DIANA #2
He doesn’t move, and although I’m sure it’s only seconds, it feels like it stretches well beyond the bounds of socially acceptable. His gaze slips to my mouth and bounces back up.
“Sorry,” he says, blinking and swiping his tongue over his lips as he steps back. “I didn’t mean to put you off. I couldn’t see the screen properly.” He points at the splintering cracks that radiate from the bottom left corner. “What happened to it?”
“I dropped it,” I lie. “I’d get it repaired, but…” I curse under my breath, hoping he can’t hear. I point to the profit column. “I wasn’t expecting to show you this. It’s messy, but here”—I indicate the profits column—“I’ve squeezed out five hundred quid.”
“By mid-December,” he adds.
I swallow. “Yes.”
He scratches his eyebrow. “That’s when Lizzie leaves for South America,” he says, his voice devoid of emotion. “I understood you were going to move out when she did. How will you do that with no income?”
Oh, God. He wants me out. And soon. And why wouldn’t he? I’m not his friend. He’s probably counting down the days until he can get rid of me. But realistically, how am I going to manage it?
I say nothing. This is awful. I had sex with this man, he has no idea, and now he’s talking to me like I’m stupid. Which I probably am.
“You can’t launch a business like this unless you have savings,” he continues. “Or investors. Where’s your capital coming from?”
I’m starting to numb out under the pressure of his questions. I sound hollow when I admit, “I don’t have any.”
“But here.” He points to a column on the screen where I’ve noted a new digital camera and tripod, as well as the special edition copies of the books Dad destroyed.
“You’ve got costs for equipment.” He runs his index finger down the entire list, then folds his arms over his chest and tips his chin towards my spreadsheet.
“You’ve got two thousand pounds of expenditure.
Forgive me, but if you have no savings, how were you going to afford this? ”
“I used to get sent a lot of them for free.” I press my hand to my face and lower my head, letting out a tiny whimper, wishing I could yell at Lizzie for springing this on me and making me look like a fucking idiot in front of her dad. “But now I’ve got no platform. Everything I built up is gone.”
He leans against the desk and stares down at me. “Lizzie told me you made videos. Created content?”
“Yes.”
“And you showed your face?”
I nod.
“So, whether or not you still have a platform doesn't matter,” he continues. “You have your face. That’s how people know who you are, and that familiarity is where trust lies.”
I struggle not to grimace at the weird parallels he’s unknowingly drawing with our situation.
“You’re still you,” he continues. “You can rebuild.”
“But it will take forever,” I whine. “It took years of daily posting.”
“Do you have the old content?”
“No.”
His jaw tightens. “Lizzie said you had a mailing list. Did you download the details of everyone who signed up?”
I drop my head into my hands again. I’d been avoiding thinking about all the things I did wrong, all the stupid mistakes I made, and everything Dad was able to take from me, but being questioned on it makes me realise just how foolish I’ve been.
The shame of it is almost unbearable, and my reply to his question comes out so quietly, I can barely hear it myself. “No.”
For an eternity, nothing happens.
Just as I’m wondering if I should show myself out, a large, warm hand cups my shoulder, causing goosebumps to erupt down my arm.
I hold my breath. Dear God, please don’t touch me.
I can barely hold it together being in the same room as him, but having his hand on me?
Hell, no. “Don’t give up. Everyone has to start somewhere. ”
His voice is so gentle, so kind, that I want to cry. He opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a business card, instructing me to call his accountant and get myself set up as a business.
“And as for the money,” he adds, “I’ll loan you the capital.”
My mouth falls open. “Oh, no. Don’t do that. Haven’t I just proved to you what a waste of space I am? I wouldn’t be surprised if you think I’m completely incompetent.”
One corner of his lips lifts. “It’s not the best start, but the amount you need is small change to me. Lizzie’s very fond of you and seems to think you’re good at what you do. I trust her judgment. Plus, you’re on a short time frame. So yes, I’ll loan you the money.”
My hands fly to my mouth, and I let out an excited squeak behind them, at which his smile widens a fraction.
Lowering my hands, I clamp them between my knees in case I try to hug him, or something worse. “You’ll invest in me?”
“Yes. You can pay me back, interest-free, if it makes you feel better.”
“And if I can’t pay you back?”
“I’ll make sure you can. We’ll go through it together, make a proper plan and get this business off the ground.” He flips open an old school paper diary. “When can you spare me the time?”
Not, when can I fit you in?, but when can you spare me the time?
“Oh, anytime. I’ll come any time you want.”
He stills almost imperceptibly at my stammered words, the nib of his pen—a fountain pen no less, maybe even the same one he used to write his phone number on the Delirium card—touching the cream paper of his diary.
Nerves bubble through my insides and spill out in another stupid attempt at clarification. “I’ll come when you ask me to. I’ll come…” Stop talking about coming. “I can come on demand.”
Nice. Rounded it off with a flourish there. Nerves morph to giggles, transmuting without my permission, and I have to bite my lip to keep them in as I shrink into his huge desk chair, wishing it would swallow me up.
He doesn’t look my way, but I know he’s focused on me. Heat prickles up the back of my neck and across my cheeks.
He pushes the diary away without making a mark and straightens. “I’ve got time tonight. I’m out for dinner, but when I get back, I’ll give you half an hour.”
I start nodding too fast, eagerly gathering up my laptop. “Thanks so much, Mr Bastion. This means so much to me.” I trip out of my chair and back up towards the door.
“It’s my pleasure. And please, call me Rafe.”
“Rafe,” I repeat, curling my tongue around his name while holding my laptop tight against my chest, still backing out of the room at near unacceptable speed.
“And Diana?”
I halt, one hand on the door handle. “Yes?”
“If you want to make this work, you mustn’t say things like that. Mustn’t even think them.”
The intensity of his attention on me is like lying out in the sun without SPF. My skin starts to burn. “Things like what?”
“That you’re a waste of space or completely incompetent. Don’t tell yourself things like that. This will never work if you do.”
I swallow, trying not to berate myself for repeatedly sounding like an idiot in front of him. “Okay.”
“Promise me you won’t.”
Something in my chest swells. “I promise.”
“Good. That’s a start.” He’s about to turn away, but I don’t move. I can’t. I’m stunned that anyone would care enough to notice my self-talk, let alone correct it. With a bemused look on his face, he adds, “Don’t stand on ceremony. You can go now.”
A fission of energy runs down my spine at the command. I’ve always hated being told what to do, but by this man? I have no objections.
“Yes. Thanks. Okay,” I stammer, performing a weird curtsy bow as I duck out of the room, still clutching my laptop to my chest and closing the door behind me, hoping he’s not some kind of mind reader who can tell I’d willingly take his orders any day. I’d do it naked, too.
I’ve already done it naked.
Well, I’d do it again.
I mean, I wouldn’t, of course. Not now I know who he is. But in theory? I absolutely would.
In the hall, I let out a sigh that puffs my cheeks out. I was extremely unsexy in there. On the bright side, he’ll never realise who I am if I turn into a bumbling fool every time he talks to me.