Page 4

JEM

I come into work the next morning in a strange mood.

I’m not entirely sure how I’d describe the way I’m feeling today. Agitated, maybe. Disrupted, certainly. Nervous?

Hmm. Kind of.

Maybe it’s because I’m not sure how it’s going to play out having Dee in the house while I’m trying to work. She has a knack of getting in my face just as I’m finding a rhythm with something. At least, that’s been my experience so far.

She’s not been living in Bath for very long, but from the moment Bea introduced her to me, there’s been something sort of spiky and off between us.

I think it’s because I find her overconfident, look at me, flirty-teasing attitude a bit difficult to navigate.

It’s virtually impossible to concentrate on anything else whenever she’s in the room – like she sucks up all the energy to power herself, or something.

I don’t know. I can’t quite explain it. I guess my lack of experience when it comes to relationships puts me at a disadvantage here.

So I just try to ignore her, but this seems to make her even more determined to get my attention, for some reason.

It’s all just a bit bloody much . Especially when I’m trying to work.

So I’ve decided the best thing is to give her a wide berth while she’s staying in the flat. There’s plenty of coding work for me to be getting on with while Bea and I wait to hear whether we’ve made it through the upcoming funding round to allow us to take the business to the next level.

This enforced hiatus is also why I said okay to Bea continuing to help Dee out by doing her job at the hotel this week.

Not that she gave me a lot of choice. It was clear she’d already made up her mind she was going to do it.

I figured it was fair enough for her to have a couple of days away from the start-up though, because she’s been working so hard to get us into a position where we’ll be able to hit the ground running when – and I seriously hope it’s when – we get the money behind us that we need to turn it into a going concern.

After letting myself in through the front door to the flat, I’m relieved to find the place is quiet. There’s no Delilah in the kitchen or the office and the door to the bedroom is firmly shut.

Good.

With any luck, she’ll stay in there all day.

I make myself a cup of tea, trying not to think about the weirdness of yesterday when she’d thrown a cup of the stuff at me, then gone gaga when I’d taken my shirt off.

It’s not like she’s never seen a guy half naked before, I’m sure, but maybe her strange reaction was because it was me. The guy she thinks of as some asexual robot that she can’t understand her sister’s friendship with. Like a Ken doll with no sexual organs.

I’m just Jem.

Ugh. What the hell’s wrong with me? Having Dee around seems to have scrambled my brain.

Unfortunately, even though it’s my plan to stay well away from her, it seems it’s not hers and after only an hour and a half of sitting at my desk, I sense the door to the office open. I glance away from my screen to see Dee come hobbling into the room.

‘Morning,’ she says, her voice bright, as if nothing untoward happened yesterday.

Thankfully, she’s dressed and her hair looks wet, as if she’s recently got out of the shower and hasn’t got around to drying it yet.

A rogue thought about how she managed in the shower with her damaged ankle leads to an image of her actually in the shower, and I swallow hard and experience an unwelcome flash of heat across my skin.

No.

I’m definitely not entertaining that thought.

She’s an attractive woman, I’ll admit that, but she’s not my type. She’s way too self-involved and needy.

‘Morning,’ I reply, looking straight back at my monitor. I don’t want her to think it’s okay to just stroll in here and interrupt me when I’m working.

There’s a loaded pause where she hovers near the doorway, as if weighing up the wisdom of trying to talk to me again.

I ignore her.

She gives a low cough, then out of the corner of my eye, I watch her hobble further into the room.

‘Mind if I use Bea’s desk?’ she asks. ‘I’ve got a marketing plan to work on.’

I try not to sigh. It’s going to be impossible to not be distracted by her presence in the room. The palpable aura of restless energy she always gives off makes me vibrate with tension.

But I can’t exactly say no. It’s Bea’s flat and Bea’s desk and she’s invited her sister to stay here.

‘Go for it,’ I mutter, not wanting to sound too keen, in case she thinks I’ll be up for chatting all morning.

‘Thank you kindly,’ she says, her tone level and reasonable, as if she’s understood my tacit request to work quietly.

At least I hope that’s what she’s gleaned from it.

That hope lasts for about twenty minutes.

‘Jem?’

‘Huh?’ I grunt, frustrated at having my concentration broken when I’m in the middle of writing a complex line of code.

‘Can I borrow your phone?’

