The shower was hot, at least, and she checked the shampoo bottle and tried to work out how many washes she had left in it. She tried to stick to once a week, but café shifts and busy bar nights didn’t always allow it.
She wondered how it was she had got to this age and still wasn’t able to just splurge on the basics. “One day,” she muttered, climbing into the tub and under the spray of the water. “One day.”
***
Sloan stretched into downward dog, breath steady, body fluid and loose. The familiar pose grounded her, soothing the residual tension humming beneath her skin.
When the instructor on the app murmured, “Namaste,” she echoed it softly, eyes still closed. For a moment, she lingered in stillness before rising, collecting her towel, and heading for the shower.
She’d already been up since seven, dealing with her mother’s morning routine. Gloria was washed, dressed, and downstairs with her breakfast, watching morning TV.
She was waiting for the agency to call and arrange a new carer. No doubt, the fee would rise again. She couldn’t blame them. Who would willingly take the job?
Steam curled round her, shampoo foaming between her fingers as she massaged it through her hair. Her hands moved lower, over shoulders, over hips, confident and familiar.
She cupped her breasts, thumbs grazing across taut nipples. A slow intake of breath was followed by a small, private moan as she gave one a careful pinch—just enough, just how she liked it.
Her head fell back, water sliding down the length of her spine. She wasn’t thinking of anyone in particular when she started her explorations.
If she had been, though…
The image surfaced without effort—warm eyes, flushed cheeks, that flicker of curiosity behind the soft features as she handed over the coffee order that evening in the office, and the more adult drink last night at the bar.
Sloan smiled to herself, letting her hands fall away.Not now.
Chapter eight
By nine o’clock, the agency still hadn’t called. Sloan rang them again, cursing under her breath when it went through to voicemail once more.
She opened the fridge and found they were out of milk. She could drink coffee black when she needed to stay awake, work through a long meeting, or stay late at the office, but Gloria wouldn’t touch a cup of tea without milk.
“I’m going to pop into town and get some milk and a few bits. Do you need anything?” Sloan asked her mother as she pulled her coat on.
“Abandoning me again,” Gloria said, turning from the television to fix Sloan with cold eyes.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m doing.” Sloan rolled her eyes. “If you didn’t keep scaring off the help, you wouldn’t need to be left by yourself.”
“Of course it’s my fault,” Gloria sneered, and turned back to the TV.
“I’ll take that as a no, then.”
With no reply from Gloria, Sloan turned away.
***
She could have just popped to the local corner shop and picked up a pint of milk, but the interaction with her mother, and the lack of a call from the agency, had her on edge and sent her fleeing further, into the hustle and bustle of town.
Her nerve endings were firing off synapses that were all out of sync. She caught sight of herself in a window and stopped to stare at her reflection. To the outside world, she was Sloan Slater, senior executive.
She’d chosen dark blue jeans and a silk shirt worth more than some people’s weekly wage, with a cashmere jumper thrown over the top to finish the effect. But inside, Joan was clawing to get out—mousy little Joan, who wanted nothing more than to disappear until the world went quiet.
Sloan ran a hand through her hair, shifted the parting to the other side, and then noticed the café across the square.
Compton’s.
She glanced at the time. It wouldn’t be wise to leave Gloria alone for too much longer, but a coffee wouldn’t hurt, would it?
Crossing the square with as much confidence as she could muster, she pushed the door open, arriving just as a table became free. She placed her bags down on the opposite seat and was about to go up and order her drink when a shrill ringing came from her pocket.
