived with my housemates before me, and was another Lito Dixon escapee. Reece’s next comment confirms we’re both thinking of the same person.

“Of course, me invading your personal space would remind you of your last boss. And of what must have felt like a power imbalance.”

Reece is so brutally honest.

I am too.

“If you mean Lito Dixon, then yes, I have been reminded of him today.” I try to make light of someone who has been on my mind increasingly often, uninvited and unwanted, ever since I gave Rex my notice. “I keep trying to shove that dickhead away in a desk drawer.”

Reece quotes what I last said in a room full of children. “And slam it closed?”

I nod, even if the drawer won’t stay shut lately, but that’s probably down to the prospect of interviewing for a new boss. “I haven’t been thinking about him because you reminded me. And you don’t need to feel bad about crowding me. You definitely didn’t do that today. We hugged goodbye.” This is what I desperately want to keep. “Friends can do that, right?”

He nods, so I keep going.

“Any other contact was accidental. And the other time we almost…” I raise a hand to my mouth, fingertips brushing my lips. “You didn’t crowd me way back then either. All you gave me that time at Penny’s was some decent advice.”

“I did?”

Heat climbs my neck at him not remembering a moment that felt important enough to stay with me for years. I make myself repeat what he told me the very first time mistletoe invited us to kiss beneath it, and I went for it before he stopped me. “You said I shouldn’t feel pressured by tradition into kissing virtual strangers. That kissing was intimate, and should be my choice, not anyone else’s. I can guarantee Lito wouldn’t have said the same, so don’t compare yourself to him. You’re nothing alike.”

Years of shared words flood back. I start with the simplest to describe this difference.

“You’re good.”

Lito wasn’t.

“You’re kind.”

Lito isn’t.

I should probably stop there.

I can’t.

“And I’ll never end up in the same situation with you because you aren’t my boss.” I aim for lightness. “I have a cast-iron rule about those.”

“You do?”

“Absolutely. I never, ever bang them, because?—”

“Power imbalances and relationships don’t go together? Give and take does, right?”

“Right.” I nod firmly. The dynamics he describes could relate to our text exchanges, which makes it easy as pie to say this and mean it. “You couldn’t pressurise me into doing a single thing I didn’t want to, Reece. You wouldn’t. Plus, we won’t even see each other once you sign those papers. You’ll be busy covering the rescue side of the operation for the next week.” I know because I drew up the rota. “Then you’re on leave.”

I also know why Reece booked leave from next Friday. Most of the Trelawneys will celebrate Christmas early so his folks can fly out to spend the twenty-fifth with Calum. Patrick and Sebastian are already packed and ready to leave. They both love their Cornwall visits.

“See?” I blink away the vision of my family’s last few Christmases when I’d wished so hard for a cloak to wrap around someone who sniffed her way through movies that used to make her happy.

I skitter away from that sadness.

“You’ll only be my boss on paper. Our paths won’t even cross while I serve my notice. Because I’ll be based right here in London.” I whip around to point at the front door as if he doesn’t know the best city in the world is outside, ready to strut a red carpet of sparkling Christmas parties. “Meanwhile, you’ll be a busy bee in Cornwall.”

There’s no reason to spin around on this chessboard of black-and-white marble tile to point at Reece. I never mastered spinning on slippery surfaces like ice whenever Calum tried to teach me skating basics. I was always too busy picturing myself in glinting spandex to learn or listen. I’m not much better on this hallway’s high-gloss flooring—I stumble out of my sharp turn to ask Reece, “How can there be a power imbalance if I won’t see you before I move on to my next post?”

“Because you’ll be…”

“Based right here in London,” I repeat. I even whip around and point at the front door in a reminder. Then I spin back to point at him again. “And you’ll be based in Cornwall.”

I also thank fuck that Valentin isn’t videoing me in a Santa hat that jingles each time I turn in a circle. He’d upload it as quick as a flash along with all of my hot pink blotches.

Reece covers his mouth with a hand, confirming that I must look stupid, only he also tilts his head at the front door, asking me without words to spin for him again, and, fuck my life, I do it.

I also let out a cackle, because this is silly. And fun, like Christmas used to be when Gramps would tease Gran about her movie heartthrobs and let me wear a cloak that swirled whenever I spun in circles for him . Even minus a cloak, getting to do at least part of that in a duke’s hallway leaves me dizzy. I spin again, and Reece catches me before I crash into one of the Heligan suits of armour guarding the study doorway.

His huff of laughter makes almost falling over worth it.

He grins down at me for the first time since he asked a room full of refugee kids what being happy looked like, and it has never been harder to pull my professional shit together.

“I’m being serious, Reece.”

“Never stop,” he murmurs, which I take to mean I should keep going with my power-imbalance explanation, so I do, even if this leaves me feeling as exposed as seeing myself on YouTube.

“I’m just saying that you’ll only technically be my boss once I send the signed papers to the foundation’s lawyer. In reality, our paths won’t cross.” I tap the folder that is now pressed between us. “We won’t need to see each other at all before I move on.”

His hold tightens. On me.

I have to swallow before I can add this. “And of course we’ll stop messaging each other every morning, like you suggested.”

His tight hold abruptly loosens, and I’m as out of kilter as a tipsy banker. I lurch one last time, which puts me directly under mistletoe painted by a child who might not have survived without Reece to haul them from trafficked waters. Remembering that helps me to keep this simple.

“You aren’t my boss, Reece. At least not yet. Once you are, we won’t spend any working time together.” I finish by looking up at that mistletoe and repeating what he once told me. “I don’t feel pressured by tradition. And I wouldn’t be kissing a stranger, because you aren’t one, are you?” I don’t mean for this to slip out on a sigh. “It would definitely beat thinking about Lito Dixon.”

Who knows why that spurs Reece into action.

He pulls me close again, but I don’t flinch, not even when he drops that folder of papers to cup my jaw with a huge hand.

Partnership papers flutter. So does something deep inside me. I picture it as a text message arriving to vibrate deep in my chest with a single word for me to pair up.

Kiss.

If Reece sent that word to me for real, I’d text back M and E in capital letters, or I’d type the same as Sebastian, fed up of waiting for his dinner.

omfg pls hurry i am starving

Reece doesn’t. Hurry, I mean. In fact, he looks at me for so long I start to worry he’s replaying my YouTube highlights as London revs up for the festive season outside this townhouse. Nearby streets will bustle with late-night shoppers as Reece leans down oh-so slowly. That feels like being offered every single gift those shoppers purchased, only…

I can’t be certain my name is on this gift tag.

I swallow again before asking for clarification, because all PAs know the devil is in the detail. “So, you and Valentin aren’t…?”

“Aren’t what?”

“Together?”

That earns me a frown. “No. I mean, yes, he did stay with me for a while, but we weren’t ever…” He swallows like I just did, his gaze fixed on my mouth. He also shifts.

Away.

I sense the moment slipping, but I’m an executive PA, remember? Show me a diary in a muddle and I’ll reschedule it into neatness. Rescheduling me and Reece again won’t happen.

It can’t , not after this evening.

Our dynamic will change the minute lawyers file those papers.

If Christmas is going to come early, it’s now or never.