‘Yeah. What do your friends call you?’
His eyes narrow. ‘I don’t have many friends. I have colleagues. I like to keep my circle tight.’
My mouth falls open. ‘Seriously? Isn't that lonely?’
A brief flicker of something flashes through his eyes and I realise I’ve hit the nail on the head. Cillian Callaghan is lonely. A pang of sympathy twinges in my chest. This poor man, I can’t even comprehend his life. What he’s been through. What he’s still going through.
‘It’s safer. Besides, between work and Phoebe, I don’t have time. Beth’s kind of a friend, my PA. She helps with Phoebe sometimes. Beth’s nicknames for me range from, “The Marriage Melter” and “The Divorce Deliverer”, to “you absolute arsehole.”’ He flashes a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
‘From what I can see, she has the measure of you.’ I shoot him a wink to show I’m only playing.
‘There’s also Alex Benedict. He’s been my friend forever but truthfully, he’s more of a pain in my ass. He lives to goad me at every opportunity. Our families have been friends forever.’ He closes his eyes for a long beat and rolls his lips. ‘He works for me too. Fuck, I’m sensing a theme here.’
‘They don’t count as friends if you have to pay them.’ I tease. ‘Okay. Next question. What’s your weirdest habit?’ I take another bite of my melt-in-the-mouth pizza and wait for his response.
His left fingers thrum against the tabletop, the same way they did against the bar counter last night. ‘I don’t have any weird habits.’
‘Is that right?’ I deliberately tap my own fingers against the chequered tablecloth and gaze pointedly at his.
He snatches his hand away and grabs his fork again. ‘What’s your weirdest habit?’
‘Easy.’ I shoot him a lazy smile. ‘I love sniffing books. I can’t help myself. The pages call to me. They say a picture tells a thousand words, but I disagree. A picture can be falsified. Filtered. Edited. The smell of a book tells so much more. It’s age. Where it’s been stored. The smell of an old book is my absolute favourite. Like a first edition Bronte. All that history between the pages.’
Cillian rolls his eyes once again. ‘Why am I not surprised you read romance novels?’
‘I don’t read them. I devour them.’ I shrug. ‘I also love romcoms. I mean, I hate the third act break up, but you know you’ve got to suffer it to get the grand gesture.’
‘Suffer is the only word for it.’ Cillian facepalms. ‘Like that prat Richard Gere rocking up outside Julia Roberts’ place in a white limo clutching some store-bought roses like a lifeline.’
‘Ohh!’ I lean forward in my chair. ‘I love a man who’s educated in romance!’
‘Huh! More like been tortured with it. Blame my mother. She doesn't get the romance she requires from my father, so she gets her kicks bingeing cheesy romcoms instead.’
‘Pretty Womanwasn't cheesy. It was taboo for its time.’
‘Whatever. You’d never in a million years catch me rocking up in a white sports car, brandishing a bad bouquet of flowers and blasting classical music.’
‘Ah what?’ I push his arm playfully. ‘A girl can dream, I suppose.’
‘There’s being a dreamer, and then there’s being delusional.’ It’s Cillian who asks the next question. ‘Where did we meet?’
‘Duh, you signed up to my dating agency. I read your form and immediately knew you were “The One.” It’ll be great for business.’ I do a little shimmy with my shoulders.
‘Yeah, great until we break up,’ he says drily.
‘According to you, everyone breaks up in January anyway. Hopefully, we’ll get lost in the statistics.’ I readjust my legs beneath the table and the top of my foot brushes his knee. He jolts again, while I pretend there aren't a million butterflies soaring through my stomach.
He arches a single dark eyebrow. ‘Nothing about our “relationship” is going to get lost as a statistic after you waltzed into my office earlier. Everyone knows I don’t date.’
‘You do now.’ I flutter my eyelashes playfully. ‘Who knows, maybe I’ll open the floodgates for you.’
‘Maybe I’ll open yours.’ Big black pupils dart across my lips.
‘As long as you don’t forget the rules. No touching. No kissing, and definitely don’t fall in love with me.’ I quote him his own words from last night, teasingly.
‘You’re safe.’ Cillian ‘can’t-crack-a-smile’ Callaghan’s luscious lips twitch. ‘From the latter, at least.’
Saliva pools in my mouth. ‘Be careful, or I might think you’re flirting with me for real.’
