Six of Hearts(6)

“I’m sorry, Mr Fields, but I’m going to have to stick to my guns on his one,” Dad says apologetically. “Taking on a journalist is one thing, but suing a newspaper is going to require a top-notch firm. As you can probably see, we’re not that.”

Oh. Jay wants to sue the actual newspaper? I’m impressed. That takes some serious balls.

Okay, Matilda, stop thinking about the man’s balls.

Jay lets out a long sigh and turns his head to the window. A second later he gets up from his seat and thrusts his hand out at Dad. “Well, if there’s no way I can convince you,” he replies, and the two men shake hands. “Thanks for your time anyway.”

Jay goes to walk out the door but then turns back for a second, an impish gleam in his eye. “Oh, before I go, can you recommend anywhere I might be able to rent a place close to the city? I’ve had to move out of the apartment I’d been staying in.”

I take in a quick breath as Dad’s eyes light up. A couple of weeks ago he got it into his head to renovate the spare bedroom in our house so that he could take on a lodger and make a little extra money. I haven’t been too keen on the idea, since I don’t really want to share my living space with a stranger, but once Dad settled on the idea, there was no deterring him.

I certainly don’t want to share my living space with Jay Fields. Not because of his supposed history mapped out by Una Harris, but because I wouldn’t be able to relax around him. He has this magnetic energy that makes me feel anxious and excited all at once.

“It’s funny you should ask,” says Dad. “I’ve been planning on renting out our spare room — if you’re interested, of course. It’s got an en-suite, newly refurbished.”

I squeeze my fists tight and walk back out to the reception area, taking a seat at my desk and slugging back a gulp of my coffee. I don’t like how rapidly my heart beats at the thought of Jay moving into that room, so I leave before I hear his answer. Please, please, please let him say no.

My Dad’s raucous laughter streams out from the office; Jay’s obviously in there charming the pants off him. I silently curse my father for being such an easily charmed hussy.

No more than a minute later, both Dad and Jay leave his office. I can see Jay looking at me out of the corner of my eye, but I continue typing into the computer in front of me, feeling like if I look directly at him, he’ll somehow be able to tell how attractive I find him.

“Matilda, could you do me a huge favour and bring Jay out to the house on your lunch break to see the room? I’d do it myself, only I have a meeting to go to.”

Oh, Dad. You have no idea how you’re torturing me right now. It takes me several beats to answer. When I finally do, my voice is quiet. “Yeah, okay.”

What I really want to say is hell, no, but that would make me look like a bitch. And I’m not a bitch. Well, outside my own inner dialogue, I’m not.

“Great,” says Dad before turning to the waiting neck-brace woman. “Ah, Mrs Kelly. You can come on in now.”

Mrs Kelly follows Dad into his office, leaving me alone with Jay.

“What time do you have lunch?” he asks in a low voice, stepping closer to my desk.

“One o’clock. We’ll have to get a taxi, because I need to be back here by two.”

“That’s okay. I can drive us,” says Jay, and I bite my lip, looking up at him now. Wow, his eyes are kind of mesmerising, not quite brown, not quite green. We stare at one another for a long moment, and there’s a faint smile on his perfectly sculpted lips.

“All right. See you at one,” I tell him breezily, and then my eyes return to the screen in front of me as he leaves. On the outside I’m all business. On the inside I’m a nervous wreck. How in the hell am I going to act like a normal human being while spending at least an hour in his company? He really doesn’t know what he’s in for.

I wager I’ll last about five minutes before I blurt out something stupid, thus rendering the following fifty-five minutes an awkward delight. And when I say “delight,” I mean nightmare.

Just as I’m simultaneously organising files on my computer and agonising over my impending social doom, Will walks in the door, his wisp of brown hair a windswept mess atop his head. He was in court this morning, which is why he’s late to the office. Unlike most men, I get along with Will just fine. That’s probably because I find him about as sexually appealing as a pair of oversized granny knickers. So, when I said I’m crap with all men, I suppose I should adjust that statement. I’m just crap with all men that I fancy.