Desired By The Boss. Catherine Mann

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СКАЧАТЬ to leave.

      ‘Don’t panic—I didn’t throw it out,’ she said.

      ‘Throw what out?’ he asked.

      He hadn’t seen her since that first morning, and she looked different in jeans and jumper—younger, actually. Her cheek was smudged with dust, her hair not entirely contained in the knot on top of her head.

      ‘The bookmark,’ she said. ‘I’ll just go grab it for you.’

      ‘No,’ he said. ‘Don’t.’

      She’d already taken a handful of steps, and now stood only an arm’s length before him.

      ‘Okay,’ she said. She inclined her chin in a direction over his shoulder. ‘It’s in a box out there. I’ve labelled it “Hugh”. I’ll just chuck anything in there that I think you should have a look at.’

      ‘No,’ he said again. ‘Don’t.’

      Now she seemed to realise what he was saying. Or at least she was no longer wilfully ignoring him. He knew how clear he’d been: with the exception of any paperwork that included personal details, April was to donate or trash everything.

      ‘Are you sure?’

      Hugh shrugged. ‘It’s just a badly painted bookmark.’

      Up until a few minutes ago he’d had no recollection of that piece of well-intentioned crafting, so his life would definitely be no lesser with it gone.

      ‘I wasn’t just talking about the bookmark,’ April said. ‘I meant anything like that. I’m sure more sentimental bits and pieces are going to turn up. And what about photos? I found some photo frames today, so I expect eventually I’ll find—’

      ‘Photos can go in the bin,’ he said.

      Hugh shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. Again, he just wanted to be out of this place. But he didn’t leave.

      April was watching him carefully, concern in her clear blue gaze. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot. Fidgeting. He never fidgeted.

      He wasn’t himself in this house. With all this stuff. Now that the boxes had necessarily flowed into the foyer behind him the clutter was everywhere.

      April had left an empty coffee mug on the kitchen sink.

      Now he skirted around her, making his way to the other side of the counter, grabbed the mug and opened the dishwasher. It was empty.

      ‘I’ve just been hand-washing,’ April said. ‘I can wash that before I go—don’t worry about it.’

      Hugh ignored her, stuck the plug in the sink and turned on the hot water. Beneath the sink he found dishwashing liquid, and squirted it into the steaming water.

      As the suds multiplied he was somewhat aware of April shrugging off her coat. He had no idea why it was so important for him to clean this mug, but it was.

      ‘You can go,’ he said, cleaning out the coffee marks from inside the mug. He realised it wasn’t one of his mother’s—it was printed with the logo of a Fremantle sporting team he didn’t recognise and had a chip in the handle. It was April’s.

      He rinsed the mug in hot water and placed it on the dish rack.

      Immediately it was picked up again—by April.

      She was standing right beside him, tea towel in hand, busily drying the mug.

      He hadn’t noticed her move so close.

      She didn’t look at him, her concentration focused on her task. Her head was bent, and a long tendril of dark hair curled down to her nape.

      This close, he could see the dust decorating her hair, a darker smudge creating a streak across her cheekbone.

      She turned, looking directly at him.

      She was tall, he realised, even without her heels.

      Today her lips weren’t glossy, and he realised she probably wasn’t wearing make-up. Her eyelashes were no longer the blackest black; her skin wasn’t magazine-perfect.

      She didn’t look better—or worse. Just different. And it was that difference he liked.

      That she’d surprised him.

      He hadn’t been able to imagine her unpacking boxes—but she looked just as comfortable today as she had in her sharp suit. And her gaze was just as strong, just as direct.

      He realised he liked that, too.

      It should have been an uncomfortable and unwanted realisation. Maybe it was—or it would be later. When his brain wasn’t cluttered with boxes and forgotten bookmarks and had room for logic and common sense...and remembering who he was. Who she was.

      Boss. Employee...

      For now, he simply looked at the surprising woman beside him.

      ‘I know this is your mum’s house,’ she said. ‘I get that this must be difficult for you.’

      Her words were soft and gentle. They still cut deep.

      But they shouldn’t—and his instinct was to disagree. They’re just boxes. It’s just stuff. It’s not difficult in any way at all.

      He said nothing.

      ‘Do you want me to come back tomorrow?’

      Had she thought he might fire her over the bookmark?

      He nodded sharply, without hesitation. Despite how uncomfortable her kind words had made him. Despite how unlike himself she made him. How aware he was of her presence in this room and in this house. How aware he was of how close she stood to him.

      ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll leave my mug, then.’

      He didn’t look at her as she stepped around him and put the coffee mug into an overhead cupboard.

      By the time she’d shrugged back into her coat, and arranged her letterbox-red knitted scarf he’d pulled himself together.

      ‘See you tomorrow,’ she said, with a smile that was bright.

      And then she was gone, leaving Hugh alone with a sink full of disappearing bubbles.

      April’s roommate was asleep when she got home from stacking shelves at the supermarket, so she went into the communal living room to call her mum.

      For once the room was empty—usually the Shoreditch shared house tended to have random people dotted all over the place.

      Evidence of the crowd of backpackers who lived here—three from Australia and two from South Africa—was scattered everywhere, though. Empty beer bottles on the cheap glass coffee table, along with a bowl of now stale chips—crisps, СКАЧАТЬ