‘It must be so nice sitting out there in summer,’ Mo remarked, staring out through the glass. ‘It’s a shame you can’t enjoy it at this time of year.’
‘Yeah, especially when the inside of the suite is so disgusting.’
He smiled. ‘Glad you like it.’ He settled himself on the couch while Netta put the kettle on and arranged two mugs with tea bags, ready to be filled.
She leaned awkwardly against the bench. ‘So …’
‘This is weird, huh?’ he said, over the rumble of the kettle.
‘A bit.’ Netta fidgeted with the tea bags and turned the mugs so the handles were facing the same way. ‘You know,’ she said, breaking into a grin, ‘my best friend Freya would die if she knew you were in my hotel room right now. I can almost hear her screaming at me to jump your bones while I have the chance.’
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’
Netta froze, one hand halfway to the kettle and the other pressed to her belly. ‘Um, oh, you see, I’m kind of on a man ban at the moment—’
His not-unkind laughter cut her off. ‘I’m just joking, Netta! I’m not that much of a creep. I’m just here so we can talk, like you said.’ He smiled and arranged his legs into a figure four, his right ankle on his left knee. ‘What’s a man ban, anyway?’
‘I think it’s fairly self-explanatory,’ Netta said curtly, feeling the edges of her soul fray with embarrassment. ‘And anyway, even if I wasn’t on one, you’re not my type.’ She’d never told a fatter, hairier lie in her life.
He nodded magnanimously. ‘Fair enough.’ To his credit, he didn’t seem shocked or offended in the slightest. His quiet confidence was so annoyingly and inconveniently attractive.
‘Okay,’ he said as she set the cups of tea on the table and joined him on the couch. ‘I’m all ears.’
‘Okay.’ Netta took a moment to collate her thoughts. ‘Firstly, I want you to know that this isn’t easy for me to talk about.’
He stayed silent, encouraging her to continue.
‘It’s not something I’m proud of, but if you’re going to be seen publicly with me, then it’s something you need to know about.’
‘Whatever you tell me will stay in the vault,’ he assured her, his hand on his heart. ‘Privacy is kind of a thing for me. I get it.’
Netta nodded and briefly closed her eyes to prepare herself. ‘When I’d just turned twenty,’ she started, ‘I moved to London. I didn’t really have any idea what I wanted to do with my life, and my mum had recently passed away …’
Mo leaned back slightly, his gaze softer. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
Netta nodded her thanks. ‘I’d been looking after her, and I didn’t have a plan for what to do after … well, you know. I guess I just picked a spot to run away to and bought a ticket.’
Mo stayed silent. Already bored, probably.
‘Sorry. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this,’ said Netta, regretting her decision to open up to him. She could just say no, for goodness’ sake! She was a grown woman! ‘You don’t want to hear my sob story. Don’t worry about it.’
‘No,’ he said softly, those laser blue eyes once again peeling back her layers until she felt he could see inside her head. His Adam’s apple contracted with a hard swallow. ‘I want to hear it. Tell me.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
MO
Mo could feel the dread and anxiety vibrating from Netta next to him on the couch, turned to him but not looking at him. By proxy, he felt nervous too. Hearing she’d also lost her mum had ignited an instant sense of kinship and connection—a rare feeling for Mo, and one that felt precious. Like something to be handled with care. It made the air in the room feel heavier, the space between them shorter. ‘There’s no pressure, obviously. But if you want to tell me, I’d like to hear it.’
She nodded and Mo felt a rush of relief, even gratitude maybe, that she deemed him worthy of her trust. In his line of work, he was never short of people clamouring to be near him, but was starved of people who could be real with him. Sometimes he felt like his fame had made him seem less human. Separate, somehow.
‘When I got here,’ she said, ‘I didn’t know anyone, and I couldn’t pull a beer to save myself so I couldn’t just go and get a job in a bar like most Aussies do. I ended up signing with a nanny agency instead and did a couple of short-term, live-in jobs. I like kids, so it was fun for me, and it gave me a place to stay. It was ideal. Then, after a few weeks, I was sent to an interview for a longer term job at a big house in Chelsea. I had to sign an NDA when I got there. It was all very mysterious. And exciting, too, I guess.’ Netta’s eyes briefly met Mo’s before dropping back to the tea cooling in her cup. ‘The house was next level—it was obvious whoever was interviewing me must be a big deal. There were a few of us there, lined up on chairs in the hallway, like we were waiting for an audition. Which I guess we were, really.’
She raised her eyes again and Mo nodded for her to continue.
‘When it was my turn,’ Netta said, ‘I was taken into a big sitting room and there on the couch was Liza Carlton.’
‘The actress? She used to be married to Mitch Carlton, didn’t she? The guy fromBritain’s Brightest Star?’ Mo was unable to hide his disdain. The guy was a cockhead. Arrogant. Talentless. Famous for being rude and discouraging.
