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Her face lit up. ‘“The Imperial March” from Star Wars! I was right!’
‘It would appear so.’
He held her gaze.
She broke first, turning her attention to the fur Q, and running her fingers through the pink pile. ‘Have we had any CVs in?’
He turned off the music, leaving only the sound of the Spice Girls. ‘No.’
‘Oh.’ She frowned. ‘That’s not good. There’s already too much to do.’
His stomach knotted. Their workload was only a small part of the problem. The lack of money was a far bigger issue, and one she could never find out about.
‘Well, maybe yoga could wait till outside of work hours?’ he asked.
‘Why?’
‘So you’ve got more time to, I don’t know, do your job?’
‘It’s helping my creativity. And anyway, you do personal stuff as well.’
‘I do? What?’
‘Who’s Char?’
He tensed. He didn’t want to give Estelle anything, but at the same time a stupid part of him wanted her to know Char wasn’t a secret girlfriend.
‘Is she the woman whose lips your cheek crashed into last week?’
‘No.’
‘Oh, so another one then. Charlotte? Charlene? Charmaine? Charcuterie? Chargrilled Chicken?’
‘She’s my sister.’
Her eyebrows raised. ‘Oh.’
James dipped his head towards his laptop, starting programmes to give him something to do other than go through the can of worms he’d just opened up.
‘What’s she like? Is she nice?’
He ignored her.
‘What’s “Char” short for?’
His fingers tapped faster.
‘Is she older or younger than you?’
James felt like he was a closed window, and Estelle was a fly repeatedly bashing herself against him, hoping he would open up.
‘Can I see a picture? Does she live here?’
His frustration was mounting. ‘Don’t you have something you need to be doing?’
‘We’re bonding.’
James bit back a sigh. He’d stipulated Estelle had to work with him because he knew it would piss Henry off, and because he fancied her. But their relationship was never going to be anything more than colleagues, and he was never going to let her see the side of his life he’d so successfully hidden for the last twenty-five years.
