Chapter 8
William
Why would anyone voluntarily call themselves Petey Boy?
I don’t actually make anyone call me “my lord,” to be clear.
Bramley’s the only person who does, and that’s mostly a habitual tic.
I only said that to Petey Boy to break the tension.
I’d intended for him to laugh, but instead he went as red as an English rose and bobbed like he was meeting the Prince of Wales.
“No, please don’t do that,” I said. “It makes me incredibly uncomfortable.”
“I’m sorry, my lord.”
“No, don’t do that either. It’s William.”
I smiled to reassure him, and his eyes met mine again.
They were the most intense Mediterranean blue, behind long lashes.
His short-cropped hair was dyed a white blond.
He stood up straight, and for the first time, I clocked he was also unbelievably tall.
I’m six foot two, and he had at least four inches on me.
He must also have been about half my weight.
He was built like an animated hair ribbon.
He wore a diamond stud earring in his left ear.
It was terribly sexy. There was a rebel edge to Petey Boy I found… intoxicating.
“Listen, William, you won’t tell Indira I bawled you out, will you? It was a genuine mistake. Please, I—”
“I won’t tell a soul.” I drew a cross over my heart with my finger to seal the deal. Petey Boy sighed in obvious relief, and for the first time, a smile cracked his face. It absolutely took my breath away. He was beautiful.
“Oh my God, bruv, thank you,” he said, holding his hand to his chest. Why was he speaking like that? It didn’t sit right, somehow. “This job’s bare important. I can’t afford for a single thing to go wrong on my watch.”
“We have something in common, then,” I said. “Bruv.”
I thought it might make him smile, but it didn’t even register.
“True?” he said.
“Of course! I—” It was on the tip of my tongue to say how much I desperately needed the cash. I had to stop myself. What was it about this majestic feline stranger that had me nearly spilling all the family secrets? “—I want The Love Manor to be a raging success too.”
“OK, phew.” Petey Boy mimed wiping the sweat off his forehead. “That’s, like, a huge relief, innit?”
“I want the show to keep coming back year after year,” I said—and the more I spoke, the more Petey Boy smiled, the happier he seemed, the more relaxed he appeared, the more I thought perhaps we were maybe kind of flirting?
I leant into it. “I’ll do whatever I can to make sure this thing goes off without a hitch. ”
“That’s really reassuring,” Petey Boy said, bouncing on his heels. “Like, I can’t even tell you.”
“We’re on the same team here,” I said, hitting him between the eyes with what I hoped was my cheekiest smile. “Anything you need, please ask.”
“Perfect, thank you. The plumber will do for now. Where did you say the phone was?”
He stood there, eyebrows raised, expectant, like he hadn’t knocked the wind out of me. He hadn’t been flirting with me at all. It was merely gratitude I was willing to help.
“We don’t need a plumber,” I said. “I’ve got this.”
He sploshed the lake of water on the floor with the toe of his boot. “What about this situation makes you think you’ve got this?”
“I know how to fix a toilet. It’s not hard.”
That was the precise moment the ball float shot loose from the ballcock, opening the valve and sending litres of water shooting out across the room—again. The water hit the stall wall and showered down on me like a thunderstorm.
“The phone?” Petey Boy said.
“In the kitchen,” I said, staring at the floor, letting the water run down my back.