Page 22 of Pride and Privilege

She gave a faint laugh, studying the packet as though it contained a joke.

“These are the onesIbuy. They’re the cheapest ones there are. Why on earth are you buying them?”

“I don’t know.” He went back to his desk and collected the bag of takeaway. “It’s just what they had in the supermarket.” He put the food down on the coffee table and took the lounge chair opposite her. “I could give you one of the macronutrient-protein-whatever ones, but they’re disgusting.”

She laughed slightly again, still shaky, incredibly pale. But she unwrapped the bar and took a small bite.

“What happened?” he asked, eyes tracking over her face, her downcast lashes. “Tell me you’re not starving yourself on some crazy diet.”

“I just tried to explain. I have no money.”

“But you must have enough to buy food.”

“No. I don’t.”

He paused, studying her. “I’ve seen the job advert for the permanent EA position. You’re not on peanuts.”

True, it was peanuts compared to his wage, but he barely ever thought about what he earned. The remuneration package he’d agreed on for this role was just numbers. It didn’t mean anything to him other than as an indicator of progression.

Poppy shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

She didn’t answer. After a moment, he unpacked the food from the bag. He couldn’t remember what he’d ordered, but as he opened the trays and discovered enchiladas and savoury rice, he was glad he’d clearly been stressed enough to forgo his usual boring order of grilled chicken and veg in favour of something heavy on the carbs and melted cheese.

“Really,” he said, setting the wooden spoon in one of the trays and pushing it towards her. “Make me understand why you can’t afford to eat.”

“Really,” she echoed. “You wouldn’t understand.” She gave the food a yearning look, then started to stand. “I need to go.”

“No. Not a chance. Not until you eat something.”

“That’s your dinner.”

“If you pass out on the underground, a lot of London commuters are going to be really pissed off with you.”

“They wouldn’t notice. They’d trample my unconscious body in their haste for bank holiday freedom.”

Roscoe chuckled. But Poppy still wasn’t eating. “Just to be warned,” he said. “Iwillspoon feed you.”

She pulled a face, but he saw the moment she gave in, the tiny shrug. She took hold of the tray with a shake of her head and started to eat, self-consciously at first, and then a larger mouthful.

“Mmm.” She moaned. “This is good.”

He ignored the sound of that. But given he then got stuck watching her lips wrap around the fork, he couldn’t make any pretensions to nobility.

“You seem to have read my Wikipedia page,” he said, his smile teasing, trying to put her at ease. If he could get people to trust him with their money, surely he could get his EA to explain why she was apparently starving. “Double first from Cambridge, you know. I’m pretty good at understanding things. So tell me why you’re fainting in my office.”

She looked up from the food, fork in her mouth, resting there, the tines denting her lower lip as she gave him a considering look. She drew the fork away, dug it into the food.

“I have a family to support.”

“A…family?You’re aparent?”

She held his look for a moment, completely serious, before she let out a slight laugh. “No,” she relented with a slight shake of her head. “But I have a mother, and two younger brothers. And almost half my salary goes towards them.”

“Why?”

“Because living costs in London are criminal.”

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