Terms of Agreement

6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Charlotte

O ne of the benefits of working late was that there was almost always a seat on the tube coming home. It’s a weird thing to think of as a perk, particularly as my entire workday comprised of sitting, so why being able to sit some more is a plus was beyond me. But spotting a row of empty seats on the Circle line always felt like pure magic to me.

I don’t know if it was the empty seats, the fact that my workday was finally done, or that third cup of coffee, but I felt keyed up. Far too energetic for that time of night. Pulling up my music app, I plugged in my earphones and slipped them on. With a soft snort, I scrolled right past my going-to-work/hype-playlist—that was not what I needed right now, but I definitely had something that would calm the jittery feeling in my legs. I scrolled through the tracks of my Sweater Weather playlist and nodded to myself. Leaning back in my seat, I hit play on When I Smoke , and allowed the steady bass to wash over my shoulders.

I’d never smoked. I’d never even played with those candy cigarettes as a kid. But if smoking made you feel the way this song did? Maybe I would. Someday. Okay, probably still never, but it was one of my favourite songs for calming my nerves.

My mind drifted back to my call with Josh. He’d screwed up some of the drafting on a Share Purchase Agreement yesterday, and I’d been so busy fixing his mistake, that I hadn’t had a second to talk to him about it until today. I sighed. He was a junior associate, and mistakes like this shouldn’t be made by someone at his level. He was the reason I’d needed a third cup of coffee.

Shaking my head, I pulled up my LinkedIn profile, readying myself to make the most of my journey home and do some InMail purging. Legal recruiters were often sliding into my inbox with job opportunities. It was something that came with the career. But seeing as how I was not someone who could stomach the big red notification bubble on any of my apps, I’d cleared them out every couple of weeks.

Working my way through the list, I Marie Kondo’d my inbox, not even opening any of the messages. It was only when I reached one of the final messages that my thumb halted. Peering down at my screen, I could see that the message wasn’t from a student and typically I’d delete any kind of message that wasn’t from a student seeking advice—loyalty to the firm and all that. So, I don’t know why I hesitated. I didn’t recognise the name.

I opened the message and, ignoring its contents, clicked through to the woman’s profile.

Shit.

This woman, Patricia, would probably get a notification that I’d just viewed her profile. Cringing, I scanned through her employment history. From what I could tell, we had no areas of overlap. I scrolled back up and squinted at her profile picture. I didn’t think that I knew her, but I couldn’t tell for certain. The image was too small. Clicking away the tiny profile picture, I moved back to my InMail, hovering over the message until the ‘delete’ option popped up on screen.

‘The next station is Holland Park,’ the announcement chimed over the speaker system, and my gaze snapped up from my phone. Bolting up from my seat and shoving my phone into my coat pocket, I rushed through the doors and onto the platform.

***

I’d unravelled the tight braid I’d worn to work on the way home from the station. Stepping into the elevator, I pulled out the last of the bobby pins that I’d used to keep my curls in place and lifted my free hand to comb through the mess of curls. There wasn’t much point to my ministrations. The only thing that would set my hair to rights would be a hair mask and my detangler, but on the off chance that I’d run into a neighbour, it would be good to look somewhat presentable.

Pulling out my earphones and stuffing the cord and my pins into my coat pocket, I made my way towards my apartment. Twisting the key in its lock, my gaze darted to the time illuminated on my wristwatch as I pushed open the door.

I froze, my arm still stretched out in front of me, holding the door open, as my gaze locked on a pair of shoes in the middle of the entryway to my apartment. They weren’t my shoes. In fact, judging by the size of them, they weren’t even women’s shoes. My gaze flickered from the shoes and back to the door. 3C. My apartment. I took in the large leather Chelsea boots.

I took a cautious step forward, flinching when the door swung shut behind me. Great. Now they know I’m here.

‘H-hello?’ My heart thudded in protest, hammering against my ribcage. There was no answer and, from my vantage point in the entryway, nothing looked out of place. Nothing but those shoes.

Taking what was supposed to be a calming breath, I shoved aside the images of masked men and home burglaries as best I could. Quietly, I slipped off my shoes—there was no way I was walking London grime across my carpets, intruder or no—and inched my way towards the entryway closet. I’d need something to defend myself. What if they attacked? My stomach plummeted after a quick glance at the contents of the closet revealed my total lack of options.

Stupid American TV with their baseball bats and golf clubs. If I lived through this, I’d buy a more appropriate form of protection… Like a taser!

A noise sounded from the living room and I grabbed something, anything, from the closet, making my way towards the source of the noise. Like an idiot. I was going to be the girl in the horror film that died first. I stopped just outside of the doorway to the living room, trying to muster some small semblance of courage. Maybe if I’d listened to my hype playlist on the way home, I’d have felt a little braver.

