“How are you, Niki?” Mum asks. She reaches for a tissue, and I listen for a sneeze or something that reveals her ill health, but instead she dabs briefly at her eyes.
Before my accident, I used to cheek my parents and make them laugh. Now, I’m driving them to tears. And I can’t explain it because they already look ten times worse than they used to. They’ll know I’m broken, and it will destroy them. I wish I was who they want me to be.
I pull my teeth over my lips and reach for my sanitiser.
“Oh my god, Niki, you have to see this,” Rosie shouts, running into my office.
She freezes, the cloth in her hand wagglingin mid-air.
My parents stare, but I can’t stop smiling at the sight of her sparkle.
“Sorry, I didn’t realise you had guests. I’ll go.” She turns.
“Rosie, it’s okay. I’d like you to meet my mum. You remember my dad.”
As she turns back, her face reddens, but she forces a smile. She slides the thing she was holding into her back pocket. Her arse in those jeans is fucking perfect, and I’ve imagined grabbing it before she sits on my lap too many times today. It’s a better image than the one about the hospital, so I refuse to extinguish it even though I can’t go there.
“This is my mum, Lorraine.”
Roise spies me over Mum’s shoulder. I wink at her, and her blush travels under her top to where I’m sure my chain sits against her skin. I want that view.
I clear my throat.
“You’ve both raised a wonderful man.”
I smirk at her politeness, especially as I suspect she’s dying inside.
“What was it you wanted to show me?” I ask.
Her eyes widen as if she’s trying to shut me up, and there’s the tiniest shake of her head.
My grin is unrelenting as I ask again, “Rosie, what did you pop in your back pocket?”And will you let me reach in and get it myself?
My mum looks between us as Rosie glares. My dad stares at her like he’s attempting to readjust his previous opinion on her or decipher if she’s good enough for his team.
“Mum, this is Rosie. She’s my assistant. She’s revolutionised my life already, and I’m not sure where I’d be without her.”
“Is that right?” my dad asks suspiciously. “Did you enjoy Saudi Arabia? I presume you went as Niki’s assistant.”
“No, I didn’t. I had other commitments.” She wrings her hands.
“Other commitments? But nothing is as important as working at Coulter. This is the?—”
“Rosie helped me find a dog. We’ll pick him up from the shelter next week. She was preparing my house and ensuring I had everything Graham needed rather than just toys, because if it had been left to me, that’s all we’d have.” I chuckle.
“You always were about the fun,” my dad replies.
Rosie mouths,Thank youwhen they’re not looking. I want to tell her I’m sorry for getting her into the situation.
“He partied hard, but he drove like a jet engine. Niki was the best. It’s a shame he’s not driving, but he will again. You’ll be back to your old ways, driving and getting plastered all over the papers in no time, won’t you, boy?” Dad’s voice booms.
I struggle not to curl in on myself.
Rosie stammers, “Anyway, I wanted to show you what I’d asked marketing to source. It’s a dog bandana with the Coulter Racing branding.” She pulls it out of her back pocket and walks up to me. She holds it out and whispers, “You don’t have to take it. I was going to wash it first.”
I take it from her, relishing the tingle I always get when we touch. “Thank you. Graham will love it. It’s the best present I’ve ever had.”
“Surely not better than the Maserati Clara gave you before your incident. I heard you bumped into her in Australia,” Dad says. Mum nudges him, but all it does is make him louder. “You should ask her out again. She could model for the team, if she’s not too busy travelling the world on her modelling assignments.”
