Caught.
“We were in the lounge. We fell asleep with the TV on.” He shrugged. “Worked though.”
Jackson opened his mouth to speak but I held up a hand. “White noise. My guess is that he stopped sleeping through when he moved into his nursery. Am I right?”
“Pretty much.” Jackson pushed his hand through his hair again, a trait I was beginning to recognise in all the brothers I’d met.
“Get a white noise app downloaded. It’ll change your life.” I pulled out the last pin from my hair and felt it drop straight down, its weight finally free.
Jackson’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “White noise?”
“The noise your radio makes when nothing's being broadcast or a TV when nothing’s on. It helps babies and toddlers sleep.” I shook my hair, feeling relief. Maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to get away with wearing my hair down here.
Maxwell squinted at me. “How do you know this?”
It was my turn to shrug. “I read a lot. And I have friends with kids a similar age.”
It was true. Just not the whole truth.
Jackson stood up, clutching his phone. “Max, can you talk Georgia through the basics – fire alarm shit and all that while I call Vanessa?”
Maxwell nodded. “Unless Seph has time?” He looked at Seph. “Give you both chance to meet properly too.”
Seph shook his head and stood up. I hadn’t really noticed him as he came into the room, just when he’d already been seated. He was tall, well over six feet, and had the build of someone who was familiar with the gym. His hair was dark enough to look black, and there was a dusting of stubble that suggested clean-shaven wasn’t a description he was familiar with. Dress trousers clung to muscular legs and as a woman who had gone far too long without any sight of a male member, I wondered exactly what was underneath them.
I made eye contact fast.
“I have a meeting booked with David Hartford. But don’t worry, I ate before.” His eyes fell on me. “Can we catch up this afternoon? About five? We could grab a drink and I’ll tell you all the sordid secrets about Maxwell. You’ll never be able to look twice at him again.”
“Five’s fine. Not sure about the secrets.” My smile was polished, the proper one that could be worn by a Sunday school teacher, perfected in previous partners’ meetings where I had been the only woman and subjected to a lot of speculation. “I’ll maybe put a hold on them for the next month or so.”
“I like her.” Max grinned. “Both of you go. I’d like to wish you luck, Joseph, but I had to put up with the Hartfords for about six months when David swore his vasectomy went wrong, so I have no sympathy.”
“Thanks. Love you too, bro.” Seph smiled again and left the room, his voice echoing back through as he wished someone a good morning.
“Nice guy. Batty as a rabbit on poppers though. He’ll look after you.” Max pushed a small pile of papers my way.
I pushed all the ways that Seph could look after me right out of my head. I was practiced at this: relationships, one-night stands, friends with benefits – all of that and any other euphemisms – had been burned at a stake about five years ago. I looked, and boy, did I look, but I didn’t touch, unless it was myself with a steamy book.
I pulled the papers over to me. “I’m sure we’ll get along fine. What’s this I’m looking at?”
“Some health and safety shit that makes us compliant. You’re meant to read it and agree to say you’ve understood. All people who work here have to – which they do, and then forget about it as soon as they’ve put the pen down. Just don’t tell Jackson that.”
“Tell Jackson what?” The door opened and Jackson came back in, phone in hand.
“Nothing.” Max and I spoke at the same time.
Jackson shook his head.
I started to read, taking in what was there. Unlike most people, I didn’t forget what was in the contents of what I’d signed. I always read the small print. Sometimes, learning the hard way really did teach you a lesson.
Chapter Four
Seph
“Ireally appreciate you changing your schedule to fit in with mine, Joseph.”
I smiled, hoping my professional mask was well-fitted today. As a teenager, I’d loved being a twat with some of my father’s older clients, at least when they couldn’t hear what I had to say. It was around the age of fifteen when I’d become fluent in sarcasm, a language in which, unfortunately, my mother held a PhD.
