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‘No way. You’ve got to get a few hours’ sleep. I’m taking the keys to the Defender if you even think about leaving now.’
‘I could ride over?’
‘As manager of this livery, I’m saying no.’
Estelle opened her mouth to argue, but a yawn escaped instead.
‘Please go to bed for a bit. I promise I’ll wake you up before lunchtime.’
Giving up the fight, Estelle nodded. ‘Okay, you win. I’ll see you later.’
She trudged back to her cottage, forcing herself to have a quick shower before getting into bed.
Lying under the covers, she stared at the ceiling, her eyes refusing to shut. Her body had gone beyond the point of exhaustion. Every cell was crying for sleep, but her mind was stuck on the same thought loop like a hamster on a wheel, hyped up on amphetamines.
Why did I suggest we go on holiday?
She cringed at the memories from two nights ago. She’d been caught up in a post-orgasmic, oxytocin rush of optimism where she and James skipped off, hand-in-hand, into the sunset together.
His reality check was a needle scratch to all her fantasies.
He’s said multiple times that he’s leaving for London as soon as the festival’s over, and he’s only doing the job to help his dad out. And anyway, he doesn’t want to live in Somerset, hates Henry, and Henry hates him. Plus, we’ve only had casual sex twice. It’s not like it’s a ‘thing’.
Estelle bit the inside of her mouth. Sex with James had not felt casual at all. It had been life-altering, earth-shattering and paradigm-shifting. But there was no way in hell she was going to be that open around him again and ask for more than his cock. Being vulnerable around James was only setting herself up for the ultimate fall.
But he said he wanted to be with you! What if you showed him enough of Somerset to make him stick around?
Are you going to give him a guided tour like you did for Libby? Take him to the Little Knob cheese festival? The Big Knob sausage festival? The Frome Young Farmers ploughing competition? Wow. How will London ever compare after any of that?
Shuddup.
But Foxbrooke could provide the same level of sophistication that London did. Even if just in one place. Before she could argue herself out of it, she grabbed her phone.
Estelle: Good luck with your job interview today. Fancy meeting me for an early dinner at The Colour Palette when you get back?
Her phone dinged with a reply almost immediately.
James: Yes, please. What time?
Estelle: Half-six?
James: I’ll see you there
* * *
As the the train sped west, James stretched out in first class, letting the greens of the countryside glide by as he replayed the day.
Slipping back into the role of James Hunter-Savage, apex alpha had been effortless. He was taller, better looking and better dressed than anyone he’d met that day and knew how to work a room. He hadn’t yet been introduced to the biggest players at the American software company, but by the time the meeting was over, the underlings that had interviewed him were almost salivating at the prospect of him working there.
Buoyed by that success, he’d taken a taxi across town and sealed the deal with a luxury vodka brand for last-minute sponsorship of the festival. With their money, the staff could be paid, and they’d actually turn a profit. Life was finally on the up.
Spreading his legs, testosterone-fuelled confidence pumping through his veins, he thought of Estelle. They’d hardly seen each other since they’d had sex again. A tiny part of him wondered if she was avoiding him after he’d told her about the London job. But now she was inviting him on a date.
Is it a date, though?
What else is it? If it’s work, then she could just email or phone.
She wasn’t happy when she left the other night.