‘What?’ I finish what I’ve been typing and turn to look at her, not sure I heard her right.

‘Your phone. Can I borrow it for a sec?’

‘Why?’ I ask, suspicious.

What’s she up to?

‘I want to take some photos of my ankle to send to a friend who’s training as a physio. She wants to see what it looks like. I told her, hideous, but she’s professionally fascinated.’

Her tone is light with amusement, but I’m getting the impression she’s bored and trying to get me to play with her.

‘I don’t want photos of your feet on my phone, thanks very much,’ I joke.

She throws up her hands and lets out a loud, exasperated-sounding sigh. ‘Come on, Jem, don’t be such a tight-arse. I only need it for a minute. I’ll delete the pictures the second I’ve sent them to my email, I promise.’ The grin she gives me is one of pure mischief, though.

A pulse starts beating in my throat.

‘I thought you were working on your marketing plan,’ I point out.

‘I am. But I’m finding it hard to concentrate because of the pain in my ankle so I’m just taking a quick break,’ she fires back.

I sit back in my chair and fold my arms, giving her a level stare.

She just stares right back at me.

The confidence on her is something to behold.

Clearly, she’s not going to leave me alone until she’s got what she wants. Typical Dee.

Something occurs to me. ‘Hang on a second. Why can’t you use your own mobile for taking photos?’

A pained frown crosses her face. ‘Because when I twisted my ankle, I dropped it and it bounced down the stairs. It must have damaged the lens on the camera because it won’t work any more.’

Hmm. Is she having me on? I wouldn’t put it past her.

But I also don’t have time for this kind of ridiculous argument. So I sigh, then pull out my phone from my back pocket and hold it out to her.

Getting up from Bea’s desk, she hops over and takes it from me with a smile.

‘Hang on,’ I say, waving for her to give it back to me. There’s no way I’m telling her my PIN. Holding it up to my face, I unlock it, open up the camera app, then hand it back. ‘Be careful with it,’ I warn her.

‘Of course,’ she says, one side of her mouth crooking into another mischievous smile as she hops back to the desk and sits down.

I try not to watch her as she whips off her sock and rolls up the leg of her sweat pants, then starts taking photos of her ankle from all different angles.

Dragging my gaze away, I stare back at the computer monitor, unable to focus on the text right in front of my face.

Something’s bothering me. But I’m not sure what.

There’s a niggle of concern at the back of my brain.

Glancing back over at her, I see her swiping at the screen of my mobile, then staring down at it in what looks like stunned fascination. Surely pictures of her ankle can’t be that interesting.

She blinks a few times, then glances over at me, her eyes a little narrowed.

That does not bode well.

But I shrug off my worry. She’s probably just messing with me again.

There’s nothing incriminating on there.

Is there?

I don’t even want to think about it.

And then I do. And I remember the photo I took the other day. And my blood runs cold.

‘Er, Dee. A-actually, can you give it back,’ I say haltingly, holding out my now shaking hand.

My blood is suddenly thundering through my veins and my face is radiating heat.

She gives me such a penetrating look, I know for sure she’s seen what I really didn’t want her to see.

‘When did you take this photo of my sister?’ she asks. ‘And more to the point – why?’

‘Just give it back,’ I mutter, unable to think of a single good excuse for the picture I have of Bea on my phone.

I’m ashamed to say I took it without her knowing the other day, when the sunshine was pouring in through the large windows and highlighting her golden hair.

She was leaning back in her office chair with her hands behind her head, staring off into the distance, with a small smile on her lips and her eyes shining with an expression of such warmth, I almost asked her what she was thinking about.

But I didn’t want to break the spell. She looked so ethereal, so beautiful, I just wanted to capture it so I could look at it properly again later and remember how it had made me feel, without seeming like a creep.

I know, I know, I should have asked her. But I was too embarrassed to. I didn’t want to have to explain why I wanted it.

It’s been such a long time since I experienced anything approaching peace, what with losing my dad a few years ago and being well on the road to losing Mum too, and right then, looking at Bea, spending quality time with her and being privileged enough to call her a friend, I actually felt a calming sort of contentment.

Like there could be happiness in my future.

Not that I’m about to say all that to Dee.

It’s none of her business how I feel about her sister, or the state of my mind at the moment.

‘I’ll give it back if you tell me about this photo,’ she states, raising both eyebrows in challenge.

‘No deal,’ I counter.