“Maybe I have a kink where I only have sex with strangers.”
“We both know that’s not true,” he says easily and motions with his fingers for me to continue with my next objection.
“Maybe I didn’t enjoy it that much,” I offer.
“Try again, love.”
Yeah, he’s right, we both know I enjoyed it. I wonder how flushed I am right now at the mere memory.
“It’s just that it’s against company policy,” I say. I have no idea if that’s true or not but it’s got to be true, right? Sleeping with customers cannot possibly be allowed.
“Is it?” he questions, his brows up, seemingly genuinely interested in this.
“Yeah.” I nod and try to look confident. I add a little shrug when he doesn’t immediately respond.
“Well, isn’t Sutton Travel lucky to have such a dedicated employee,” he muses after a moment.
“Yeah,” I say again, but this time it comes out a little doubtful. Daisy’s a terrible employee! She sent me on this trip in her place and I have no idea what I’m doing! And she doesn’t even care if I get fired or not. Or she gets fired, whichever.
“I’d hate for you to cock up your job,” he says and I wonder if ‘cock up’ is a British phrase or if he’s talking dirty to me.
“Yeah,” I say for the third time and this time I’m sad. Freaking twin problems. And lies. They’re so complicated.
“Of course, we knew each other before I was a customer, didn’t we? A pre-existing relationship, if you will. That can’t possibly count.” Wait. He really does want me again? This gorgeous, sexually talented man wants me again.
“Well,” I start. “I don’t—”
“That’s sorted then,” he says and pushes his chair back. “I’ll see you on the bus, Miss Hayden.”
CHAPTER TEN
Jennings
I still think she’s lying about something, but as long as she’s not fucking the driver I suppose it doesn’t matter. Except I hate being lied to. Bloody hate it, which is hypocritical as hell since I’m lying to her as well.
I wasn’t at first. I didn’t say a single untrue thing when I met her. But I’m lying to her now, aren’t I? By omission, I suppose, but still a lie. A smallish one. Nearly insignificant. To me anyway. To her it might be another matter entirely.
She’s different, this girl. I smile thinking of her fumbling through her list of excuses to avoid seeing me again. Please. She came three times. Loudly. So if she’s not seeing the driver then what is it? It can’t be some moral quandary about sex, can it? We’ve already done the deed so what would another few tumbles matter? She was quite keen when she thought I was a stranger—and that hasn’t changed, not really. She can’t be such a rule-follower she’s worried about some supposed Sutton Travel company policy—if it even exists.
I wonder what she does when she’s not guiding tours. Where she lives, if she’s got a flatmate or perhaps a cat.
How far she could take me down her throat.
Just everyday thoughts, really.
“Jennings, darling, thank you for taking me on this trip.” Nan interrupts my musings as we exit the hotel and walk the short distance to the coach parked just out front. “I know how busy you are but I do so look forward to my annual trip,” she says with a pat to my arm. “Besides, it’s all quite informative, isn’t it?”
“Very informative, Nan,” I agree.
I’m only here to appease Nan. When the trip ends I’ll deliver her to my aunt Poppy in Connecticut for the remainder of the summer. Then I’ll be on the first flight to London.
“Very good, and I’ve always wanted to take this tour. Time well spent for both of us then.”
I nod my head in agreement as we board the bus. Her new Canadian friends immediately wave us over to some empty seats near them as the coach doors close and Daisy walks down the aisle taking a head count, her lips moving as she counts to herself, her eyes rolling as they pass mine. Not too worried about policy then, is she? I’d think eye-rolling customers must be prohibited, but Lord knows with the Americans. She returns to the front of the coach, signaling to George we’re good to go, and then turns on the microphone system with an enthusiastic, “Good morning,” to the group.
“So, um, welcome again to Sutton Travel Highlights of History tour. Glad you all made it on time this morning, thank you for that.” She smiles brightly but her hand is gripping the microphone so hard her knuckles are white. As if she’s responsible for passing the baton during an Olympic relay sprint instead of delivering a few dull tidbits to a group of tourists. She clears her throat before continuing, reminding us what’s on the agenda before picking up a small notepad and glancing it over. Does she really need notes in order to do this?