Page 25 of After Felix (Close Proximity #3)

I give an unobtrusive sigh and get ponderously to my feet. “I’m going to the bathroom,” I say. When he makes as if to come and help me, I give him a horrified stare. “Please do not help me,” I say faintly. “I’m more than capable of taking a piss by myself.”

“Your loss,” he says, turning to leave. He pauses by the door. “Oh, your housekeeper said breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes. I sort of got the impression that you wouldn’t be ignoring her?”

I shudder. “ Never,” I say fervently. “It was less trouble to ignore Hitler. That woman is bloody scary.”

“I noticed that,” he says solemnly. “Luckily, she found out that I’m your ex, so she’s treating me like I’m made of glass and likely to break at any second.”

“Probably expects you to collapse in a heap, sobbing from your recollections of our brief time together,” I say before I can think. To my relief, he just laughs.

“She’s treating me as if we’re comrades in some war I wasn’t aware of fighting.”

I shudder. “God help me if the two of you were ever to combine forces.”

“Maybe you should consider that in the timing of your ablutions,” he advises me, and then with a wave of his hand he’s gone.

I used to be able to exist on very little sleep and could be fully awake as soon as I opened my eyes.

It’s a talent that saved my life many times, but I’m a slow riser nowadays.

Once I left journalism, my early morning rush became a lot more leisurely, almost like a tortoise pottering along.

However, today I’m very aware Felix is downstairs, so I rush through my early morning routine as if I’ve got the scoop of the century.

And even though this morning it feels like he ran over every bit of my body, I take the stairs with a smile on my face, listening to Mrs Finch’s laughter as he says something that’s undoubtedly either scandalous or sharply snarky or a mixture of the two.

When I come into the dining room, I find the two of them laughing together. They turn their faces to me, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that they’ve been laughing at me.

“Oh, great,” I say. “You’ve joined together. How lovely for the fate of the world.”

“It’s not the world you should be concerned about, Mr Travers,” my housekeeper sniffs. “Now, I’m off to get your breakfast. Hopefully, you can manage to eat it without destroying another area of the house and creating work for me.” She looks at Felix. “Gunpowder,” she says and exits the room.

“What is the gunpowder reference? Were you friends with Guy Fawkes in your early years?”

“Haha,” I say sourly, enjoying his laugh when it comes.

“I’m not quite that old. No, I experimented with something in my study, and it had rather a startling effect.

” I stare at him and shrug. “It only blew a couple of the windows out, but Mrs Finch won’t let me forget about it.

The woman has the memory of an elephant. ”

“How did she come to work for you?”

I reach over the table, intending to pour myself some tea from the pot, but, witnessing my wince of pain, Felix takes over the task. I smile gratefully at him and take a sip, trying to conceal my pleasure in the fact that he’s remembered how I take it.

“I’m not sure, to be honest,” I confide. “Her sister housekeeps for the couple next door, and Mrs Finch appeared one day and sort of informed me that she considered I’d be fortunate to employ her.”

He bites his lip, and his eyes light up. They’re the colour of old pennies today and look almost translucent in the sunlight. “So, you did as she said?”

“Of course, I did,” I say, slightly offended. “You’ve just met her for Christ’s sake. If she’d announced it to Saddam Hussein, he’d have jumped too.”

Mrs Finch comes into the room at that point, interrupting his laughter and carrying my breakfast which she positions in front of me as if I’m some sort of dangerous animal.

Felix’s mouth twitches, but he says nothing, and for a few minutes, the room is silent apart from the clinking of cutlery and the distant sound of the radio in the kitchen.

I relish the silence with him just as much as I do the witty chat. He has a comfortable way about him which is ironic for someone as sharp and snarky as he is. I’ve always been at ease with him, and he interests me like no one else I’ve ever met—even Ivo.

Finally, he pushes his plate away. “I’d better get dressed,” he says, and I know I’m imagining the reluctance in his voice.

“Why?” I ask, slightly panicked.

He shakes his head, looking at me chidingly. “You’re not concussed, and apart from your arm inconveniencing you, you’ll be fine. So, I’m going back. There’s a train in an hour.” He stands.

