Page 6 of Pretender

“Anyway, tell us how you are, tell us everything about your week,” Sophie says, huffing and laughing.

“Don’t leave out any details. I want to hear about veins and all!” Jamie squeals, then the voice note ends.

I stare at the rain trickling down the window. A large sip of Malbec helps rid me of the lump in my throat before I press the microphone button.

“Hey ladies, sounds like you had a fun weekend … or not. I can’t say you’re selling the idea of New York City in the summer, but I’m sure you actually had a great time. How are the little ones? Tell me about Aubrey’s new school. And send pictures from the zoo, please. I want to see the agony on your faces—proof of your terrible life. Hah.” I take a sip of my wine. “Anyway, what did I do over the weekend? Umm, not much, just went to the gym. Did some work. I started that book you recommended, umm … Persuasion.”

When I say started, I mean I opened it and closed it again, not able to take my mind off work.

“Went for a drink today with the Lady I told you about. The residential client. Yeah, yeah, I’m all work and no play, but that’s just how it is for a while. But she declined, so that sucks, but hey ho. Oh, Aiden gave me another job, so that’s good. Meeting him tomorrow. Should be funnnn… No, really, I didn’t mean for that to sound sarcastic. I love the jobs I’ve done for him. I’m sure it’ll be good. Another nightclub or something. Anyway, one thing going in the right direction I guess, and I’ll get more leads and it’ll all be fantastic. Really, really … good.” I pause. I’ve never told them what happened on Halloween. It’s too embarrassing to relive it, so I won’t go into how much I dread being alone with him at the site tomorrow. “Okay, we’ll talk at the weekend, byyyeee.”

It’s not intentional, stretching the truth about how things are and what I do for fun. I just don’t want them to be concerned or to start asking their wealthy families to be my clients to help me out, as they did when I first kicked off my career. They would mean well, but it’d make me more than uncomfortable to have to deal with sympathy clients who might not appreciate my style.

Jamie and Sophie have been worried about me since the separation, or even for years before that. At some point, I had to stop sharing everything with them. They have their own shit to deal with.

The book I claim to be reading lies unopened on the table, and I’ve got my tablet on my lap instead. But my mind is numb, and I let my eyes drift out of focus. The rain on the window is the only sound I hear.

My phone vibrates wildly under my butt, waking me up.

Wait, I fell asleep?

What the fuck is happening?

I scramble out of the chair, and the buzzing phone lands on the carpet. “Fuck,” I mutter as I pick it up and squint at the bright screen.

Why is Aiden calling me in the middle of the night?

Tentatively, I answer, putting the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, did you forget you were meant to be here at 7 a.m.?”

Shit!

I overslept to meet my only client!

CHAPTER TWO

bedhead

LINNEA

After a record-speed change of clothes and a face wash, I make it to Shepherd’s Bush tube station thoroughly out of breath. Pair that with a Central Line train that’s hotter than Satan’s arsehole, and I’m sweating out of every pore by the time I get to Aiden’s new townhouse in Grafton Street. I’m positively melting, and for the first time in my professional life, I’m late to meet a client.

Not just a little.

I’ve had a billionaire businessman wait for me for over an hour, at a time when I need him more than ever. And starting my only active project by wasting my client’s time is … bad. It’s fucking bad.

As I take a breath and make sure this is the right place—the white stucco townhouse with five floors of tall French windows and wrought-iron balconies—the black front door opens, and there’s Aiden.

This morning’s stress has left me flustered, and having this mountain of a man, in his black shirt and those questioning blue eyes, tower over me from the top of the steps makes my chest tighten. Fuck.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” I breathe, walking up the steps towards him.

From under a knitted brow, that intense gaze drags up my face to my messy hair. Shit, shit, shit. I bite the inside of my cheek, my ears on fire.

“You’re here now. Come inside,” he says, straightening his sleeves as if my crumpled appearance made him want to check himself. “Are you okay?” he asks as I take the last step up and I pause. Avoiding his eyes, I let my line of sight land on his forehead instead.