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“He’s a complete dickhead, but his heart seems to be in the right place.”
She laughed, and I smiled to myself.
“I heard rumours that he walks around barking at people,” she said, still giggling, and after a long pause, she added, “Don’t worry about the situation in the club. Rowan Matthews would never get rid of me. I’m great at my job, and I know too many clients and even more secrets. They’d have to kill me first before they let me go.”
Deep down, I felt like a failure because I should have had an amazing career in politics after graduation, if it hadn’t been for my short affair with Jake Marlow—an international pop star. Veronica was making money, but I couldn’t expect her to keep supporting me whilst I was unemployed.
“Don’t say that. Anyway, I better go. Don’t want him to hear us talking.” I lowered my voice again. Damn, I needed to get it together. Spencer Banks was probably still in his office or meeting another woman—whatever it may be, it was none of my business as long as he came home on time, so I could finish up work. I still had to catch the train home.
“Why not? Plenty of ladies frequent the club. I just have to figure out which ones will talk about him,” she added.
Though curious about him, I didn’t want to cross any boundaries.
“You don’t need to do that. Anyway I’m not interested in him that way. This job is too important for both of us, you know that,” I said.
“Laura, don’t be a twat. The man clearly has an interest in you, and you’ve seen his bloody cock. Do you know how many women in London would cut off their arms to see the Prime Minister’s massive, hard cock?” she asked.
I chuckled.
“Spencer Banks doesn’t want me, silly.” I wiped the worktop with a cloth.
Spencer’s home was rather large, and the kitchen was huge. He seemed to be a neat man with a taste for order.
“Girl, I’m telling you this man may appear to be doing this out of concern for his daughter, but he only hired you because he wants to get in your knickers. And from what you told me, there's a mutual attraction,” Veronica teased.
“He may wish to get into my knickers as much as he pleases, but I’m just not interested in arrogant, obnoxious snobs who think the world revolves around them,” I snapped into the phone as I scrubbed even harder at a worktop stain that wouldn’t come off.
“I believe it’s clean,” a voice echoed behind me.
I jumped in surprise. My phone slipped from my grasp, falling in excruciatingly slow motion. By the time it hit the floor, my brand-new iPhone 13 was shattered.
I glanced at Spencer, who was standing in his kitchen with an annoyed expression. I couldn’t move; his gaze kept me pinned. Meanwhile, I could still faintly hear Veronica talking in the background. She must not have realised that I had dropped my phone … but Spencer had obviously heard my insults.
I reached for the device at the same time that Spencer was trying to grab it for me, and our fingers accidentally brushed. A jolt of static electricity rushed through me, and I lifted my eyes to meet his—they were like the water in the Adriatic Sea, so deep and inviting I could’ve easily drowned in them. I pulled my hand away as if his touch burned me before he put my smashed phone to his ear and said, “Laura will call you back.”
My jaw dropped, and I just gaped at him, unable to say anything. God, why did I always have to embarrass myself like that?
“I’m sorry. I was distracted and didn’t hear you come in,” I mumbled, sweaty from the summer heat. Damn the month of May!
“Obnoxious, snobby arsehole … That mouth of yours is going to get you into a lot of trouble, Laura,” he said with a hint of amusement.
“Can I've my phone back, please?” I tried to ignore his remark.
He was too gorgeous for his own good, and it took all my strength not to admire him. It should be illegal to be this perfect—Veronica was right. He was so handsome, and I doubted that I’d ever seen a man who could compete with his looks, because Spencer must have been shaped and moulded by a god in Heaven himself. He was walking sex on legs, but if anyone ever asked about my opinion on this matter, I’d deny it instantly.
“The screen is smashed.” He showed me the broken device.
I groaned inwardly, knowing this repair job was going to be expensive.
“Thanks, but there’s no need for you to help. I’ve got a phone insurance policy,” I lied through my teeth, without really knowing why. Spencer didn’t need to know that money was tight, and I couldn’t actually afford to repair this phone.
“But as an obnoxious and snobby arsehole, I insist on it,” he jibed, “since it was my fault for startling you earlier.”
“Once again, I apologise for calling you that, sir, but you really don’t need to do that. I need the phone,” I argued.
“I've a spare one, Miss Watkins,” he said. “If you need to contact someone, feel free to use the house phone. We really should discuss your job, though. Why don’t you take a seat?”
“I’d rather stand, thank you,” I answered without thinking about why I had so much difficulty following his orders. Until now, at least.
