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“Dad…” My son was a pain in the arse. A pain I loved.

“How are my grandchildren?” I asked, and the two of them just grinned at me.

“At sports camp. All day. Which means the two of us are finally having some well-needed alone time, and you should go and get yourself laid.”

I hung up on them, shuddering with unease.

Laid? Me? I didn’t even self-pleasure these days, having lost the will to actually engage with any kind of sexualthoughts. I was too tired. Too busy. Excuses, but I had no drive to do anything like that.

Perhaps I was scared, frightened that my equipment down there didn’t work anymore. How long had it been? Thirty years? Maybe that was totally normal. Or maybe not.

I went back to sleep, only to be awoken early in the morning by someone knocking on the patio doors.

Weird. But okay.

I must have looked a mess—half-dressed and dishevelled—but here was Jean, dressed in a power suit and holding a cup of tea. In one of my mugs.

“I do apologise for the wake-up call, but if I remember rightly, you have no further driving assignments this week, and we desperately need a lift. It’s rather urgent.”

“Oh?” I gulped out, managing to accept the cup in my hand while trying to cover my chest with the curtain. What was I like? She dutifully turned away.

“Stewart, Dylan needs to be at The Exchange for a meeting with Gun Larsen in twenty minutes. I have just about got him out of bed and into the shower and, well, it’s either you driving us or calling an Uber. It’s eight in themorning, and the wait will be ridiculous. Hence here I am, begging.”

“The Exchange. At least half an hour at this time in the morning.”

“Then we’d better get a move on.”

She flicked her hair. Short and sharp. Just like her. I liked Jean. In another world, maybe I would have offered to take her out for dinner. A glass of wine in a fancy bar somewhere. Discussed the weather… No. I didn’t mix business with pleasure, and Jean… I couldn’t even picture it, being intimate on any sort of level. Shaking myself out of those weird thoughts that kept popping up in my head, I pulled on some trousers and sprayed deodorant under my arms like an unhinged teenager.

I probably stank. I needed a shave. God help me.

Still, I got the car running, having locked up my house, and Jean was already getting in the back with a large folder of documents in her arms. Dylan followed, looking as shell-shocked as I was.

“You two are like my sons in their university days. I outgrew getting men out of their beds decades ago. Seriously. Our working day starts at eight, Monday to Friday. Basics, gentlemen. I will expect better from now on.”

“I didn’t get Gun Larsen’s message until ten minutes ago,” Dylan complained. “I can’t mind-read.”

“Neither can I, but we know her schedule now and will be up, awake and anticipating her next point of contact every morning from now on, like the professionals we are.”

“I have no idea what she wants.”

Dylan was trying to blend into the back seat. I caught his eyes in the rear-view mirror and blushed. I had no idea why, but he looked at me and I reacted. I hated that I did. That I couldn’t just be relaxed and behave like a normal human being.

Whatever that was, because I was honestly losing my marbles. I was never like this. I didn’t fancy people, I did not go on dates, and I certainly did not fancy my very handsome neighbour, who looked like he needed a hug.

I wanted to scream at my reflection in the rear view mirror as I overtook in a bus lane and cut up the car behind me. My car was bigger. I usually drove with more care than this, but at the same time, I understood what was at stake here, and I hoped there would be a place to at least get a hot drink nearby while I waited.

Turned out I didn’t have to worry about that, since The Exchange had valet parking. A young man who didn’t look old enough to be away from his mother, let alone have a licence, opened my door and gestured for me to get out.

“The driver’s lounge is on the left. I will send word when you are needed again.”

For a second, I wondered if my car was being hijacked from right under my nose. But then, this was The Exchange. The most exclusive private club in London. Of course they would provide this kind of service.

Dylan and Jean had disappeared through the main entrance, and I felt out of place despite wearing a suit and tie, albeit one hastily thrown on in a bright moment. But the doorman leading me through the side entrance was smiling, and the driver’s lounge was a nice enough room filled with plush sofas, where the whiff of fresh coffee made me swoon.

“Good morning, sir. How are you today?”

The name tag readAnoushka, and her smile was as blinding as her teeth, but the girl was a welcome sight, putting a plate of breakfast pastries in front of me.