CHAPTER TEN: CHLOE

“This is an iron.” I plugged it in at the wall and checked to make sure the little light was on. “I doubt you’ve seen one of these before, sir.”

“It’s an iron, not a unicorn,” Theodore replied, sipping his tea. “I know what it is.”

“Have you ever used one?”

“That’s entirely unrelated to whether or not I’ve seen it before.”

I sighed and picked up one of his shirts. “Pay attention. I’m not ironing all your shirts, so you should watch closely.”

“Why can’t we just wait for Auntie Pat to come on Tuesday? She’ll do them for me.”

“Because you’re a grown-ass man who isn’t working this weekend,” I swiftly retorted. “If you’d packed them properly in the first place, this never would have happened. Sir.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

He glared at me over his cup. “Adding ‘sir’ to the end of a sentence to make it sound as though you aren’t getting a dig in.”

I smoothed his shirt out across the ironing board. “As I said before, I have no idea what you mean, sir.”

“I’ve told you not to call me sir when we aren’t working. It’s weird considering our living arrangements.”

The iron was at temperature, so I picked it up and started on his shirt. “Make sure to follow the seams or you’ll just end up adding strange creases,” I explained. “Take extra care at the top of the shirt where the sleeves are especially.”

“Chloe—”

“It’s quite fidgety around the shoulder area, so put the iron down on the holder if you need extra time to adjust the fabric. If you leave it on the shirt, you’ll burn it,” I continued, happily ignoring him. “We both know I’m going to end up redoing whatever you do, but I’d like you to at least pretend to try, sir.”

“Chloe!” He put his mug down and sighed, running his hand through his hair. It was un-styled and unusually fluffy, and when he peered over at me with the barest hit of desperation in his usually icy eyes, he almost looked gentle.

So gentle that something fluttered in my stomach.

Oh, dear.

That wasn’t good.

I cleared my throat and put the iron down so I could move the shirt on the board again. “I’m only here, sir. There’s no need to shout.”

“There is when you aren’t listening to me.”

“You’re mistaken, sir. I am listening to you. I’m simply choosing not to respond to you.”

He groaned, once again sliding his fingers into his hair. “How on Earth have we worked together for the last ten months without exploding?”

“You’ve started to pay attention when I choose not to respond to your silly comments,” I said brightly, my gaze fully focused on the shirt. “It never bothered you when you didn’t.”

“I don’t think asking you to call me something other than ‘sir’ when we’re not working is unreasonable. Do you not feel uncomfortable?”

“I think I’d feel far more uncomfortable calling you by your name.”

“Why? We’ve known each other for years.”

“And in all those years you’ve never been anything other than Mr Black or sir to me,” I reminded him, putting the iron down and finally meeting his eyes. “I’ll never say never, but for now, please drop it.”

He sighed, lowering his chin to his chest. “All right, fine. As you wish.”

Damn it.

Was he sulking?

“Let’s compromise.” I swept his shirt off the ironing board and held it up. “After you pass me that hanger.”

He picked it up from the counter and held it out for me to hang the shirt on. “What compromise?”

“You’re uncomfortable with me calling you sir outside of work and I’m uncomfortable using your name, so I just won’t call you anything.”

Theodore stilled. “You won’t talk to me at all?”

“No, I’ll talk to you, but I won’t address you unless it’s necessary.”

“How do you mean?”

“Um.” I paused midway through buttoning the shirt and looked up, meeting his gaze. “If you’re working when dinner is done, instead of knocking on the door and saying, ‘dinner’s ready, sir,’ I’ll just stand in the middle of the kitchen and yell ‘dinner’s done!’ instead.”

His lips twitched, slowly curving into a lopsided smile. “Let’s do that.”

“I’m glad we got it cleared up.” I coughed and stepped back, taking the hanger from him. “Now, iron a shirt.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Why? Because you were rabbiting on at me about your name instead of paying attention?”

“That’s exactly it, yes.”

I sighed and hung the hanger on the door. “Do you know what that’s called? Weaponised incompetence.”

“That’s the first time anyone has ever called me incompetent in my life.”

“You live alone, don’t you?”

“You know very well that I live alone.”

“Then I suggest you get used to being called incompetent, because something tells me you’ll be hearing it a lot over the next six weeks.” I laid another shirt out on the board and raised the iron. “Pay attention this time. I won’t be showing you again, and I’ll tell Auntie Pat that she’s not to do your ironing until you’ve learnt yourself.”

“It’s starting to feel like you’re my mother.”

“Which makes it worse, considering that I’m two years younger than you.” I smacked the ironing board. “Pay. Attention.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And don’t call me that.”

“Yes, Chloe.”

I shot him a dark look before quickly recovering my senses and schooling my expression back into one of nonchalance. Once again, I showed him how to iron the shirt, repeating the steps I had just a moment ago.

“I think I’ve got it.” He put his mug down and rolled up the sleeves of his jumper, then took my place behind the board.

I watched as he laid out the shirt and got to work, almost nailing it the first time. “You are surprisingly good at this.”

“Why do you sound so shocked?” he asked, putting the iron down and picking up the shirt to survey his handiwork. “Hey! Look at that. As smooth as butter.”

“You look almost as shocked as I sound,” I said.

“I’m not shocked. After all, I’m good at everything.”

“I sincerely hope you’re not including frying eggs under your definition of ‘everything.’”

He brought his fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. “That was a well-intentioned attempt at breakfast this morning.”

