Page 65 of Paper Roses

“We were drunk earlier, but not then.” We brake again. A car honks noisily next to us, the driver shouting obscenities at another driver. “It’s actually my fault. I knew better.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

My voice is sharper than usual, and he directs a startled glance at me before staring intently at the car in front of us. He says, “It means that you’re completely wrong and Idoactually think of you like that.”

It takes a second before his meaning sinks in. “What?” I say far too loudly.

He winces. “I may not still be drunk, Artie, but have some pity. I’m hungover to fuck.”

“Sorry.” I turn to him. “You’re attracted to me?” The astonishment is clear in my voice, and he shifts a cautious glance at me.

“What did you think last night was about? And the kisses before?”

“I thought they were an act.”

“Then I obviously could have had a very successful career on the stage. Of course, I’m attracted to you.”

“There’s no of course about it,” I mutter. “Plenty aren’t.” I hadn’t meant to allow him to see this uncertainty, and I bite my tongue in immediate regret.

“Then there are more short-sighted idiots around London than evidence suggests,” he says firmly, and I feel a tingle of warmth in my belly. “You’re gorgeous, clever, and kind. It’s a lovely combination, Artie. In fact, the word lovely might have been invented for you.”

“I’m attracted to you too,” I breathe.

A smile hovers at the corner of his mouth. “I did have a small inkling last night.”

Excitement roars through me, obliterating the feelings I woke up with this morning. He likes me, and maybe he wants more. But before I can express my hope, he dashes it.

“But of course,” he says, “nothing can happen between us.”

Of course?

He tugs at his shirt collar like it’s suddenly too tight. “It would be very foolish to get involved.”

“With me, you mean,” I say tightly.

His anxious glance fuels my kindling anger. Maybe it’s because I had hope for a wild moment, and now he’s shitting on it in the kindest way possible. Maybe it’s the kindness that’s making it worse.

“Well, yes,” he says, honest as ever. “It would be a mistake on an epic level for you and me to be together when we’re in the middle of this plan and emotions are naturally high. And it would be a disaster, also, because we work together.”

He continues to talk, but his words fade into white noise. I don’t usually get angry. Nobody paid attention to my moods when I was a child, and by the time I became an adult, I’d understood the value of suppressing emotions that might push people away. But where has that got me?

I inhale slowly, becoming aware Jed is finally finishing his point. He asks, “So would you agree we shouldn’t muddy the waters further? I can’t allow complications with you, of all people.”

I glare at him. “Ofcourse,” I snap. “You shoulddefinitelynot allow complications with me.”

The car comes to a stop, and I realise we’re at work. Good. I shove the door open and climb out.

He calls after me, his voice hoarse with alarm. I slam the door behind me and begin my march towards the office across Sloane Square.

It’s starting to get busy with shoppers already about. The lights are on in the designer shops, doors opening and letting out gusts of expensively fragranced air.

“Artie!” Jed arrives beside me. He’s struggling with his bag and putting out a hand to stop me. “I can’t help feeling I’ve upset you.”

I whirl around, shrugging his hand away. “Really?” I say through gritted teeth. “I can’t imagine where you gotthatidea.”

He reels back, astonishment written on his face. Not surprising, since I’ve never spoken to him like this before. “Artie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t?—”

“Hello, people.”

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