can’t let you do this. Please don’t. I don’t need you to help me any more. I’ll get it done.’ But there was a rawness to her voice that tugged at his gut. Despite her previous willingness to let him help, she didn’t want anyone working with her unless she could control it. He got that. He didn’t do anything unless he could control it. Usually. Kissing pretty chefs excepted.
‘Cassie, I’m not going to do anything that will sabotage your buffet lunch. Believe me, I know my limits. But I am going to make a cup of tea and tidy up. When you’ve got yourself steady again you can come back in and finish off.’
Her eyes glazed a little and he guessed she was getting dizzy again. ‘Okay. Just for a minute.’
Having settled her in, he went through to the bombsite of a kitchen and his stomach bumped into his boots. She was right—she had used just about every pan and utensil she owned and it would take the best part of an hour to clean up. So he flicked on the kettle and let calm settle over him. Then he found the comprehensive to-do list.
On top of a bank statement. That told him what he’d hankered to know but hadn’t been his business. It was hers, and the huge debt too. No wonder things were getting hard to juggle. Why was she in such financial straits? It wasn’t just silly budgeting. And it had something to do with her ex.
Not his problem. He had enough work to do running his own career.
Which was all well and good, but she was working herself too hard trying to do it on her own.
Still not his problem.
‘Okay, bossy britches. Here’s the tea.’ He wandered back into the lounge with a tray to find her slumped across the sofa. Utterly beautiful and utterly asleep. A picture of stillness—surely the first time ever. Her hair was a puddle of red across a strikingly bright plaid couch. Her chest rose and fell slowly, one arm hanging limply on to the floor. Tiny noises escaped her throat as she exhaled. The room was a stark contrast to his own post-modern mews house, with its sharp corners and one colour throughout. With little furniture, it wasn’t a home; it was a place he stayed when he was in town. But here, this was a home; it felt loved. She inhabited it in full glorious Technicolor. It was right for her—a crazy, chaotic cocoon.
Watching her in here, he felt a strange pull in his heart. Warm. A strong desire to help this wild woman. As if part of him could do that, as if part of him could fit. Comfortable.
And suddenly the urge to run swelled inside him. Because he knew that getting comfortable was always the most dangerous place to be.
* * *
‘Not again. Not again. Not again.’ Cassie looked at the soggy puddle of rubber that used to be a tyre pancaked against the pavement, and her heart dropped to her sensible work shoes. Stupid London roads. Stupid, stupid van. Stupid person, whoever had thoughtlessly left that broken bottle there. The one she’d missed when she’d scooted quickly into the corporate offices carrying heavy crates she could hardly see over. She glanced at her watch and her heart just about puddled alongside the tyre. ‘Not again. Not again. Not again. Please, no.’
Stupid Jack Brennan and his stupid obsession with timekeeping. Sure, he’d been some kind of knight in chef’s clothing—to mix a metaphor or two. He’d finished the food prep, washed up and cleared everything away and made a good shot at roasting tomatoes, then disappeared into the night. Now she owed him. A lot.
But turning up late again, especially to meet his sister and discuss the most important day of her life, was not the clued-up, business-savvy impression she wanted to give either of them.
Plus, she’d had a long talk with herself in the shower this morning and firmly decided that anything other than a formal relationship was crossing a line she wasn’t prepared to cross.
Cassie had her game face on and it was staying there. Or at least it had until now, when all it wanted to do was
‘Cassie, I’m not going to do anything that will sabotage your buffet lunch. Believe me, I know my limits. But I am going to make a cup of tea and tidy up. When you’ve got yourself steady again you can come back in and finish off.’
Her eyes glazed a little and he guessed she was getting dizzy again. ‘Okay. Just for a minute.’
Having settled her in, he went through to the bombsite of a kitchen and his stomach bumped into his boots. She was right—she had used just about every pan and utensil she owned and it would take the best part of an hour to clean up. So he flicked on the kettle and let calm settle over him. Then he found the comprehensive to-do list.
On top of a bank statement. That told him what he’d hankered to know but hadn’t been his business. It was hers, and the huge debt too. No wonder things were getting hard to juggle. Why was she in such financial straits? It wasn’t just silly budgeting. And it had something to do with her ex.
Not his problem. He had enough work to do running his own career.
Which was all well and good, but she was working herself too hard trying to do it on her own.
Still not his problem.
‘Okay, bossy britches. Here’s the tea.’ He wandered back into the lounge with a tray to find her slumped across the sofa. Utterly beautiful and utterly asleep. A picture of stillness—surely the first time ever. Her hair was a puddle of red across a strikingly bright plaid couch. Her chest rose and fell slowly, one arm hanging limply on to the floor. Tiny noises escaped her throat as she exhaled. The room was a stark contrast to his own post-modern mews house, with its sharp corners and one colour throughout. With little furniture, it wasn’t a home; it was a place he stayed when he was in town. But here, this was a home; it felt loved. She inhabited it in full glorious Technicolor. It was right for her—a crazy, chaotic cocoon.
Watching her in here, he felt a strange pull in his heart. Warm. A strong desire to help this wild woman. As if part of him could do that, as if part of him could fit. Comfortable.
And suddenly the urge to run swelled inside him. Because he knew that getting comfortable was always the most dangerous place to be.
* * *
‘Not again. Not again. Not again.’ Cassie looked at the soggy puddle of rubber that used to be a tyre pancaked against the pavement, and her heart dropped to her sensible work shoes. Stupid London roads. Stupid, stupid van. Stupid person, whoever had thoughtlessly left that broken bottle there. The one she’d missed when she’d scooted quickly into the corporate offices carrying heavy crates she could hardly see over. She glanced at her watch and her heart just about puddled alongside the tyre. ‘Not again. Not again. Not again. Please, no.’
Stupid Jack Brennan and his stupid obsession with timekeeping. Sure, he’d been some kind of knight in chef’s clothing—to mix a metaphor or two. He’d finished the food prep, washed up and cleared everything away and made a good shot at roasting tomatoes, then disappeared into the night. Now she owed him. A lot.
But turning up late again, especially to meet his sister and discuss the most important day of her life, was not the clued-up, business-savvy impression she wanted to give either of them.
Plus, she’d had a long talk with herself in the shower this morning and firmly decided that anything other than a formal relationship was crossing a line she wasn’t prepared to cross.
Cassie had her game face on and it was staying there. Or at least it had until now, when all it wanted to do was
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