Never Say Forever

“Yes, because you’re the sort of man who worries for his Ficus,” she answers witheringly. Besides, I know for a fact you have someone watering them already. Someone comes in when I’ve been at work to vacuum and dust, too.”

“You got a house elf like Dobby,” Lulu pipes up. “An elf who washed my bre’fast plate.”

I set off laughing. I’m not sure the old family housekeeper would appreciate being referred to as an elf, even if she has shrunken and wrinkled over the years.

“You know, you’d be surprised to discover the things I worry about.”

“You mean things other than the state of the Dow?” Fee retort is sickly sweet, but I’m so much more than just a rich asshole. If she’d allow herself, I think she’d realise that . . . I’m a rich, horny asshole.

“Sure, the Dow. The glass ceiling. Food security. Deforestation. Global health standards.” Not to mention Rose, her family, and her foundation. The guys at Ardeo. Annie, the old housekeeper who I can’t persuade to retire and who is capable of more loyalty in her arthritic dusting hand than the rest of my family combined. “And I worry if anyone is talking to my plants when they water them.”

“I can talk to your plants,” Lulu pipes up.

“You could? That would be helpful.”

“But you got to pay me.”

“Lulu!”

“No, that sounds fair,” I answer, biting back a grin at her mother’s horrified expression. “And what would an enterprising girl like you charge for this kind of service?”

Lulu’s eyes narrow as she contemplates her answer. “Five dollars, I fink.”

“Five whole dollars?” I repeat. The little girl nods solemnly. “I guess that sounds reasonable.”

“Terrible, more like,” Fee exclaims. “Not to mention a little mercenary.”

“Not when she’s underselling herself.” This I deliver by speaking behind my hand. “I pay the current service a whole lot more.”

“I meant five dollars for each plant,” Lulu amends cheerfully.

“Eloise Rose, don’t be greedy!”

“Mummy, shush.” The kid mirrors my actions, holding her hand to her chin, not quite covering her mouth but rather speaking over it. “He can afford it. He has ten shiny watches in a special drawer in his wardrobe, remember?” She cheerfully holds both hands up in the air, fingers splayed.

“Oh, Lord.” Her mother’s shoulders sag in a moment of parental mortification. “I sometimes wonder where I got you from.”

“From your tummy!” she announces gleefully. “Or Amazon!”

“We do not go snooping around people’s homes. You know that.”

“I know you did.”

“I certainly did not.”

“You certeidly did.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” she says before her head whips back to the kid as her little voice pipes up again.

“Er, ’scuse me, Mummy, but I sawed you looking at his shoes.”

“At my shoes?” If I sound thoroughly entertained, it’s because I am. “Do you have a shoe fetish?” I ask, resting my chin on my fist. “Or are you one of those people who thinks the size of one thing relates to another?” I can’t remember when I was last so entertained in my own home.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says quickly, averting her gaze.

“Oh, I think you do. And you and I both know that in my case you’ve already found the old adage to be true. Big feet, big—”

“Arse,” she mutters between clenched teeth.

“How come you get to say arse?” Lulu’s sweet face is suddenly mutinous.

“Young lady, there had better still be ten shiny watches when Carson goes to that drawer.”

Carson is an improvement on Mr Hayes, but maybe not as interesting as daddy.

“I was jus’ looking,” Lulu mutters as her attention returns to the phone.

“Five dollars per plant, per week, wasn’t it, kid?” Her expression clears almost immediately, and she begins to nod. “It’s a deal.”

“We got to shake on it.” Her small hand thrusts out above the counter, my own engulfing it.

“Do I need to worry about her slipping my watch from my wrist at this point?”

Fee shrugs. “At this point in time, she hasn’t honed that particular skill set. But I’m afraid she does like to borrow, as she calls it, but it’s a habit that relates mostly to things left lying around at eye level. I generally frisk her before we leave the house.”

“Good to know.” I bite back a grin. “Especially as you’re staying.”

“I didn’t agree to that.”

“A deal is a deal, right, Lu? You don’t want me to sue your child for breach of contract.”

“Is beach of contrapt very bad?” Lulu’s expression turns ponderous, and though Fee gives a sharp shake of her head, the little girl’s attention wanders almost immediately.

“You really are like a dog with a bone,” she mutters. And every dog has its day, babe. “But I just don’t get why you would open your home to strangers.”

“Because a stranger is just a friend you don’t know yet,” pipes up Lulu, who, it seems, has already perfected the art of pretending not to listen.