“Yep, beautiful boss lady.”
I smile at his quirky little face and complete suck-up. “You weren’t really going to call Grannie Annie were you?”
“I bloody was - I was ready to call your Mum and sort it all out. You were AWOL and apparently were becoming too attached to your duvet and a decidedly faded pair of Minnie Mouse Winceyettes, according to Miss Abigail. Grannie Annie was the last port of call - besides she lurves me. She’d have lurved all this tartan.”
I ignore his pout and obvious attempt to get the topic back to him. “But my Grannie of all people! I mean I love her to pieces but she’d have moved in, started cooking up stews for the entire street, baking shortbread that would make me so fat I wouldn’t be able to leave the house, even if I’d wanted to and she’d get too involved in mine and Seb’s business. She is the last person I need right now.”
I refer to my paternal grandmother Anne Myers, nickname Grannie Annie to all and sundry, also known as Beyoncé to some who knew her exceedingly well for her marital beliefs and motto – if you liked it then you should have put a ring on it! A wonderful Scottish baking buns type Grandma, who was a force to reckoned with and was determined to see me married - like yesterday. I loved her to bits but certainly didn’t need her meddling right now - it was all too fresh and I have to come to terms with my own feelings on the subject before having it forced on me.
Colin has the decency to look duly reprimanded and decides to swiftly change the subject. “So, The Guilty Rabbit - you’re there tomorrow, yes?”
Always one to cheer me up, I waver my earlier fear about a prospective visitor and belly laugh at his complete cock-up of our newest interior design brief. “The Gilded Fox you numpty - you’re worse then Seb.”
“Shame. The Guilty Rabbit, sounds so much more buzzing - just like the type of saucy Inn I’d want to stay in.” His lips form an ‘O’ shape for full on drama and I snigger.
“Well anyway, this is not a sex club.”
“Pity.”
“If that’s your thing, Col, you must go to Scarlett House. That is sex club personified. Decadent and glamorous - it was out of this world.”
“Ooh - check you out you dirty bitch - I like this side of Lulu. I’ve heard of this place, me thinks James and I need a night away.”
“Oh you must. Anyway I digress, I’m meeting with the client tomorrow at The Gilded Fox, so you’ll have to meet with Chris at The Ashton to oversee the bathroom tiling in the honeymoon suite, and the six other executive suites.”
“Ooh lucky me. Mr. Christopher Booth is rather easy on Mr Willy’s eye.”
His swivel of his tiny hips is my undoing and I practically choke on my exploding giggle before pondering his words, I suppose Chris is nice looking, if you like that kind thing - letchy, self-absorbed and armed with slippery tentacles.
“Your eye is wandering already? I thought James had your heart… for now?” I smile, as Colin’s relationships didn’t last longer than a few months usually.
“Not at all, James and I are kindred spirits - we both have a love of Rum ha ha but I’m not blind, love - Chris is rather fit - totally straight, but I can have fun trying to corrupt him.”
“You’re bad but I’d love to be a fly on the wall.” I’ve a feeling Chris’ feelings towards gay men borders on homophobic and seeing Colin torment him during our weekend at The Ashton would be a thrill.
“I’ll sort The Ashton don’t worry, madam - it’s in good hands. It’s really taking shape. Elysium Interiors has fast become the worst kept secret on everyone’s lips.” He purses his lips and blows me a camp kiss.
“Yes, all our hard work is finally paying off.”
A feminine voice hollers across the room. “And on that note we deserve a cuppa to celebrate but will you flick the kettle on Col, as I’ve a delivery here for Ms. Myers.” Her voice takes on a mock snooty tone and I watch as Jackie heads over to my desk her hand gripped around a silver envelope.
“You can open thisafter you’ve read your email from Sebastian.”
“I haven’t got an email from Sebastian?”
“You will have soon.”
My mac dings seconds after her words.
“Told you.”
I click open the Mail programme. The second my eyes fall upon his name, my heart begins to hammer within my chest. That’s all it takes. His bloody alliterative name in bold and I’m as weak as a kitten. Clicking the message open I read his words, then confused and needing a better understanding, I re-read them, growing warmer by the second.