Chapter 4
Tim
Of course I’m coming over.
Her face. God, she’d looked good tonight.
Tabitha was always pretty, but she was extra stunning tonight, even though she seemed horrified—that creamy skin, those full red lips, and her big blue eyes.
I grinned extra hard, knowing my charm got under her skin.
I moved toward her with extra swagger. Did her eyes dip to my thighs and linger there? Interesting.
But for once, that annoyed look on her face made my stomach twist. Our banter had always been quite fun.
Well, maybe banter was a stretch. Most of the time, like this morning when we’d gone at it about my suggested changes, it was full-on arguing.
Usually, I enjoyed how our conflict fired a spark of something between us I could never define.
But this morning, I’d noticed she was sad.
And maybe after all these years, it was wearing me down that she never seemed happy around me.
Everyone else thought I was a bloody great bloke.
And most times, I had to agree with them.
“Hello there,” Isla said, giving me a hug.
“What a coincidence, seeing you here.” I focused on Isla’s outfit with all its color and pattern, not on Tabitha’s low-cut, bright-red dress.
I’d always imagined she had an incredible figure, round and lush with hips that flared—she’d pressed her body against mine once seven years ago when we were twenty-five in a kiss that had torched me body and soul, but she’d always kept herself covered up.
Not tonight. Tonight, for her friend’s baby shower, she was making my heart beat faster than normal. My God.
Eyes up, arsehole, I heard my sister, Amy, say. She hasn’t dressed for you—she’s dressed for herself.
And I didn’t need my sister to remind me. I didn’t want to be that guy. But I did wonder what was going on, what had changed. Tabitha usually wore these high, ruffly blouses and gathered skirts like her mum.
“Why are you being filmed?” Isla asked.
“Yes, what’s going on?” Ishani asked. I’d met her through dinners at Isla and Declan’s house. She was staring at the guy on the end of my table, Kingston.
Tabs very pointedly looked away and fiddled with her hair like she wasn’t interested in hearing my answer.
I was distracted by how the strands shimmered over her shoulders, bright blond and mesmerizing.
She usually wore it scraped back. Maybe she and Perry were going out to dinner afterward?
Ugh, fucking flaccid Perry. Why did she date posh losers like him?
My protective streak fired to the fore at the thought of his constant petty corrections, his undermining comments about her weight, and his dismissal of her career.
Although, I’d seen them leaving for the night plenty while I was working at her parents’ house, and she’d never worn a dress like this. Whatever the reason for the change, her dressed like she was made it harder for me to focus.
“I’m on a renovation show,” I replied with extra confidence, bracing myself for her scathing reaction. “It’s a competition between teams of designers and builders. I’m obviously one of the builders.”
“You’re on a reality show?” Tabitha’s upper lip curled.
There it was. I ignored her tone. “Yeah, it’s a hoot. We’re doing a ‘behind the scenes’ mates shot. You know, ‘getting to know the real guy in his local.’”
“Those aren’t your mates.”
I shrugged. “Tabitha, you do know telly is not real, right?”
“And this isn’t your local.”
“How do you know? Tabs, should I be worried? Anyone would think you were stalking my ’gram.”
“You wish.”
“I do wish.” I gave her one of my best smirks.
“You—” A withering look was aimed my way, clearly telling me You didn’t win that one, idiot.
She jolted to her feet, and, just like every time she faced me, she threw her shoulders back and slapped her hands on her hips. She was very confident around me. And angry.
Her shiny peep-toe sandals touched my steel-capped work boots. Her face turned up, her glossy red mouth just a breath away from mine. A small growl escaped from the back of her throat.
A rustle sounded from beside me. Shifting my gaze, I could see Ishani move away, seeming a little uncomfortable. Isla stayed, obviously intrigued.
“How did you get on the show?” Tabs asked.
I gave her a relaxed smile, as if the force of her confrontation wasn’t affecting me. “Auditioned. Like everyone else. They had a designer lined up for me, but he got a better offer, so we’re doing this B-roll at the pub until they find me another designer, and we know what project we’re doing.”
Tabs glared at me. “I hope this doesn’t interfere with your work on Mummy—”
My lips quirked at her calling her mother Mummy, and she stopped herself, probably because she knew I would tease her.
The parental label was a reminder, if I needed it, of her poshness and that she’d been to a Swiss finishing school.
In contrast, my grandfather had been a butler.
So yeah, a lifetime of serving people like her family.
“Mum and Dad’s place,” she finished with a sniff.
“Don’t worry. I made that a condition. I’ll do the show after hours and on weekends.”
“Why on earth are you even doing it?”
Her condescending tone niggled me. I suspected I would earn her understanding if I told her the real reason, but I wanted to keep the truth from my sister, and Tabitha might just let it slip.
“The fame, of course,” I answered finally.
She rolled her eyes. “Of course,” she said. “Just as well we’re making the doors at home extra wide—to get your head through.”
