Page 23 of Pride and Privilege

“I’m sure they are, but…”

“You’re a numbers guy. It’ll be easier if I give you the numbers. Give me a pen and paper and I’ll write it down. It’s all memorised. Burnt there.”

Roscoe fetched the pad and pen from his desk. Poppy quickly wrote down some columns of numbers. The pen she was using was from Caran d’Ache and had cost him around nine hundred pounds or thereabouts. He couldn’t actually remember. He’d bought it on a whim. Now was probably not the time to bring that up.

“Here.” She handed him the pad, not meeting his eyes, blushing fiercely though her posture was tight, fighting her own embarrassment. “My mother’s income and outgoings, and mine.”

He scanned the list, frowning. “But that’s… At the end of the month that leaves you…”

“Nothing. Yeah.”

“But you have groceries listed. So youarebuying food.”

She looked uncomfortable. “Normally I can just about feed myself. But this month…”

“What happened?”

She gave a bitter laugh. “I went for a drink. That night in the bar.”

“Sorry to point it out, but youdidlook like you’d had more than one.”

“I didn’t know they were going to do rounds! Or cocktails! Or that cocktails there cost a million pounds. I’d budgeted for one five-pound glass of wine. I was going to drink that, wish Liz happy birthday, and go home. But it didn’t quite go to plan… And I guess I was stupid to agree to go at all, waste money on something frivolous… But the thing is…there’s a social side to work. And I don’t… I never go for work drinks. I dread the collections for people’s birthdays. The invitations to go out for lunch… I have a reputation for being odd. Reclusive. Maybe a bit cold. But it’s because I can’t afford it. I can’t ever say yes. It’s always no, no, sorry, no. And sometimes it just doesn’t seem like there’s any end to it, and I… I…”

And then, to Roscoe’s horror, she started crying.

ELEVEN

Oh God, it wastrue. The end of every working week for the rest of her life was destined to be spent embarrassing herself in front of Roscoe Blackton.

Was tonight worse than treating him like a high-class John? So far she had shouted at him, called him ignorant, fainted on him, revealed the paucity of her pathetic life, and now she was sobbing on his sofa while he looked on in horror.

Except, no… He was no longer just looking, he was moving, coming around the coffee table to sit next to her and put his arm around her, and that was worse, that was far worse than anything else that could have happened.

“It’s OK,” he said, and pulled her against his chest. Which was not OK—not for her sanity. Because his body seemed to be made of granite covered in warm silk, and that was covered in crisp cotton, and it all smelt so gloriously male and human and cosy and fresh, as though whatever laundry detergent he used—or his laundry service used—had managed to distil the bedroom feature of a high-end lifestyle magazine into a scent. Egyptiancotton sheets and wooden floorboards and sumptuous pillows and clear blue sky through an antique window, cottage-garden flowers swaying delicately in the fresh breeze…

That was how Roscoe Blackton smelt. But also, like sex.

Poppy cried a little more, because things seemed overwhelming right then. Besides, the damage had already been done. Yes, those were her tears marring the snowy perfection of that Tom Ford shirt, or whatever brand he wore that cost more than her monthly rent.

“It’s OK,” he said again. And it really wasn’t, because nothing at all had changed, except that Roscoe Blackton now knew how far beneath him she really was.

“Sorry,” she said, pulling away. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. Really. Absolutely do not apologise.”

“I should get going. You’re so busy, and I’ve just totally wrecked your evening—”

“Wait, wait. Have you spoken to HR? Do they know about your situation?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I don’t need…like…charity or anything. I’ll be fine when I get paid this month.”

“I don’t mean charity. But look”—he picked up the notepad again—“your two biggest expenses are travel and rent. I’m sure you can get a loan from BG to buy an annual season ticket. That should save you something if you’re currently buying a monthly one.

She shook her head. “I’m on a six-month rolling contract. I’m not eligible.”

“Then I’ll talk to HR, I’m sure I can sort something out. Get you a permanent contract.”

That made her laugh slightly. “Do you see what I mean? About how people who know people get special treatment?”

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