“Fucking Toby,” he muttered. “Interfering prick.”
“I think Toby wants the best design for the project and he’s trying to help you to see reason.”
“He’s trying to dosomething,that’s for sure,” he said under his breath.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that Toby doesn’t give a shit about the architecture of that building. What he gives a shit about is winding me up, which he knows that by sending you round here he’ll be doing in spades.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What does Toby know about–?”
Harry huffed and took a step out onto the front porch, forcing me to take a step down and putting me at even more of a height disadvantage.
“There’s nothing to know. What happened at school is ancient history. Toby’s just seen us arguing and knows sending you here will effectively ruin my weekend.”
I uncrossed my arms and pointed at him accusingly. “So, youdoadmit to remembering me. I knew it!”
His jaw clenched and the muscles of his arm bunched more as he tightened the grip on the back of his neck.
“I may have dredged my memory banks over the last week and come up with some vague recollections.”
“You’re full of shit, hedgehog. You remember me just fine.” I was entirely over his bullshit and I wasn’t going to stand outside his house like a creep any longer. “And you’re going to make me a cup of tea, admit you’re a grudge-holding little bitch, and let me convince you to use my company for your project.”
“Wow,” he said deadpan. “That all sounds like such a super fun way to spend my Saturday, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
I narrowed my eyes at his stupid, overlarge chest and felt the anger simmer up. It wasn’t often I allowed myself to feel this much emotion. I was the level-headed one out of me and Max – the one who dealt with the difficult clients, who negotiated the tricky deals, who smoothed things over. It had been the same with Heath when we were children. There were plenty of reasons to lose our tempers back then, but I worked out early on that it never achieved anything. Heath would rage against what we were put through, whereas I preferred to work under the radar to sort what I could in the circumstances. Tamping down anger and expressed emotion had always been the best way for me – but all that control seemed to fly out of the window when it came to Harry.
Just then a huge, ugly, ginger cat with an almost comically squashed face emerged from the doorway. It rubbed itself on Harry’s legs before looking up at me and blinking. Instinctively I leaned down to stroke the cat then gently picked it up to cradle it against my chest. This was no mean feat – the thing was bloody massive and had clearly been overfed. I looked Harry squarely in the face.
“Either you let me in, or I’m taking your cat.” My arms were straining now under the weight of the huge ball of orange fur, but I was determined to style it out. It didn’t help that the cat had gone completely limp, acting like a dead weight as it relaxed into my hold as if my arms and chest were a comfortable place for a nap.
“You’re not going to take my cat, Verity.” His words sounded confident, and I knew he was going for unaffected, but I noticed that flash of concern across his face. He loved this ugly orange nightmare.
“Try me.”
After hesitating for another few seconds Harry finally sighed and moved out of the doorway, allowing me to stroll through it. As soon as I could I put the cat down. It gave me an annoyed look as if I’d disturbed a good sleep, twitched its tail and strolled off down the corridor.
“Great, now you’ve pissed her off. I’ll be paying for that for days,” he muttered darkly as he closed his front door and then led the way through to his kitchen.
“How exactly can your cat punish you?”
“You don’t want to know.”
As we moved into the kitchen space I paused: clean white surfaces everywhere, no clutter, shiny floors. Order and cleanliness were really important to me and Heath, but while Heath had leaned towards modern clean lines, I tended to like cosy comfort. This space did not say cosy or inviting in any way. Again, it was something that didn’t seem to gel with the Harry I knew from school.
“Right, what do you want?” He’d put the kitchen island between us and was standing in another defensive pose again. I deliberately took my time pulling out one of his kitchen stools (again white – blurgh!) and sat down.
“We’ve had a disagreement, hedgehog,” I said, scanning the kitchen for a kettle. “But weareBritish, and we’re not animals. Can you at least offer me a cup of tea?”
Harry huffed and turned to pull up a rolling cupboard door which was hiding the kettle as if its presence on his perfect kitchen surfaces would offend his eyeballs. The orange cat jumped up onto the kitchen island (how this was possible considering its massive bulk was unclear), padded its way to the sink and sat its fat arse down. Harry sighed, turned the tap on and waited whilst the orange monster took its time lapping at the running water. Only when it had sauntered off again did Harry fill the kettle.
“Your cat is strangely bossy, and you’re weirdly deferential.”
He shrugged. “Believe me you don’t want to piss Barbara off, and she doesn’t drink standing water.”
I pressed my lips together to avoid smiling. I would not smile at this arsehole, no matter how adorable it was that his cat was terrorising him in his own home. Or the fact she was named Barbara.
He made my tea and plonked it down in front of me. I took a sip and then looked at him – my eyebrows shooting up.
