He chuckled. “Poor Gary. How did he ever survive sharing a flat with you?” His eyes gleamed. “But I suppose therewereadvantages to that arrangement. Well, one advantage comes to mind.”
I narrowed my gaze. “Nice deflection.”
It was plain he wasn’t going to tell me about any job he might or might not be doing.
I found my seating chart, latte ring and all, and smoothed it with my palm. It didn’t look like much, just paper and ink and a stain.
But it was a beginning.
“Come on.” Max slung an arm around my neck again and steering me towards the door. “If we feed you, you might stop trying to murder people with eye contact.”
“I don’t murder with eye contact.”
“Tell that to Milo. He flinched so hard I thought his soul left his body.”
“He deserved it.” My mouth was crooked with a smile I couldn’t quite straighten.
We stepped out into the early evening, the city loud and alive, the sky the colour of a bruise healing. There was the scent of rain in the air. The door thumped shut behind us, and I slipped the padlock into position, locking the studio.
Saturday. We come back Saturday, and we try again.
We headed for the Underground. I felt as if I was walking a little taller, my chest a shade wider.
If Max noticed, he didn’t say a thing.
I was ready for food, tea, and maybe a little work before bed.
With no distractions.
Even thinking it was a useless exercise. At some point my mind would abandon spreadsheets and toss me back into the middle of a leather bar, leaving me hot and aching.
For something I couldn’t have.
Chapter Three
Cameron
I hated the kitchen table.
It wasn’t even really a table, more like a door someone had balanced on two sawhorses and declared “good enough.” It rocked every time someone leaned too hard on it, and if you set a mug down too firmly, the whole surface wobbled like a cheap carnival ride.
Today, it was also where our landlord—grey suit, greasy hair, indifferent expression—had sat ten minutes ago and told us all we had two weeks to move out because he was selling the flat.
“It’s just good business sense,” the man had said with a shrug, sipping tea from one of our chipped mugs as if it were his. “It’ll cost me a fortune to renovate this place. My brother-in-law has offered to buy it at a fair price, you know, take it off my hands.” He snorted. “Which makes a lotta sense seein’ as he already owns the rest of this building. Might as well have the full set, right?”
“And we couldn’t pay rent to him?” I was caught somewhere between anger and frustration.
Not even one drop of sympathy crawled across the landlord’s face.
“He’s gonna gut it. That’s what he’s gonna do with all the flats. By the time he’s finished, you couldn’t even afford to rent a cupboard in here.” Another shrug. “Sorry, boys, but that’s that. Nothing personal, okay?”
Nothing personal. I stared at the still-warm mug the landlord had abandoned, my fingers tightening around my own. My tea had gone cold before I’d even sipped it.
Two weeks.
My chest buzzed as though someone had plugged me into a socket.
Across from me, Darren swore under his breath. “I hope his brother-in-law is riddled with an incurable case of… something painful. Him too, while we’re at it.”