He rubbed his jaw, taking a second to formulate his reply. “Like I said. I’m clearly ignorant. I’m possibly even as obnoxiously privileged as you think I am. And I don’t like that.”
“So… Go volunteer at a food bank.”
He gave her a teasing look, complete with a suggestive lift of his eyebrows. “There’s a pool.”
“What?”
“At my place. There’s a private residents’ swimming pool. Gym. Sauna. Residents’ bar and lounge. My flat has three double en suites, a balcony…”
“Roscoe. Seriously. You don’t need to sell your flat to me. I’ve seen it. But this is… Is this even…like…legal? Work-wise, at least. You’re my boss. I can’t live at your place.”
“I won’t be there. We’ll only see each other the same as we do now, at work. And I’ve let colleagues crash at my place before. Aubrey lived there for a month after a breakup. It’s no different to that.”
She sat back, arms folded, and fixed him with a look. “This is mad.”
“But…sort of fun, right? Come on, try to pretend you won’t enjoy the thought of me crammed onto a commuter train with nothing but a dry crust for breakfast.”
She snorted. “Iwouldenjoy that. But even more enjoyable to imagine is the thought of you coping with Lecherous Dave.”
“What? Who?”
“My flatmate.”
“And he’s called Lecherous because…?”
“All the worst reasons you can imagine.” She laughed to herself. “He showers with the bathroom door open.”
Roscoe grimaced.
“I think he thinks it’s going to entice me. That I’ll get a glimpse and not be able to help myself. But do you know what it really reminds me of? You know those doner kebab shops…? Actually, you probably don’t.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know them. I do actually exist in the same world as you. I’ve walked down the same streets. I’ve been drunk in the pub and got hungry on the way home.”
“And you eat doner kebabs? Garlic mayo? The works?”
“Admittedly, not since my student days.”
“Ofcourse. Well, anyway, that’s what Dave reminds me of. Those big meaty slabs, glistening with oil…”
“Urgh, God, stop.” Roscoe held up a hand, wincing.
“You’ll be seeing it for real if we do this. I’m just warning you what you’re letting yourself in for. Although maybe that’s a privilege he reserves just for me.”
She sat back again, considering it properly this time. Roscoe was looking at her, head slightly tilted, basically giving her puppy-dog eyes. And that was unfair. He ought to need a license for that expression.
How had they got to this point? Maybe she had banged her head when she fainted and this was all a coma-dream. It would make more sense. Being carried in Roscoe’s arms, him holding her while she wept, him feeding her and…and…caring…and looking at her like he really meant what he was saying. Didn’t they hate each other? Weren’t they enemies? He thought she was a slutty user and she despised his arrogance and riches?
“Seriously, though,” she said. “We can’t. Your workload, Roscoe. You need to be close to the office. Living in your own place, with your own stuff. You need food and sleep and…and…a working phone charger.”
“You need all those things, too.”
She had no answer to that. He was right. Why did she feel it was somehow more important for him than her? Because of who he was? Because he earnt more? Because he was somehow better than her? Or maybe it was because he had more responsibility at work. She was replaceable. He was not.
“Say yes to this,” he said, “and I will transfer over all my calls, my emails, my diaries. Everything. You’ll get to pamper and coddle me the way you’ve been begging to.”
He said it teasingly, mischief in his eyes—thinking the joke was of course what she had just been reminding herself: that she despised him. But she blushed.
Roscoe’s eyes dipped to the blush on her cheeks. He stood up, went to lean against the sideboard. He drummed his fingers against the edge of it where he gripped the wood—a firm, determined beat. “A month. We’ll agree to do it for a month, and if it’s having an adverse effect, then we’ll swap back.”
