Page 37 of Pride and Privilege

“You choose then.”

“Thai.”

“OK.”

“Easy to please, aren’t you?” He looked amused, his smile…suggestive. Or maybe it was her mind doing all the suggesting.

She turned to the sink with a huff and started filling the kettle—no idea why, she didn’t really want tea.

He just chuckled, phone in his hand. He tapped on the screen for a moment then handed it to her. “Add your order and hit the button. I’m going to slip into something more comfortable.” He winked at her, the bastard, and went off to his room.

Poppy ordered the food, conscious, as she seldom was at work, of holding Roscoe Blackton’s phone in her hand. It seemed heavier, blacker, sleeker, more intimate somehow, to have his phone in her hand now. This piece of technology held so much of his work, so much of his life. And there were so many people who would love to have access to it. Get Roscoe Blackton’s number. Women, obviously. But not just that—industry contacts, financial reporters, city bigwigs, all sorts of people. She knew from managing his diary just how in demand he was.

Food ordered, she put the big black phone down on the big black marble kitchen worktop. Then also went to slip into something more comfortable.

Something old and baggy that covered everything.

NINETEEN

Roscoe’s idea of comfortableturned out to be soft grey sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt that gripped the bulge of his biceps in the sort of loving embrace Poppy could very much empathise with.

It ought to come with a health warning.

She was in her tatty leggings and a long-sleeved top, already tucked up into a corner of the sofa when he walked into the room. He smiled, but the doorbell rang with their food.

Roscoe brought it in, together with some plates and cutlery from the kitchen. There was a four-pack of bottled craft beers balanced on the plates. He put it all down on the coffee table.

“Beer?” he offered. “Or there’s wine.”

“No, beer is great, thank you.”

They piled their plates.

Poppy said things like: “Mmm, this smells good.”

Roscoe said things like: “Do you want any more of this rice?”

Then they settled into their opposite corners of the sofa and pretended this whole situation was all completely normal.

It was a very big sofa, but Roscoe was a very large man, broad in the shoulder, and sitting with one foot tucked up, knee reaching halfway to her, and it didn’t feel like a big sofa at all. In fact, the whole room felt very, very small.

Poppy drank some beer. Coughed on the bubbles.

Roscoe gave his beer and plate an amused, squinting examination. “I’ve heard rumours of this.”

“Relaxing?”

“Ah, is that what it’s called?”

Smiling, Poppy picked up the remote. “I was going to say we should watch a film, but I don’t think you’ll stay awake that long.”

“Hey. I can stay up all night.”

She snorted.

Roscoe winced. “I did not mean that to sound the way it sounded.”

Fiercely suppressing memories of“All night, Poppy…”she busied herself looking through the on-screen listings. “Let’s just watch a TV show. You might be able to handle thirty minutes.”

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