Something inside me snapped. If this was the last chance I was going to get to kiss her, maybe I should take it. Plus, she was right.
It was still Sunday.
“Fuck it.” I cupped her face between my palms, and kissed her with a ferocity that surprised even me.
She didn’t need a second invitation. In moments, her hand slipped inside my shorts, finding the edge of my knickers. If I had resolve left, it crumbled completely. We kissed again, deeper this time, urgent and desperate. Her fingers found me already wet, already wanting her despite every rational thought in my head.
I had to bite down on her shoulder to keep from making noise as she worked me with the kind of precision that suggested she’d been paying very careful attention to what I liked. Then my own hand found its way between her legs, and we moved together in perfect, silent rhythm, our breathing harsh in the small space.
When I came, it was in muffled, shredded silence against her mouth. My body heaved as I caught my breath, and focused my attention on her. She followed moments later, trembling against me as I held her upright. We clung to each other, and I hoped that we’d been as silent as I thought, but I had no idea.
We stood there for a moment, foreheads pressed together, trying to catch our breath and process what we’d just done.
“This is insane,” I whispered, to her and to myself.
A few seconds later, I did up my shorts, washed my hands, checked my reflection and kissed her lips. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
I slipped out first, leaving Eliza to follow.
Back at the table, I picked up my wine glass with hands that were definitelynotshaking and rejoined the conversation about Katy’s latest work drama as if I hadn’t just had a quickie in the downstairs loo.
A few minutes later, Eliza appeared, holding up her phone charger triumphantly.
“Found it!” she announced cheerfully. She plugged it in, then slid back into her seat.
I held my breath for a full minute, but nobody gave us a weird look or seemed any the wiser.
But I was wise enough to know this spelt trouble.
CHAPTER 24
By the time we’d polished off Max’s sticky toffee pudding (which was obscene in its perfection and exactly what my hangover needed), I’d had enough wine to blur the edges of the past 24 hours. In particular this surreal lunch. One where my aunt was introducing us to a man, which had never happened. And one where my toilet trip had proved one of the most entertaining of my life.
Max turned out to be surprisingly good company too, telling stories about his early days in buying and selling companies that had us all in stitches. Perhaps he wasn’t the cold-hearted businessman I’d thought he was. He topped up drinks, made us all feel very welcome, and complimented Margot at every opportunity.
As for my aunt, she was as relaxed as I’d seen her around a man she was dating, her voice getting to a normal octave level within half an hour of us sitting down to lunch, which was good going. I wanted only the best for Margot, and perhaps Max was it. Maybe he’d also met his match in her.
The man could cook, too. I made a mental note to ask him for the pudding recipe, assuming I could ever look him in the eyeagain without thinking about what I’d done to his daughter in between courses.
The drive back was blissfully uneventful — even the twins slept the whole way until Katy dropped me home — and by the following week, I was back in full work mode, sending the negotiated contract terms over to Roka’s management team. I’d structured it as generously as I could without Margot having me sectioned: decent money upfront, royalties on sales, and creative control over how her image was used. Plus, the percentage to charity we’d agreed on.
I fired off a quick message to Roka.
Deal sent to your team. Hope it’s what you’re looking for. Thanks again for an incredible weekend.
Her reply came back within minutes.
You're a legend. I’ll get back to you soon.
It was in the hands of the pop gods, now.
I touched the photo of my mum and Gran on my desk, hoping they were happy with the contract. The photo was outside the Goldloch plant when they’d expanded ten years ago. They both wore broad grins, unaware of what was coming their way.
I glanced up through my clear walls to the office opposite, the place where my mum took her final breath, currently empty. When she worked full-time, it’d been Margot’s space. She’d encouraged me to take it over, but I couldn’t do that.
Not yet, at least.
My next call was to Fiona in Scotland, because when Roka signed, we were going to have to up our production and be ready. She answered on the second ring with her usual brisk efficiency.
