Page 47 of Just a Taste
‘The gym I can get,’ Noelle says, continuing on, completely oblivious to my train of thought. ‘But the bathroom? It’s gorgeous and, well, not trying to be rude, but not veryyou.’
Despite everything, I can’t help but smirk at that. ‘Not very me?’
Noelle squirms slightly in her seat. ‘I just can’t imagine you filling up the tub and soaking in a bath filled with soap and bombs. It’s very…domestic.’
‘I can’t be domestic?’
She stares pointedly at my laptop and the plethora of spreadsheets currently taking up the screen. ‘I don’t know. Can you?’
‘Yes,’ I say stiffly, even though it’s been at least a year since I last, as Noelle put it, filled up the tub and soaked in it. The en-suite attached to my bedroom has a shower and that’s been more than enough for me recently. ‘I just don’t have the time.’
‘But if you did have the time…’ Noelle says, like she’s goading me on.
‘If I did,’ I concede slowly, ‘then yes, I’d use my gym and make full use of that bathtub upstairs.’
‘And the bath bombs…?’
My cheeks suddenly feel warm. ‘I like them.’
She laughs, leaning in a little closer, her voice teasing. ‘Oh, so youdohave a soft side. Who would’ve thought? Alexander Hoxton, tech mogul, drowning in bath bombs and pretending to have no time for luxury.’
I roll my eyes, trying to suppress my own smile creeping up on me. ‘I’m not pretending. I don’t know. I like having those things available when Icantake the time. It’s just—’ I pause, the words suddenly feeling heavier in my mouth than I’d intended. ‘I don’t get to take the time.’
Noelle tilts her head and her smile softens into something more understanding.
I think she’s about to say something, but then she shakes her head suddenly and pushes herself up from the table. I watch as she marches towards the cutlery drawer and pulls out a large wooden spoon. Then she turns on me and says, ‘You need a break.’
CHAPTER ELEVENAlex
Now it’s my turn to stare, dumbfounded, at her.
She wags the wooden spoon in my direction, and there’s a look of what I’ve come to recognise as faux sternness on her face. ‘Come on. You’ve been staring at that screen all day and you’re frowning so hard, I’m worried your face will get stuck that way.’
I give her a wry grin. ‘My mother used to say that when I was younger.’
‘Glad to hear that you’ve always been consistently grumpy and it’s not just amething.’
I frown. ‘Ayouthing?’
She shrugs and gives me a low, self-deprecating kind of laugh. ‘It’s not important.’
I open my mouth to argue – this is absolutelyimportant – but she stops me in my tracks as she strides towards the other end of the kitchen and begins throwing cupboards open and pulling out bowls.
‘What’simportantis that you have some fun. Relax a little.’ She glances over her shoulder and wiggles her brows. ‘Get into the Christmas spirit.’
‘It’s December 23rd,’ I parrot for the second time today.
She laughs, and it’s her proper laugh this time. The sound is light and clear, like bells over the howl of the wind outside.
‘Haven’t we already established that, for me, Christmas and all its nonsense encompasses the entirety of December?’ I ask.
Noelle ignores me. Instead, she dips into another cupboard and pulls out the monstrosity of an apron she wore the other night. ‘Here. Put this on.’
I don’t make a move and her smile hardens into something lethal.
‘Hoxton.’
‘Ms Jones.’
