Page 74 of Behind Frenemy Lines

Charles nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”

“I don’t think I’ve got any meetings Monday morning. You’ll lead it, right? Do I need to do any prep?”

“It’s mostly so the client can bring in ID. We’ll need to clear conflicts. I should probably email the CDD team so they can kick it off first thing in the morning.” Charles looked sideways at me, apologetic. “Sorry. This probably wasn’t what you wanted to wake up to. I ran out and got milk from Tesco, I could make you a coffee—”

I leaned over and kissed him. Charles made a little surprised noise. Then he put his arms around me and kissed me back.

“That would be nice,” I said, when we came up for air. “I need to get ready. I’ve got to head out for my clinic soon.”

“OK.” Charles looked dazed. He blinked, sat up, and said, “Yes. Coffee. I’ll do that.”

The coffee was good. I’d been sceptical about my friends’ claims about Charles’s cooking skills—I’d only seen him make rice and boil some eggs, which hardly seemed MasterChef worthy to me—but he could certainly make coffee. We drank it at my small dining table, our knees touching.

As I was leaving, I said, “You know where everything is, right? I should be back around four. Don’t spend the whole day working.”

“I won’t,” said Charles. We kissed again: this time, a chaste press of the lips, as though we’d been together for years.

Were we together? I should probably ask.

At some point. I didn’t feel the need to have that conversation yet. For now, it felt enough to enjoy this, whatever it was.

It was probably a terrible idea to be doing it with the guy I shared an office with. But it didn’t feel like a terrible idea. It felt right.

Charles took my advice. When I got back from a day of filling out forms and writing letters and trying to advise people in impossible situations, Charles was in the kitchen. There were bags on the floor, full of groceries he was busy putting away.

“I went to Chinatown,” he said. “Thought I could make dinner. Do you like noodles?”

“I love noodles. Sounds perfect.” I put down my bag, shrugged off my blazer, and got stuck in, helping him empty the shopping bags.

Charles put a bag of frozen tiger prawns in a bowl of water to defrost, then turned to me, wiping his hands. “Good day?”

“Yeah.” I told him about the clinic: It had been set up by a former City lawyer who’d got the idea of getting her mates working in the City to come along to give free legal advice to asylum seekers and refugees. I’d first got involved as a trainee at my old firm. “It’s more tiring than the work we do, in a way. It’s more personal. But it’s rewarding.”

“That makes sense,” said Charles, but I wasn’t sure he was paying much attention to the words. He was watching my mouth.

I glanced around the kitchen: the prawns thawing in the sink, vegetables waiting on the counter to be cut. “It’s nice of you to do this.”

“I wanted to do something for you,” said Charles.

I smiled at him, touched. “Aw, Charles.”

“Kriya,” he said, his voice low, and kissed me.

The kiss was hungry, as if Charles had been thinking about this all day. Waiting for me.

I pressed myself against him, humming encouragingly, but after a moment Charles pulled away.

“I also bought condoms,” he said.

“Fantastic. We love a man who can share the mental load.”

Charles’s eyebrows drew together. “What?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “We can talk about it another time.”

I drew him in, and he came very willingly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

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