13. THIRTEEN
He must have completely lost his mind. But Poppy was practically skipping on the short walk to his flat, gleefully listing all the creature discomforts he could expect to find at her place. So if he had lost his mind, he couldn’t really regret it.
He’d done twenty minutes’ work before they left the office, checking some stuff, wrapping things up, while Poppy emailed him with her usual weekly budget—he was going to try and live on the same money she did. She came back into his office and tidied away the empty food containers, ignoring his protest not to.
Now they stood in the lift up to his flat, and the silence wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it was certainly…present.
He was remembering the last time they made this journey. Of course he was. He suspected she was doing the same. And all those teasing flashbacks he was getting—Poppy pressed against the lift wall, his hands on her hips, her waist, his mouth at her throat—together with the tension in the air between them, was making one thing clear. He needed to get a handle on his attraction to Poppy Fields. Because he absolutely could not have any kind of sexual relationship with her.
He knew that already. Had known it since she made it clear what she thought of him. Knew it all that long, wretched weekend afterwards. He knew it when Aubrey put him in his place, reminded him of his position. And he definitely knew it when he became her de facto boss.
But now he also knew the reality of her life. And he realised the depth of the gulf between them, how precarious her life was and how much power he held. Every card was in his hand—wealth, authority, seniority. Aubrey’s warning was ringing in his ears, taking on new clarity. She was vulnerable—just as vulnerable as she had been when she was drunk in the bar that first night—and it would be just as unethical for him to make any kind of move. Because would she ever truly feel free to say no? When he was her boss, and now her landlord, and when he intended to feed her and clothe her and house her and look after her? Because that’s what this really was—all those mixed impulses when he had made this decision boiled down to this: Her reality had broken his heart, and he couldn’t let her go back to it.
So given all that… Given everything that had already passed between them… How could he ever be sure that she wouldn’t say yes out of obligation, guilt, gratitude, fear?
“Having second thoughts?” she interrupted his reverie.
“What?”
“You look very…frowny. Sort of glum. I was wondering if you were regretting this little social experiment. We can just call it off. You don’t need to die on your sword out of some sense of aristocratic honour or whatever.”
He laughed slightly, then pressed his hand to his heart as they stepped out of the lift. “But it’s the code of the Blacktons,” he said, faux-earnest. “Non reverti nunc. That’s Latin for No backsies.”
“He speaks Latin. Of course he does. But I bet you do have a Latin motto and all.”
He unlocked the door to his flat and they stepped inside. “According to my brother, it’s ‘I didn’t need it, but I wanted it.’”
“And is that accurate?”
“It is when my mother’s shopping.”
Poppy laughed, and then they were once more standing in the place where he had almost kissed her. Before she laughed in his face and said he made her feel like a prostitute.
Ah, fond memories.
“So,” he said, taking off his coat. “I’ll show you around. Then you take a car to your place to get your stuff. I’ll tidy up here and pack my things while you’re gone. Then when you get back here, I’ll take the car back to yours. Sound like a plan?”
“Sure. Is there a late-night health clinic here? You could get a tetanus booster. Maybe cholera, diphtheria…”
He gave her a withering look. “You’re allowed to make those jokes. I will not.”
He waved a hand around at the large, mostly grey space, with all its glass and featureless shining surfaces. “This is the living room,” he said unnecessarily. There was an ebony box on the enormous coffee table. He opened it and took out the TV and sound system remote controls. “If you’ve ever had training at NASA you might figure out how these work. Let me know if you do.”
She laughed, and then he showed her the kitchen with its adjoining dining room and entertaining space, then the guest bathroom, the office, the storage space, the balcony, the two spare bedrooms, and when he couldn’t put it off anymore—why was he even putting it off?—he opened the door to the master bedroom. “And this will be your room. Bathroom is through that door. The other door is the walk-in closet.”
“Everything’s so neat,” she said, looking around the room with the same expression as she’d looked at the rest of the place. Lips pressed shut, a shimmering sort of amusement in her eyes, as though everything she saw was a joke he didn’t quite understand. “It’s like a hotel. Where’s all your stuff? There’s not even a stray sock, or a book…or a protein shake lying around.”
“Ah, yes, whey protein. The natural diet of the city boy.” He shut the door behind them and headed back to the kitchen. “There’s a daily cleaner. And like I said, I barely live here. I spend sixteen hours a day at work most days.”
And the rest of the time he was at his real flat. But of course he couldn’t tell her that. It was too awkward to admit to now. And possibly he was embarrassed at having two flats. But his other flat was his sanctuary, and at the end of his very long days he was desperately in need of that sanctuary. He didn’t want Poppy to roll her eyes and laugh when he admitted to its existence.
When she left in the car, he called the concierge and explained about his guest. “And can you order some groceries, a week’s worth, and household essentials. Make it the nice stuff.”
By the time she got back nearly three hours later—it was a long drive to Basildon in London traffic—he was just putting the last of the shopping away in the kitchen. “This is your key—it’s electronic. And this is the one for the communal areas. The gym and pool et cetera.”
He picked up his overnight bag and laptop case while she looked at him frowningly, toying with the key fob. “Are you sure, Roscoe?”
“Yes.” Because she was here, safe, in comfort and what came as close to luxury as his money could currently afford. And the fridge and the cupboards were full of food. She would be able to eat like a queen.
“I’m completely sure,” he said. “Enjoy my life.”
She smiled. “Thank you. Try to survive mine.”
“I’ll do my best.”
He winked. Which was embarrassing. Why did he do that? Then he shifted his bag on his shoulder and left the flat, bound for the wilds of Basildon and the company of a man known as Lecherous Dave.
He could have just gone to his other flat. But he had to do this properly. He genuinely did want to understand Poppy Fields. She was such a strange combination of spiky, soft, open, closed, bolshy, shy, combative, timid… And she’d already made him question himself. She’d already completely turned his life upside down.
“Back to the last address, please,” he told the driver, then settled back against the seat to do some work on his phone.
But it was hard to concentrate. Images kept floating through his mind. Poppy falling to the floor, Poppy pale, crying. Poppy in his arms. Poppy in his flat. Poppy looking at him as he walked out the door, a question in her eyes…
God. Just what had he agreed to? Keeping secrets, making ridiculous plans, performing grand gestures just to change the opinion of one girl… He thought ruefully of his brother Hugo and his current troubles. Roscoe had never really understood how Hugo managed to get himself into the ridiculous situations he so often did. But maybe they were more similar than he’d thought. It was a sobering reflection.
Maybe, at the end of the day, he was doing all this because he was a Blackton, and they generally did whatever they wanted to.
Maybe, if they had a Latin motto, it was amantes amentes.
Lovers are lunatics.