Page 58 of Love and Loathing

“I know.”

Aubrey stood rock still while Roscoe got cups out of the cupboard. He was panicking, the situation sliding out of his control, Roscoe determined to make himtalkand admit tofeelings,and he very much wanted to jump out of the window instead.

“I think I broke your sister’s heart. You should be challenging me to a duel in the street.”

Roscoe paused. “Is that true? Should I be at Evie’s making coffee for her instead?”

“She has something called a Zig.”

“Is that Dr Seuss?”

“An environmentalist. Knits houmous.”

Roscoe shook his head. “I barely understand you when you’renotmorbidly depressed and cagey. Stop talking in riddles.” He handed Aubrey a coffee. “Tell me what happened.”

There was almost precisely nothing that Aubrey was prepared to tell Roscoe about what had happened between him and his sister. Not a single thing from her appearing at the Awards event to Aubrey returning to the flat after Asha’s birthday and crying at the sight of a pink fluffy hot water bottle.

“I got over Liv. Fell for Evie. She momentarily forgot I was a heartless bastard, then remembered.Et voilà.”

Roscoe took a sip of his coffee, regarding Aubrey for a long moment. “You’ve been busy. OK. But given you’re not remotelya bastard of any description, what prompted her to think you were?”

“The community garden she spent months building that I got Domnall to concrete over for tax reasons.”

Roscoe choked on his coffee, punching himself on the chest a few times. “Jesus Christ, Aubrey.”

He sipped his coffee, shrugged. “Et voilà.”

“And you’ve apologised? Begged forgiveness? Promised to buy a wildflower meadow and dedicate it to her? You need to talk to Hugo. He can give you some tips on making things right.”

Aubrey put his cup down, throat too tight to swallow, something sharp in his gut. “I didn’t apologise.”

“But…”

“I was doing my job, Roscoe. Am I meant to apologise for my every waking minute? Because ninety-nine percent of them are spent doing things exactly like that. Or worse. How is that any foundation for a relationship, if the woman you’re falling in love with hates the very essence of who you are?”

“Love?” Roscoe echoed.

“Fuck,” Aubrey breathed, realising what he had said. He covered his eyes with his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose, and breathed slowly in, out, holding back the sudden trembling in his chest.

“Two things,” Roscoe said quietly, after a respectful silence. “Perfect things can come from imperfect beginnings.”

Aubrey breathed a bleak laugh. “Don’t quote fucking social media affirmations at me.”

“I’m talking from experience, Aub. As you know. And the second thing, also from experience: the job isn’t who you are.”

Aubrey was at work on Monday morning when he was copied into a sudden flurry of emails that had him marching to George Blackton’s office.

The man looked up, sitting back in his chair, resigned and unapologetic, as Aubrey came to a halt before his desk.

“What is the point in having me here if you’re going to go over my head and approve half the things I’ve recommended against?”

“I’m starting to wonder that myself,” George drawled.

Aubrey bit back his anger, refusing to make a fool of himself in front of the man. “I am trying to preserve some semblance of credibility here, create a department with integrity. One that is legitimate,legal—”

“You’re still thinking like a fund manager. Cautious. Hedging bets. We need a more aggressive approach.”

“And do we need the regulators in our business, too? The whole of BlacktonGold’s reputation called into doubt? Who’s going to want us managing their funds if they can’t trust us? If they think we’re at risk of being closed down?”

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