Page 73 of Paper Roses

But that’s a worry for later. I head to the meeting room with a smile on my face and a sleek, stretched feeling in my body that I like.

After all, people have fallen in love for a lot less, haven’t they? Maybe there’s hope for me yet.

ten

. . .

jed

I juggle my bags as I open the front door. The house smells of paint and fresh wood and, after I put down my things and take off my coat, I’m happy to feel the air is toasty warm. It’s a welcome treat after these last few weeks when they’ve struggled to get the boiler working.

The weather has been terrible, so we’ve been gravitating to the bedroom where we can run the heater and cuddle up under the sheets and blankets. We’d then found other ways to generate heat. Desire slides through me like warm honey at the thought.

Since I made the incredibly foolhardy decision to pursue a fuck-buddies sort of relationship with my formerly quiet and shy assistant, I’ve found myself throwing caution to the wind and fully embracing it. We’ve fucked in the office, and all over the house, burning up the sheets at night as we sweat and writhe together.

I’ve been around the block more than a few times, but I don’t think I’ve ever found this combination of sexual compatibility and fascination.

He’s not exactly quiet or shy in the sack. Or out of it anymore. The moments when he’s sassy with me are becoming more frequent, and they only make me want him more, which, in turn, leads to more fucking. Yesterday, we’d been at a hotel to discuss a wedding, and Artie had said something snarky. I’d dragged him to the bathroom and fucked him, putting my hand over his mouth to stifle his cries and biting into the shoulder of his suit jacket to stifle my own. We’d only just avoided getting caught by the client.

I hardly recognise myself nowadays, and yet somehow this doesn’t make me fearful. Instead of withdrawing back into my shell, I want to do more.

Which brings me to tonight. I flush at the thought of what I’ve done. There is truly no fool like a forty-four-year-old idiot.

I hear voices and follow them into the lounge. The room is unrecognisable. The broken fireplace surround has been replaced with light oak with hand-carved animal details. The blue-and-white tiles are from the Netherlands. The walls are painted a warm saffron colour, and new French windows open onto what will soon be a large flagstone patio.

Artie stands talking to Tyler the apprentice. Heat washes over me as I observe my fake husband. He’s wearing faded jeans that cling to his small, round arse and an old blue jumper of mine. It’s far too big, and although he’s rolled up the sleeves, it drowns him. Seeing him in it, I want to beat my chest and shout, “Mine!”

He looks up and his whole face lights in the special smile he seems to only give me. It’s wide and so warm, and I wonder again vaguely if I’m in the middle of a midlife crisis. If so, it feels too good to stop it.

“You’re home. How did the meeting go?” he asks.

“About as well as you’d imagine with Raff involved. I’d do the world of wedding planners a favour if I gagged him on a permanent basis.”

He chuckles and gestures at Tyler. “We have a tiny problem.”

I’m about to point out there is nothing small about the problem that is Tyler, but Artie’s eyes stop me. Their warning twinkle sends a frisson through me, but I’ve learnt lately that there’s nothing about Artie thatdoesn’tgive me a thrill.

“Oh yes?” I finally say.

Tyler shifts nervously, and my eyes narrow in interest.

Artie pats his arm. He’s a foot shorter than Tyler, yet he seems like the grown-up. “I told you he wouldn’t be mad.”

“And I said I was a little bit concerned about your view of the situation.”

“Oh, his bark’s worse than his bite,” Artie says blithely.

“Only if he doesn’t draw blood, Mr Walker.”

“Are you actually talking about me?” I say mildly.

Tyler looks at me, and I bare my teeth at him in a sinister smile out of Artie’s view. His eyes widen. Artie spins around, and I blink innocently. “What’s happened now?”

“Well, there’s been a small accident.”

“Of course there has.”

He shakes his head, his eyes still twinkling. “It’s the en suite in the guest room.”

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