For the love of God, do I have to hit you over the head with it? No, I suppose you’ll just drop a few rungs in my estimations.
“So, what’s your excuse for being late today, Ethan?” Beth peels the lid from her cup, blowing a little suggestively on the froth. “Was it Amber? Kelly? Amelie, maybe?”
If he’s supposed to be the boss, why does he let the staff tease him like this?
“You know he only likes one taste,” Marta says, joining in. “Those girls were so last month.”
“You make me sound like a bad man.” He turns to Marta with an exaggerated pout.
Tight fisted.
“So it’s them, not you?” Marta’s tone turns arch. Maybe I’m not the only one who has a low opinion of him. As well as tight-fisted, he’s the biggest flirt I’ve ever met. Maybe with the exception of Carson Hayes, perhaps. I’d like to think Carson is more discriminate, even if, in reality, I have no idea who he’s flirting with right now. My stomach swoops unhappily, and I push the thought to the back of my mind.
“You know what they say. Classy women don’t have one-night stands,” Beth interjects with a tinkling laugh. “They have auditions. Maybe Ethan just isn’t getting the callbacks.”
“Do you hear what they’re saying about me?” He turns to face me again, and I resist the urge to shake the donation tin again.
You should hear what they say about you when you’re not here, I think but have the sense not to say. He’s still the boss, and I’m here as a favour, so there’s no way I’ll join in with their teasing.
“Ladies.” He turns a little dramatically to the other members of his audience. “You’re hurting my heart.”
“Or we would if you had one.” Strolling over to him, Beth pats her palm in the centre of his chest. “Hollow, see? Just like the tinman.”
“I bring you breakfast,” he says, lifting her hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles, “and you give me abuse.”
“And that’s the way you like it.”
“So you’ve heard, huh?” He winks, then lowers her hand, grabs his beverage of choice from my desk, then leaves the room. “I gotta class in twenty. You girls have fun.”
“Oh, my God.” Beth exhales a rush of air as she collapses dramatically into the chair on the opposite side of my desk. “I really need to get laid. Every day that passes, I get closer to sleeping with him.”
“Really? Sorry, I didn’t mean to squeak.” I try not to pull a face as I add, “I mean, he’s good looking—”
“In that obvious, older guy way.” Beth takes a mouthful of her coffee, seeming to scald her tongue. “That is, if you like Botox and a perma-tan.”
“You could do worse. The man has money,” Marta suggests.
“Ew, no. Besides, his parents own this place, not him. He’s like the eternal playboy or something.”
“But it’ll all come to him.” Marta angles her head, sending a superior glance my way.
“What are you looking at me for?”
“Men and money,” Marta repeats. “She already has money, and I already have a man.”
“Oh, what, so by the process of elimination, it has to be me?”
“You’re forgetting she lives in a 5th Avenue apartment.” Beth hooks a thumb my way. “With endless views of the park.”
“Yeah, but it’s not mine.”
“Then why not you.” Marta shrugs before moving her attention back to her laptop.
“I thought you and the guy with the apartment were a thing.” Beth’s voice pulls my attention, and I shake my head.
“I’m more like the lodger.” She looks back blankly. “A roomie?” I try, the word coming to me courtesy of American sitcoms. I decide it’s probably best that I don’t explain that Lulu and I live there without the presence of our so-called landlord. I don’t want to find her on the doorstep after finding herself unexpectedly in the neighbourhood.
“Is he good-looking?”
“Does it matter?”
“Who’d want to give up a view of the park?” She stands from her chair, triumph settling around her shoulders like a cloak. “And you’re more than roomies, I can tell. I’m sensing a little sexual tension around that cute mouth of yours.”
I force my mouth to relax, my lips pursed like a cat’s bum. Tension yes, but sexual?
More like sexual frustration, for me at least.
“It’s not like that.” I drop my gaze to the contents of my cup because it’s not like anything. I need to face the facts. Just because we had sex years ago and then we almost had a repeat on the sofa doesn’t mean Carson is interested in me. I mean, he might’ve been interested in the moment, like any man. But following?
He can’t be because his very actions point to the opposite.
Besides, he owes me nothing.
Which is pretty much what he’s delivered.
No note.
No text.
No phone call.
Nothing to suggest he’ll return at any point.