“Ha-ha. And being on the telly will be what we larger-headed people like to call fun.”
“Are you saying I don’t know how to have fun?” she said through clenched teeth.
“Well, now that you mention it…”
Although I could imagine having fun with her. Far in the past. Best mates as kids, playing all day in the fields and streams. And there were those two weeks that summer when we were twenty-five, which we’d silently agreed to never discuss. That seemed a million years ago.
“You realize your life as you know it will be over,” she warned me, arms crossed. “Blistering feedback, no privacy, a kick-me sign on your back.”
“Sounds like one of my rugby games. Anyway, all the dosh will salve any injuries sustained. But thank you for your concern.” I rested my hand on my heart. “Tabitha Millicent Amanda Balfour, I am truly touched.”
I checked in with Isla, who, unusually for her, was quiet, unquestioning, and clearly just enjoying the show.
Tabs punched down her fists at her sides, which she did a lot around me, widened her big blues, and she made this indignant little harrumph. It was such an old-fashioned sound that I laughed.
The blond assistant hustled up—Freya, that was her name—and put a proprietary hand on my arm. Tabs’s gaze followed Freya’s hand, and my chest expanded with a ridiculous amount of satisfaction. Not totally immune to the Tim Langston charm after all, eh, Tabs?
“Need you back at the table, Tim,” Freya said. “Just want a couple of shots of you laughing with the lads.”
The director appeared behind her. “I’m Simon Small-Smythe. Who are you girls?”
“We women are Isla and Tabitha,” Isla said.
“Cool, cool,” he said distractedly. He turned pointedly from Tabitha to me as though refereeing.
“How do you two know each other? That was a lot of tension.”
He was saying that like our sparring was a good thing. A niggling sense of worry coiled inside me. Where was he going with this?
“I hope you didn’t film that.” Tabs cringed, seeming to shift from angry to mortified.
“Ha! You’d have to sign a shedload of forms to get onto our show,” Freya said.
“You two seem to have history, though,” Simon persisted.
Not good history, but I didn’t want to discuss that debacle with him.
“We went to primary school together, didn’t we, Tabs?”
Tabitha scowled at me.
What? It was the truth.
“Clearly, you’ve seen each other since?” Simon tapped his lips.
Nope, not going there. “Tabitha and I are working together on her parents’ renovation in the Cotswolds. We’re turning it into an inn themed ‘Must Love Animals’ for pet-loving singles who want to find their soul mate. She’s a qualified architect and is doing the designs.”
Tabs jerked forward, probably to counter anything else I added about her skills as an architect.
To be fair, I did complain a lot that she wasn’t practical, realistic, or experienced, all of which were true.
Designing houses had been her dream job; as kids, she’d bossed me around for hours as we’d piled up branches, bricks, and stones to make little homes.
But she hadn’t stayed at that architecture firm for long. I’d never understood why.
Simon and Freya looked at each other, their eyes shining.
Why were they so interested?
Simon sighed happily. “You two have the sort of chemistry you can’t even get from actors. I want you to work together on the project you already have for the show. Win-win. We will, of course, pay you. And there is prize money for best design.”
No, no, no, I wanted to yell. I needed this gig, and I needed to win the prize money. I did not want the complication of Tabitha sniping at me every second, questioning my judgment and competence. She would slow everything down.
“Tabitha already has a full-time job in London, and it’s a big job,” I said. “She’s editor of the Home and Garden section of the UK News. Which, as you probably know, is the best-selling newspaper in the country. She’s usually only in the Cotswolds at the weekends.”
Tabitha was quiet. She didn’t say, Don’t speak for me, as I expected. She was frowning, like she was thinking very hard. I would have thought she’d be irritated by the suggestion and completely dismiss the idea.
Surely she wasn’t truly considering it?
“We’d schedule around you both,” Simon said. “You already work together on the house on the weekends, so we’ll just film then. I don’t see why we can’t start tomorrow.”
My heart missed a beat. Tomorrow? No, this could not happen.
“Forms signed, of course,” Freya added.
Panic stabbed at my insides. Tabitha was going to mess this up for me. I took a breath and tried to sound reasonable. “But we don’t get on.”
“Precisely,” Simon said. “You two are quintessential telly.”
“What’s the payment for taking part in the show?” Tabitha finally asked.
My heart leaped into my mouth. She was considering it.
He told her the number. She gasped.
Yeah, it was a lot, but surely she didn’t need cash? She had family money. A bottomless pit of it, judging by her parents’ spending habits.
I could see the wheels turning in her head. “And what is the prize amount if we win?”
“One hundred thousand pounds each.”
“Hell’s bells—what?” she exclaimed.
Fuck. Please, for the love of God, do not consider this.
Especially because I wasn’t sure how I’d cope spending more time with the woman who annoyed and confused and distracted me…daily.