“Wait,” I say far too loudly.

He hesitates for a moment, but then lowers himself back to the chair. I take a fortifying breath. What I’m about to do is highly risky and could quite easily backfire on me, given Felix’s temperament. But I’ve got to try because this might be my last chance.

“I need your help,” I say, leaning forward.

His eyebrows rise. “Why?”

“Well, you’ve fractured my arm.” His eyes flare, and I quickly say, “I mean, obviously it was an accident.” I pause.

“Brought about by you not concentrating on your driving, to be honest.” If he could incinerate me with his eyes, I’d already be ash, but I carry on.

“But despite whose fault it was, I find myself in a position where I need your help for the next couple of months.”

“Really? What for?” His voice is posh and regulated, but there’s a snap to the consonants.

“Well, I’m in the middle of writing a book, and now I find myself in a situation where I can’t type anything.”

“Dictate,” he says, snapping the word off.

I wave my hand cavalierly. “I can’t do that.”

“Why? Do you absolutely loathe the sound of your own voice?” His sweetly poisonous tone startles a laugh out of me.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Felix. I adore the sound of my own voice,” I say pompously.

“It brings sunshine and positivity to all the people in the world who most need it.” He rolls his eyes, and I repress a laugh.

“For some reason, dictating doesn’t work.

Last week I used the word fucking, and it changed everything to ducking.

I mean how many times a day do I use the word ducking?

It’s a fucking lot less than I say fuck.

” I smile at him, and the words come quickly.

They should, because I practised them for ages last night.

“I have the European leg of my book tour to get through and a book to finish. I have fan letters and hundreds of emails that need answering. I need an assistant.” I pause and take an unobtrusive breath. “And I think that’s you.”

“ What? ” His eyes narrow dangerously.

I shrug in an unconcerned manner even though the expression he’s wearing has always made my balls shrink.

“Think about it, Felix. You were my brother’s assistant for years, and now you’ve maimed his sibling, you should be mine for a bit.

” He opens his mouth to interrupt, but I carry on talking.

“I’d pay you, of course, and the agency for your time, and you’d find it really easy work.

I just need someone to help me now…” I give a sad, dramatic pause and a little sigh. “Now that I’m down an arm.”

His expression conveys that he’s contemplating testicular homicide. I hope it’s just a passing thought, but I cross my legs quickly, not wanting to risk it.

He taps his fingers on the table, staring at me with an inscrutable expression.

I suppress the urge to fidget. “So what you’re saying is that because I ran into you, which was entirely your fault as you were lying on the ground pretending to be dead, that I now owe you duties as your very own personal assistant?

” he asks coolly. “I am to look after you, answer your emails, type up your book, and organise you from one corner of Europe’s bookshops to the other. ”

There’s a long silence. “Well, I don’t think it’s too much to ask,” I say primly. “It’s actually the least you can do after injuring me.”

“And what does Zeb have to say about this?”

I remember Zeb’s initial four-letter-word response when I unveiled my plan last night and conceal a wince.

“Oh, he thinks it’s the perfect solution,” I say airily.

“Says you can have the two months off happily. Bev can handle it all, apparently. He’ll be around, and you’ll be on the other end of the line if she needs anything else.

He says to pay yourself a bonus too,” I continue, making a mental note to transfer the money to Zeb before he strangles me.

I’m paraphrasing Zeb very loosely at the moment because his actual words were, “Fuck right off. I’m not doing anything to help you with this insane plan.”

Felix drums his fingers on the table. “So, you're actually blackmailing me to leave my own life and follow you around and be your gopher for the next two months ?”

I nod. When there’s no sign of temper or humour in his expression, I shift nervously. This is never a good sign with Felix. He’s at his most evil when he’s calm .

“Well, that’s just perfect,” he says.

“What?”

“You want an assistant that badly, then you can deal with the consequences, Max.”

I swallow hard. “ Consequences ?”

“Let’s be honest and just call them repercussions,” he says sweetly, the light of battle burning bright in his eyes.

And even though I’ve just signed up for whatever retribution he can rain down on me—I can already hear him sniping and snarking and plotting—having him near will be worth more to me than a ransom of gold.