Chapter Ten
“Too late? What do you mean, I’m too late?” Willa sounded frustrated. “You only called me twelve hours ago, Bo!”
“Twelve hours was all it took,” Bo explained, a little sheepishly. “You know what I’m like. I needed someone to talk sense into me.”
“Well, I’m sorry I wasn’t available as your sex interventionist,” Willa retorted.
“Do you know how hard it is to leave a film set when you’re on location and in full costume and make-up to take and make personal calls?
I told Scarrow it was an emergency. Something about the Titanic and Amelia Earhart, remember?
He asked for more details, wanted to know who’d died, and I had to explain that my emergency was to stop my best friend from shagging her new boss. ”
“He’s not my new boss, not now,” Bo returned, shifting her phone to her other ear. “We’ve changed our arrangement.”
“Oh.” There was a pause. “What do you mean?”
“Well, Max wasn’t comfortable sleeping with someone he was paying a wage to. So, we decided it was for the best if he didn’t.”
“You mean he’s not going to pay you? You’re going to cook and clean for him, and now shag him regularly too, without making a penny? Bo . . .”
Bo frowned. “No, no, no, it’s not like that.”
“What’s it like then? Because I’m worried now. I will have to go to Scarrow and ask for a day off. This guy’s taking advantage of you.”
With a sigh, Bo shifted the phone again. “Max isn’t taking advantage of me. Actually, we decided that it was for the best if I didn’t cook and clean for him at all. He’s going to get someone in to do that.”
Another pause, and with it, another moment of judgement. “So,” Willa finally said. “Paid work is out, and free shagging is in?”
Bo felt a dart of embarrassment. “Something like that.”
“What will you do for money? I know you’ll have the funds from the sale of Geoffrey’s garden soon enough, but what will you live on until then?”
“Ida’s going to increase my hours,” Bo replied, shrugging even though Willa couldn’t see the movement. “I’m not entirely incapable, you know.”
“I never said you were. I know how hard you work. Hm.”
“What does that sound mean?” Bo asked warily.
“Well, two days ago you were going to be paid a regular wage to do the thing you love. Now though—”
“Now I’ll get to do Max,” Bo interjected tersely. “Come on, Wills, when was the last time I was this keen on a man? Let me have my fun.”
“Yesterday you called me desperately to stop you having your fun. One shag later and the tables have turned so dramatically they’re practically chairs.”
“I like him, Wills.”
Willa gave a long sigh. “Yeah, I can tell. What is it about him? I know it’s not his looks. Mr Two out of Ten, remember?”
Bo wriggled on her bed, discomfort sitting on her skin at her earlier assessment of Max’s physical features. “I wish I hadn’t said that,” she muttered. “If you met him, you’d understand.”
“I’d love to meet him. There are one or two things I’d like to say to him. Warnings, mostly.”
“He doesn’t need a warning; it’s not like that, I told you.
I don’t want to hurt him or anything. We’re just grown-ups having some grown-up fun.
It’s not even serious. We’ll have a good time until we go our separate ways.
It’s convenient, that’s all. You’ve been telling me for months I needed to move on from Oliver.
Max will help with that. He’s like a Band-Aid I’m sticking on a wound until it heals. ”
In the background, Bo heard someone shout out for Willa. A bossy, imposing shout, which made the hair on Bo’s neck stand on end. Scarrow, she thought, her eyes narrowing. And Wills is worried about me.
She heard Willa give another sigh. “I need to go in a minute. Another re-take.”
“Thanks for calling me back.”
“Even though I was too late?” Willa asked pointedly, before her tone changed. “Look, I’m not worried about you hurting Mr Two out of Ten by the way—”
“Max,” Bo corrected her.
“Okay. Max. I’m not worried about you hurting him, I don’t know him. I don’t care about him. I’m worried about him hurting you. After what Oliver did . . .”
“I told you; it’s not like that.”
“And I told you, I know you. You’re soft-hearted, kind and you get attached easily. I told you once before this guy could really take advantage of you. Now I’m worried he could hurt you too.”
Bo heard the concern in Willa’s voice, and some of her prickly need to defend Max dissipated. “He won’t hurt me,” she promised. “I’m not in love with him or anything. I hardly know him, in fact. It’s just a bit of fun.” She paused. “Actually, it’s a lot of fun.”
At that, she heard Willa laugh. “So, what he lacks in looks he makes up for in talent?”
“Let’s just say that if you think he’s good playing Beethoven you should see him play me.”
“I’ll pass on that show, if it’s all the same to you.” Willa laughed again, before she paused. “Beethoven?”
“Max is a musician.”
“Of course he is,” Willa groaned. “You mean you’ve gone from gorgeous fitspo boys to an unattractive tortured muso?”
“Why are you so disparaging about my choice of lovers?”
“Because you’ve given me every reason to be,” Willa retorted, but Bo knew she would be smiling, just like she was.
“When are you home?” she asked, just as she heard Scarrow calling for Willa again in the background.
“Next week, hopefully. I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
“And Bo?”
“Yes?”
Willa’s voice was clear. “When I get back, I want to meet Mr Two out of Ten.”