“Never be able to repay you,” he said, his voice rough. “You girls want to use my gaffe for some of your weird shenanigans, you do it.”
Libby used to be Steve’s star dancer a few years ago. She’d had her daughter Rosie when she was seventeen and had put herself through medical school by dancing. But she was a gymnast, and within the first year of working for him she’d convinced Steve that handsprings and back flips coupled with burlesque, rather than just pole dancing and stripping, would make the club unique – that it would bring in big business. His takings had tripled in the first six months. After that, he gave Libby free rein to train and choreograph the other dancers, and choose the routines. Before long, his club was the most famous in London. Libby hadn’t danced for him since she’d married Jamie and qualified as a doctor, but we still went back to the club for funsies all the time, and to see Claire and Tara who had taken over as the star performers.
“Order some drinks at least,” Steve grumbled, pushing away from the table and stalking off in the direction of the bouncers. He ruffled Millie’s hair as he went past and she gave him a small smile. Millie was still too shy to really speak to Steve, even after knowing him for the last six years, but he had a soft spot for her nonetheless.
Libby elbowed me. “Hey, you’re up, hostess with the mostest.”
I focused on the stage to see Claire up there in her angel outfit, holding a microphone and waving me over. Giving her a wide grin, I pushed up from the table and strutted over to the steps at the side of the stage. Once I was next to Claire, and she’d lowered the mic by about a foot, the stage lights all swung to me.
.
Chapter 27
Charade
Barclay
“You could have fucked me last night and it would have beenfine, Henry!”
I came to an abrupt stop at the kitchen door. A woman was shouting at my brother in my kitchen at nine in the morning about fucking him. Such was my life nowadays in the post Kira era.
“So I think a bit of snogging and me sleeping in your bed will hardly a problem. You can’t transmit the bloody virus,” To my shock I recognised the voice as Kim’s. She’d always seemed so quiet and soft spoken when I’d met her before. “Your viral load is undetectable so your HIV is untransmittable. There is no risk!”
Shit. I debated creeping back to my office but wanted to be here in case she pushed Henry too far. So I hovered just outside the door.
“Kimmy,” Henry started, his voice strained. “Let’s go and . . .”
“No,” she cut him off. “No more privatechatswhich consist of you informing me of all the reasons we won’t work. As if you are the Big Knowledge and I’m just a stupid little girl who doesn’t know what she wants. News flash arsehole: I’m a thirty-two-year-old, professional, well-educated woman and I don’t need you mansplaining my own goddamn feelings for me.”
“Listen, Iknowthere’s no risk but that doesn’t mean that last night wasn’t still a mistake,” Henry said. “I had too much tequila. I shouldn’t have brought you home. We shouldn’t have . . .”
“I’m in love with you, you big idiot.”
Henry’s voice was agonised now. “Kimmy, you can’t – ”
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. Be brave enough to admit you don’t care about me, rather than making up all these excuses why we can’t be together.”
“OfcourseI bloody love you,” Henry shouted. I had been reaching for the door handle but I froze. “It’sbecauseI love that I won’t let you waste yourself with me, living half a life.”
“It wouldn’t be half a life,” Kim said, her voice now cracking. “If I’m with you it will beeverything, don’t you see that? Don’t you understand thatyournoble sacrifice will bemybroken heart.” She let out a proper sob and I heard Henry’s footsteps cross the kitchen.
“Kimmy, please don’t cry,” he said, his voice unsteady;
“J–j–just be h–honest if you don’t want me,” Kim said, her voice muffled now, I assumed by Henry’s chest. “Don’t f–f–feed me this b–bullshit about protecting me.”
“Of course I want you,” he told her. “But I can’t let you–”
I chose that moment to push into the kitchen. They both sprung apart as the door swung open and turned to me with shocked expressions. Kim was wearing one of Henry’s shirts. They both looked hung-over and more than a little dishevelled.
“Oh, man up already, Henry,” I said. I was so tired of Henry sabotaging any chance he had of happiness.
“Don’t tell him to man up,” Kim said, scowling at me now instead of my brother, which I thought was a far better turn of events. “This is hard for him.”
“He’s got a chronic illness. Would he be telling the woman he loves to bugger off if he had diabetes? No.”
Both of them were scowling across at me now. Good. I stared at Henry.
“You never used to be a coward,” I said.