The noise came again, followed by the rasp of a chuckle. It was now or never.

Pinching my eyes shut, I whirled around the corner and into the living room, swinging my weapon out in front of me.

‘What the—’ came the startled voice of the intruder.

Definitely male. My breath was coming out in quick gasps and my arms trembled as I held onto my only form of defence.

‘Charlotte, what the fuck are you doing?’

I knew that voice. There was only one person in the world who said my name like that—like it was a blessing and a curse all wrapped up in one.

‘Aiden?’ I popped open an eye, peeking to confirm my suspicion.

He looked from my face to the umbrella in my hands and back.

‘An umbrella? Really?’ Aiden’s tone was stern, but a tinge of amusement coloured his words.

‘I… thought someone had broken in.’ The arm holding the umbrella dropped lamely to my side.

‘And you were what?’ He bit down on his lip as if trying to bite down on a smile. ‘Going to open that up and beat them off with bad luck?’

I pursed my lips, looking away from him as I balanced the umbrella against the doorframe.

‘What are you doing here, Aiden?’

‘Ms Au asked me to check in on your cat. Did she not tell you?’ Aiden asked, a look of confusion clouding his face.

‘No,’ my tone came out sharper than I’d intended, but I was annoyed. He was the one who’d broken in—with a key, but that’s irrelevant—and somehow I was the one to come out looking like a fool.

‘Oh,’ Aiden deflated, taking a seat on the sofa and looking up at me as if to check whether or not that was okay. I waved a hand at him dismissively, motioning for him to continue as I peeled off my coat. ‘Well, she said her son was sick, and that she had to go to him so she couldn’t give Oscar his medication.’

I nodded as I folded the coat, laying it across the back of one of the chairs at my small dining table. It made sense that she’d had gone to see Lawrence. Ms Au was a nurturer by nature, and the fact that her children had grown up and moved out had done little to ebb the tide of motherly affection that hummed in her veins. That was probably why she’d all but adopted me when she realised I was living by myself.

‘But why didn’t she just call me?’ I asked, bringing a hand up to the back of my neck and gently rubbing at the tension that had begun to build. ‘I could have worked something out.’

Aiden just shrugged from his seat on the sofa.

‘Why are you still here?’ I didn’t want to sound rude, but it was almost eleven. He had to have been sitting here for hours.

‘I wanted to make sure he was okay.’ Aiden shifted in his seat, his gaze dropping to his hands. ‘I’ve never had a pet,’ he explained. ‘I didn’t even know that cats could be diabetic, let alone know how to give it the injection. I mean,’ he blew out a breath, raising his hands in bewilderment, ‘I watched a YouTube video on it before I came over, but I work with data, not animals!’ His gaze lifted to mine, his face as open as I’d ever seen it.

‘He seemed fine,’ Aiden continued, ‘but I didn’t know what could have happened if I did it wrong, and I didn’t want you coming home to a dead cat or anything…’ he trailed off bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck. All I could do was watch him, a warm tightness spreading across my chest as I took in the flustered man sitting on my sofa. He looked so much younger when he wasn’t scowling at me. The thought alone was enough to bring a small smile to my lips.

Aiden’s eyes came back to my face, zeroing in on the smile that curled my lips. In a matter of seconds, the openness was gone. His eyes narrowed, and he straightened to standing.

‘Well,’ Aiden said, his voice clipped, as he made his way to the front door, ‘you’re home, and he’s fine. So… Goodnight.’

‘Aiden, wait,’ I reached after him, my fingers grazing his shoulder. He turned to face me, his arms folded across his chest. I blinked, overwhelmed by his sudden closeness and the subtle hint of spice that hung around him like a cloud.

‘I just wanted to thank you.’ I forced myself to meet his gaze. ‘I know that Ms Au probably didn’t give you much choice in the matter, but I’m really grateful to you for helping out with Oscar. I know we’re not friends, but I’d like to thank you properly.’

He remained expressionless.

‘I could take you for a coffee…’

His face folded into a frown.

‘Okay, jeez,’ I could practically see his hackles rising. Did he not like coffee? Psycho. I held my hands up in front of my chest, palms facing outwards, placatingly. ‘No coffee. Got it. But seriously, I owe you one. Whatever and whenever you need.’

He raised an eyebrow at that.

‘I’m not exactly a Lannister,’ I said in a failed attempt at light-heartedness. ‘But I like to repay my debts.’

My joke didn’t land, and Aiden bent over to pull on his boots. Boots I really should have recognised after last Friday.

He nodded curtly and left, leaving tendrils of that smoky cologne in his wake.