I feel my brow completely furrow. ‘You’re really going to time it?’ I ask, wondering if he’ll produce a stopwatch.
‘Well.’ One of his hands drops my hair, and he looks down at his expensive watch. ‘It’s six-thirty now. By the time I get you uptown in rush hour, it’ll be approximately seven-thirty. I have a charity ball tomorrow evening around seven-thirty, so I’ve timed this just perfectly.’
Yes, he has timed it perfectly. So when the clock strikes seven-thirty, do I get tossed out on my arse? Do I turn into a pumpkin? I feel jilted already and we haven’t even started, so what am I going to feel like come seven-thirty tomorrow evening? Like shit, that’s what – rejected, unworthy, depressed and abandoned. I open my mouth to call a stop on the whole diabolical arrangement, but then I hear the sound of old footsteps clumping up the stairs.
‘Oh shit, my nan’s coming!’ My palms meet his suit-covered chest and push into him, guiding him back towards a built-in cupboard. I’m panicking, but I’m still appreciating the solidness beneath my flat palms. It makes my steps falter and my heart jump wildly. I glance up at him.
‘Feel good?’ he asks, sliding his palms around my back and circling my waist. I hold my breath, then I hear the creaking again. It snaps me right out of my lustful state.
‘You need to hide.’
He snorts his disgust and moves his grip to my wrists, detaching me from his chest. ‘I’m not hiding anywhere.’
‘Miller, please, she’ll have heart failure if she catches you in here.’ I feel beyond stupid for making him do this, but I can’t let my grandmother barge into my room and see him. I know she’ll go into seizure, and I know it’ll be in shock, but it won’t be shock of the ordinary kind. No, Nan will pass out for a few seconds, then she’ll throw a bloody party. I release a frustrated, suppressed yell, forgetting all embarrassment with regards to my lack of attire, and give him pleading eyes. ‘She’ll get excited,’ I explain. ‘She prays to the Lord Almighty every day for my self-discovery.’ I’m running out of time. I can hear floorboards creaking as she gets closer to the door of my room. ‘Please.’ My na**d shoulders sag, defeated. I can barely do this to myself, let alone to my elderly grandmother. It would be cruel to build her hopes up with a complete non-starter. ‘I won’t ask for anything else, just please don’t let her see you.’
His lips form a straight line and his head drops forward a little, the wayward lock of dark hair falling onto his brow, and without a word, he releases me and moves across my room, but he doesn’t step into the cupboard; he goes behind my floor-length curtains. I can’t see him, so I don’t argue.
‘Olivia Taylor!’
I swing around and find Nan in the doorway, her eyes roaming all over my room, like she knows I’m hiding something. ‘What’s up?’ I ask, silently scolding myself for my poor choice of words. What’s up? I would never say that, and her suspicious face notes this, too.
Her eyes narrow, making me feel even more conspicuous. ‘That man—’
‘What man?’ I need to shut up and let her spit it out, not intercept her and make her even more suspicious.
‘That man in the car outside,’ she continues, resting her hand on the doorknob. ‘Your boss.’
I must visibly relax because she runs her navy eyes over my semi-naked form, knowing plastered all over her face. She still thinks he’s out there, which is just perfect. ‘What about him?’ I pull my skinny jeans from my drawer and hop in, shimmying them up my legs and fastening the fly before snatching a white over-sized T-shirt from the back of my dressing table chair.
‘He’s gone.’
I freeze with my T-shirt halfway over my head, one arm fed through a sleeve and my hair caught in the neck. ‘Where?’ I ask, no other words springing to mind.
‘I don’t know, but one second he’s there, and I know because I could see the top of his head through the slightly open window, then I turn to tell George that he has one of those fancy Mercedes things, and when I look back . . . poof, he’s gone. But that swanky car is still there’ – her foot starts tapping – ‘and parked illegally, I might add.’
I’m immobilised by guilt. She’s like Miss bloody Marple. ‘He’s probably nipped to the shop,’ I say, untangling myself from my T-shirt and pulling it down my body. I make quick work of shoving my feet in my hot-pink Converse. Christ, I’ve got to get him out yet, and with Ironside on the case, it’s looking like a job and a half.
‘The shop?’ She laughs. ‘The nearest is a mile away. He’d drive.’
I fight to prevent an irritated screech escaping. ‘What does it matter where he’s gone?’ I ask, then dive right in with the building of my greatest lie. ‘Oh, and I’m staying at Sylvie’s tonight. She’s a work friend.’
My shoulders rise in anticipation for her gasp of shock, but it doesn’t come, and that has me turning to see if she’s still in my room. She is, and she’s grinning. ‘Really?’ she asks, her eyes twinkling in delight as she runs them down my static form. ‘You’re not dressed for work.’
‘I’ll change when I get there.’ My voice is high and squeaky as I busy myself, collecting toiletries and packing what I’ll need for twenty-four hours with Miller Hart, which isn’t a lot, I expect. ‘The event I’m working at tonight doesn’t finish until midnight, and Sylvie lives close by so I may as well just crash there.’ I’m a fool and completely wasting my breath. It’s only now, when I’m zipping up my bag and chucking it onto my shoulder, that I remember he’s in my room. What must he be thinking? I won’t blame him if he walks out this very instant. This performance by my nan has nothing to do with her disapproving of a man in my life. She just doesn’t like the fact that she doesn’t know about it, that’s all. And she isn’t going to know, not officially, anyway. The silence spreading between us is a mutual understanding of that. Gregory has told her I’m taken by someone, and she can’t bear that I’ve not confided in her. It would be hard enough spilling if I were to get involved with a regular guy, under regular circumstances, but Miller? And with our twenty-four hour agreement? No, it goes against everything I know, and I’m ashamed of myself because of it. While Nan has been begging me to sow my wild oats, I don’t think she quite meant as wild as my mother.