Page 90 of The Grand Duel
I shrug. “Still a part-time diva when life calls for it.”
He sniggers, and I peer out of the window, hiding my face as I think about my mum and dad and how they’d use a cup of tea to solve any argument.
There wasn’t a lot of good, but there was that.
“There’s not a lot a good cup of tea can’t fix,” I add.
“I’ll remember that the next time you’re being a diva.”
The moment I walk through my flat door, I search every visible surface for anything I might have left out which could incriminate me.
“Come in, sorry about any mess.”
“It’s immaculate,” Charles says, looking far too big in my tiny living space. I’m pretty sure my entire flat could fit in his entrance hall. “You have a nice place.”
“It’s new, so equally as bland as yours.” I smile over my shoulder at him. “Serves its purpose.” I hang up my jacket and turn towards him. “Do you want a drink or anything?”
“I’m fine,” he tells me, his eyes lingering.
I smile, the scrutiny of his gaze stealing my ability to think of anything to say.
He eventually, reluctantly, casts his attention towards my room. “I presume the bedroom is through there?” He points at the only internal door.
“What gave it away?”
His lip curls. “Do you mind?” he asks, going to step around me and towards the room.
“Sure.”
God, this is awkward. It was different at the office. We were working. Cases distracting us and giving us something to look at. But here, in my flat…his presence, his scent, it’s overpowering.
I think about what he’ll see when he goes into my room. My suitcase of clothes I’ve been living out of, my clothing rail which is full of my best work wear, and my mattress.
My mattress that I lay on and thought about him whilst…
He pushes on the door, and I cringe. “Well, this is very cosy,” he says, amused.
“Not quite a penthouse apartment in Mayfair, eh, Mr Aldridge.”
He tips his head back and forth in contemplation. “I don’t know. I think there’s something quite endearing, homey, even, about your little space.”
I smile, my pride threatening to burst out through my chest. “Thank you.”
My bed is made. Even with the actual bed structure missing, I can’t not make it. My issue with it is what it’s seen. Experienced. What I’ve done within it…whilst thinking about the man who is now reaching behind his head and pulling off his jumper. “Did it come with instructions or an Allen key?”
“Yes.”
His long torso twists, his tee rising to show the deep V at the base of his well-chiselled stomach. I wonder how much time he spends in the gym. When does he get the chance if he spends so much time in the office? When does he sleep? Does he sleep with anyone? If he doesn’t date…
“Lissie.”
I lift my gaze and find him watching me. “Yeah?”
“The tools for the bed…” He’s smirking at me now.
“Oh.” I slip from the room and into the kitchen with my face feeling like it’s on fire. I grab my new tool kit from under the sink and quickly open the kitchen window, sticking my head outside for three unsuccessful seconds before I walk back into the room. “Here.” I hand it to him, keeping my head down.
I need to get a grip.