Page 45 of Pride and Privilege

Hindsight dogged him as he got back into the driver’s seat and reversed carefully out of the narrow bay. He had been high-handed, had interfered in her life, hadn’t really given her the chance to say no to his plan. And even though his motivations were good, maybe it was all an example of the wealthy conceit he’d always thought himself free of: demanding the world be arranged to his liking, with little regard for who it inconvenienced. His father did it all the time.

Yes, he knew—had argued the point with himself a dozen times—that his current position as both boss and landlord meant he couldn’t ethically pursue anything with Poppy. But it was all too easy to forget whenever she was around. Whenever he spoke to her and the teasing banter came so easily, the combative light came into her eyes, and she smiled those complicated multi-faceted smiles, a puzzle-box he longed to unlock… It was all too easy to forget his promise when he looked at her, heard her, smelt her, came as close to touching her as he ever dared—a light touch on her arm, a brush of shoulders as they passed each other…

He had let himself enjoy all that, hadn’t he? Forbidden as it was, he knew he had been enjoying stepping close to that line. It had seemed harmless. But it wasn’t. Not with her worldly possessions in the back of the car. Not with the power he had over her.

He had to be a friend and ally. Nothing more. He was definitely, definitely not another Dave.

He would give her everything she needed, and ask nothing in return.

TWENTY-TWO

“What’s in it foryou?” asked Poppy, watching Roscoe root around in the fridge for something to make them a very late lunch. She’d just finished stowing the last of the bags and boxes in her room—it hadn’t taken long—and was now sitting at the kitchen island. Ogling Roscoe Blackton’s bum. She dragged her eyes away, picked up an apple from the fruit bowl, and took a large bite.

“For me? What do you mean?”

He set some things on the counter. Eggs. Chicken. Vegetables. Was he making an omelette? Frittata? Some kind of weird high-protein gym-bunny concoction? It would explain the physique.

“I just… I feel like this is all a bit uneven. You said you wanted to understand my life. And I know the life-swap thing had to get cancelled because of…” He still hadn’t told her exactly what happened that Easter Weekend. All she knew—guessed—was that his father had been seriously ill. “…Because of work and things. But now I’m here, and you’ve given me a laptop, and acted as my removal guy, and you’re buying all the groceries—or I assume you are, because a delivery magically appears every week—and you’ve said you’ll help me with my studies and I just… I can’t help but feel like I need to even things up a little. Pay you back. Although I’ve no idea how.”

Roscoe clattered a frying pan onto the metal hob, flinging a tea towel over his shoulder then rubbing a hand through his hair. “No. No. I’m not expecting anything. It’s not… Honestly, no. You don’t owe me anything.”

“But Iwantto.”

His eyes flicked to hers, then away. “You already do enough.”

“Like?”

“You areverygood at deflecting Miriam in Compliance.”

“That’s just my job.”

“And you make excellent bagels. The perfect ratio of cream cheese to smoked salmon…” He ducked to the side, laughing, as she mimed throwing her apple at his head.

“Poppy, really. You don’t owe me anything. I’m just being a friend. Helping out a friend.”

Ah, yes. Of course. Thefriendword.“Believe it or not, Dave, I’m perfectly capable of being friends with a woman and not wanting to sleep with her.”She wasn’t dumb enough to think she hadn’t been meant to overhear that.

“I could do chores? Cleaning?”

“There’s a daily cleaner.”

“Laundry?”

“Laundry service.”

“Grocery shopping?”

“Delivered weekly.”

Poppy ate her apple, ruminating. “I could teach you to speak Cockney.” She said it smiling.

Roscoe grinned back at her. He nodded at the apple in her hand. “Apple and pears? That sort of thing?”

She gestured to the frying pan. “Borrow and beg.Egg.” Then pointed to herself. “Artful Dodger.Lodger.Coals and coke.Broke.”

Roscoe chuckled. “And me? I dread to ask.”

“Hmm. Bees and honey.” She tilted her head, considering. “China plate.”

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