Page 170 of Stranger to Love

For a split second, the reality hung in the air. Then, the floodgates snapped. Mum burst into a sob of pure, unburdened relief, and I launched myself at Dad. He caught me, spinning me around in our tiny living room with a strength that hadn't been there in years.

"Dad," I breathed, my feet hitting the floor again as I stared at him.

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair, looking slightly dazed. "I know. It just went so well. They don't care about me not having certificates or a mind for the paperwork—they said they want someone who knows what they’re doing. Experience is all that matters." He looked at me, his eyes gleaming. "They loved that CV you did, darl. Said I was even more experienced than they realised. I told 'em, 'Well, my Alex is a whizz, she made sure it was all in there.'"

He sat down next to Mum, pulling her into a tight embrace. "Karen, they want me to start on the first of March. Next week. They’re emailing over the contract and everything." He looked back at me, a bit sheepish. "You’ll need to help me with that part. They mentioned signing it on the computer, but how the hell do you sign a screen?"

I let out a wet laugh, my mind reeling. "Yeah, don't worry, Dad. I'll handle it."

Everything was changing. Every bit of weight I had been carrying for them was suddenly lifting.

"Darl," Dad cleared his throat, looking out the window at his battered old van. "They also said the job comes with a new van. A company one."

I dropped onto the sofa opposite them, rubbing my face. This was too much. It was too perfect.

Mum wiped her eyes, her voice full of fierce pride. "You're incredible, Phil. It’s about time someone recognised how hard you work."

"So, the guy—Clive—he said there’ll be a couple of people working under me. Can you believe that? He said—"

"Wait," I interrupted, my heart skipping a beat. "Dad, did you say Clive?"

He nodded. "Yeah, that’s his name. Clive. The bloke who did the interview. Why?"

I blinked at him, the name echoing in my head. Clive. Clive was Carrie’s long-standing estate manager. The man who handled all her properties. The man who only answered to one person.

I needed to see her. Right then.

I scrambled to my feet, pulling both of them into one last, crushing hug. "Look, we need to celebrate properly, but I have to go see Carrie. She’s going to be ecstatic."

"Go on then," Dad said, his face splitting into a grin. "Maybe we can all go out for a proper dinner this week. We can actually go out for dinner."

Mum nodded happily as I practically sprinted out the front door.

I finally made it to Carrie’s after a torturously slow bus ride and a frantic sprint that had my lungs burning. I reached the front door, my hand shaking slightly as I used the key she had given me. The lock turned with a satisfying, heavy click.

"Carrie!" I called out, my voice coming out in breathless, ragged spurts.

Carrie emerged from her office to the right of the hallway. She looked bewildered by my sudden, disheveled appearance, but a wave of undeniable warmth washed over her face. She started walking over, her arms already beginning to open.

"Alex? What on earth—"

"How many Clives are in this city?" I blurted out, doubling over to catch my breath.

Carrie stopped in her tracks. A small, confused chuckle escaped her. "Have you been drinking, darling?"

Suddenly, Richard appeared at the top of the stairs, peering down at the commotion. I didn't even think. I didn't have the patience for an audience. I looked up and yelled, "Richard, can you just lock yourself in your room?"

He froze, visibly taken aback at being ordered around by a woman twenty years his junior. He looked to Carrie for back-up, but she was just standing there, looking both amused and slightly turned on by the authority in my voice. She gave him a pointed look that said You heard her, and he grumbled, disappearing back into his room with a huff.

I turned back to her, stepping into her space. "I’m serious. How many Clives?"

Carrie's lips twitched. "My darling, I have no idea. A few, I'd imagine."

I stepped closer, poking a finger at her chest, my heart hammering against my ribs. "How many work in estate management? How many handle high-end construction deals? How many possible Clives are there in this city that would have interviewed my dad today?"

Carrie didn't answer immediately. She just looked down at me, that dangerous, shimmering glint back in her eyes—the one that said she’d been caught and she was enjoying every second of it. She slowly reached out, her hands finding my waist and pulling me flush against her.

"I suppose," she murmured, her voice dropping into that rich, velvet tone, "that the number would be exceptionally small. One, perhaps."