“Well, you know what they say. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” I met his gaze. “And if I’d left you alone in the kitchen any longer, we might well have ended up there.”

“I think I should be offended by that.”

“Perhaps.” I unplugged the iron and set it on the counter to cool. “You have two shirts. That should be enough until Auntie Pat returns tomorrow.”

He filled the kettle and put it on to boil. “I thought you’d stand there watching me until I’d ironed every single one.”

“As tempting as the thought is, I’m not getting paid to teach you basic life skills.” I felt under the ironing board for the lever to collapse it. “In fact, right now, I’m not getting paid at all.”

“You’re efficient at setting boundaries.”

If that were true, he wouldn’t have been able to monopolize so much of my time outside of working hours.

“Mm,” I said, picking up the ironing board. “If only.”

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

I paused. Had this man ever offered to make me a cup of tea before? “If you’re making it, then yes, please.”

“We should also think about buying food. Weekends are our only chance to buy groceries, and I don’t want to rely on Auntie Pat to do it for us every week.”

I put the ironing board back in the cupboard and checked my phone on the side. “Do you even grocery shop?”

“You make it sound as though I pay people to do absolutely everything for me.”

“You once had me ask Daniel to collect a prescription from the pharmacy for you. It’s not that big a leap to make.”

He rubbed the side of his neck as he pulled two mugs down from the upper cabinet. “I’m starting to understand why you want to resign.”

I fought back a smile. “I don’t mind going grocery shopping, especially since it’s the company card. Just tell me where the nearest store is.”

“I’ll come with you.” He poured boiling water into the cups. “It’s probably something we should do together.”

I couldn’t help the way my face wrinkled up in displeasure.

“Do you find the idea of shopping with me that distasteful, Chloe?” He rested his hands on the edge of the counter, looking over at me with a smile.

“No, no.” I touched my hand to my lips, breaking eye contact. “I suppose we should work on a meal plan, then.”

“Yes, let’s. Then we’ll go grocery shopping. Together.”

Balls.

The last thing I needed was for him to find out about all my dirty little snacking habits.

***

“Who are you buying snacks for? Yourself or a ten-year-old?”

I clutched the bag of sour gummy worms to my stomach and did my best not to glare at him. “Wow. It’s like I’m shopping with that damn cousin of mine.”

“Harvey? I’m not sure he’s in a position to criticise you for snacking like a ten-year-old. I’ve seen what he keeps in the bottom drawer of his desk in his office.” Theodore bent down in front of the sweets aisle, scanning it. “It’s been a long time since I bought sweets.”

“I can’t say I can picture you chowing down on a bag of gummy bears,” I said, dropping the sour worms into the end part of the trolley where my apparently childish snacks were.

“I haven’t had gummy bears in years. Are they still good?”

“They’re gummy bears. They’re always good.”

He stared at them, then slowly reached out and plucked a bag from the shelf. “I guess I’ll have some, then.”

I picked up a second bag and tossed it in the trolley. “One bag won’t be enough.”

“I see you have a sweet tooth.”

I tilted my head to the side, scanning the shelf once more. “Not really. I’m actually quite fussy and usually prefer savoury over sweet things.”

“With that pile of snacks?”

“The only sweets in there are all sour,” I pointed out. “And there’s no chocolate or cake.”

He leant over the trolley, peering at it from his end. “Why are you keeping it all separate?”

“Because I’m paying for them myself.” I tossed a bag of Magic Stars in the trolley. “I can’t let the company find out about my snacking habits. It’s bad enough you’re finding out.”

“I thought you didn’t eat chocolate.”

“Magic Stars don’t count. Everyone knows they’re a superior chocolate.” I opened the list again. “Which means if you touch them, you die.”

Theodore reached out and added a second bag. “You’re going to ruin my diet.”

“With Magic Stars? Impossible. Besides,” I said, pausing to scan the list. “You could use a little more sugar.”

He sighed. “I feel like I’m going to get insulted a lot while living with you.”

“Think of it as me doing a service for your next secretary. I shall mould you into a perfect boss for my poor successor.” I tossed him a smile over my shoulder.

“You’re taking advantage of being with me outside of work hours, aren’t you?”

“I see you outside of work hours all the time.” I pulled a box of Weetabix from the shelf and put it in the trolley. “I’m just… working… during that time.”

Once again, he sighed. “I get it. I’m an unreasonable, demanding bastard of a boss.”

I clapped my hands together and touched them to my cheek, smiling brightly. “Wow. I can’t believe that only took you forty-eight hours. I can’t wait to see what level of enlightenment you reach after six weeks.”

“Haa.” Theodore ran his hand through his hair, looking at me as though I’d just sentenced him to a life of stepping on Lego. “You know, we’ve known each other for years and worked together almost daily for the past ten months, but I’m starting to think that maybe, I don’t actually know you at all.”

I smiled, pulling two bags of pasta off the shelf and dropping them into the trolley. “Are you just now realising that, sir?”

“I think so,” he said, perusing the shelf full of tins. “And you called me ‘sir’ again.”

“It’s a reflex.” I gripped the edge of the trolly and grinned. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll be giving in and calling you by your name in no time.”

He turned away, rubbing his hand over his face. “I don’t know if I like the sound of that or not.”

“You’re the one who asked me to call you by your name.”

“Mm. Maybe I should be careful what I wish for. Right, Chloe?” He looked back at me, and his lips curved up into a smile that was far too attractive for comfort.

I cleared my throat and released my grasp on the trolley. “Right.”