Shit, this is ridiculous.
I barely lift a foot off the floor before my intention to claim back my scarf is halted. He lifts it to his nose and watches me as he inhales deeply. The muscles between my thighs go into spasm. I burn up. I can’t move. But I can talk. Just. ‘My scarf, please.’
He starts taking slow steps backwards, keeping my scarf where it is for a few moments before he slowly lowers it, revealing a smile that could floor every woman in a ten-mile radius. ‘Payment for saving you.’
What? Saving me? I’m jobless because of him. The man is delusional. And too fucking hot for his own good. I swallow and close my eyes, trying to gather my patience. It takes far longer than I’d like, and when I finally open them, ready to take on this annoying idiot, he’s gone.
Air hits my lungs and burns them, and my hand goes to my chest when the rate of my heartbeat suddenly registers. It’s frantic, wild, fighting within the constraints of my chest.
What on earth?
I push my way round the door and land on the street. He’s nowhere to be seen. My hand goes to my neck again, just to check my scarf isn’t there, just to check I didn’t imagine what just happened. My neck is bare. If my pulse wasn’t thudding in my veins, I would think I’d dreamed that.
Payment for saving you.
I laugh under my breath and start taking slow, tentative steps towards the main road.
No, arsehole, you didn’t save me. You ruined my fucking day.
Chapter 2
I let myself into the communal door of my building, just as I hang up to my mum. She seemed well – positive, actually. It was lovely to hear but difficult to match. I fed her a load of rubbish, told her my first interview went great and I expect to hear from them. I couldn’t tell her the truth.
I take the stairs to my first-floor flat slowly, feeling a little weary, but liking the sense of belonging that grows as I come closer to my front door, despite the limited furniture and personal effects. I’ve slowly formed a home that’s something close to cosy – and it really is cosy – but I’m bordering on skint as a result.
Slipping my key into the lock, I push the door open and drop my bags before kicking off my heels on a sigh. The part of me that knows my dad wasn’t all too fond of me venturing into the daunting world of the antiquity business wonders, stupidly, whether he’s influencing all this bad luck. Trying to get me back to Helston to run his junk shop. I wince. ‘I didn’t mean that, Dad.’
My mobile rings, and I retrieve it from my bag, groaning when I see the number of the estate agent I’ve hired to sell my dad’s shop. ‘Hello.’ I drop down on to my couch.
‘Miss Cole, Edwin Smith here from Smith and Partners.’
‘Hi, Edwin. Any news for me?’
‘Well, you see, we’ve had plenty of people through the door, but, frankly, Miss Cole, potential buyers are struggling to see past the junk that’s piled ceiling high.’
My blood heats, his statement cutting deep. ‘Junk?’ I ask, not bothering to tame the insult in my tone, and ignoring the fact that I constantly refer to my father’s treasure as junk.
There’s a slight pause before he speaks again. ‘The stock,’ he says diplomatically. ‘I think it would benefit everyone if it was cleared from the shop. Buyers will see the amazing potential without . . . the stock cluttering the generous space. And you’ll get your sale far quicker. I’m working in your best interest, Miss Cole,’ Edwin adds. ‘It’s been on the market for over a month with no bites. Alternatively, we could revise the asking price.’
‘Not an option,’ I reply without hesitation. What we’ll get for Dad’s store will barely cover the mortgage on the place. Mum needs relieving of the financial strain.
I sigh. ‘I’ll make arrangements to have the shop cleared,’ I assure him, knowing deep down he’s right. The shop looks like a scrapyard at best, but the thought of brutally sifting through the many eclectic things my father hoarded over the years fills me with dread. My guilt for abandoning his business to chase my dreams still lingers. It’s a daily battle to stop it from overwhelming my efforts to move on. Going back to Helston to face his shop again will only make that battle harder. I let out a little laugh. Yes, because everything is going so well here in London.
‘Thank you, Miss Cole.’ Edwin hangs up, and I put my head in my hands for a few despondent moments before a light rap on the door pulls my attention back up. I’m frowning as I wander to the door and pull it open.
‘Hi.’ A voice hits me before I can see who’s standing in the corridor. A woman. She’s smiling brightly, her blond bob styled perfectly.
‘Hello.’ I cock my head questioningly.
‘I heard you come in. Thought I’d introduce myself. I’m Lucy.’ Her hand comes towards me. ‘Lucy Bason. I moved in the week before you. I live across the hall.’
I take her hand. ‘I’m Eleanor.’
My new neighbour’s bubbly presence is hard not to smile at. ‘Are you from around here?’ she asks.
‘No.’ I shake my head, thinking I feel like a fish out of water, and I probably look like one, too. ‘I come from the West Country.’
‘Oh,’ she sings, delighted. ‘I’m new in town, too.’
‘How are you finding it?’
She rolls her eyes. It’s a small gesture, but her tired expression makes me feel better. She looks like she’s struggling as well.
‘Tough,’ she admits, enhancing my relief. At least I’m not the only one. ‘But I got a job today at an accounting firm, so I guess it isn’t all bad.’
My relief is shot down in flames. She has a job. That’s more than I have. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thanks.’ She smiles, but it quickly falls into a frown. ‘You okay?’
I sigh, giving up on the chirpy act. Today has been a challenge. ‘I had an interview. It was a total fail.’ I avoid why, unable to muster the strength to go into details.
‘Oh.’ Lucy deflates with me. ‘That’s too bad.’
‘It’s fine.’ I wave a hand dismissively. ‘The job wasn’t really for me.’ A lie. It was right up my street, and I’m feeling a little bitter about it. ‘There’s potentially another position coming up very soon. Fingers crossed.’
‘What’s meant for you won’t go by you.’
I smile as I step back and open the door wider. ‘I’m sorry, would you like to come in?’
‘Sure.’ She smiles brightly, drawing one from me too, and bursts into my flat.