“Meaning what?”
“I went to an all-girls Christian college,” she says, sliding her hand to her hip. “It wasn’t at all like you see in the movies.”
“Are we talking mainstream or…”Not a very brotherly inquiry.
“There were no parties and no pillow fights,” she says with a knowing smirk.
“You sound disappointed.”
“And you sound like you’re enjoying this a little too much. Do you want this answer or not?”
I make a gesture with my hand. Please, go on.
“I moved back home after college. I moved into the apartment. An apartmentabovemy parents' garage. You can guess how that was. But I did it for them. And then, well then I realized I only have one life, and I have to live it for me.”
“So being here is about distancing yourself from their influence?”
“It’s about experiencing life, Whit. I’ve always wanted to come to London. I guess I have you to thank for helping me discover that London isn’t just a city of skyscrapers. It’s like a patchwork of places, each quite unique. Art galleries and cozy pubs, lush green parks and filled-to-the-brim museums. It’s castles and palaces and tiny, crooked streets—walls daubed with artwork. It’s music and food from all over the world!”
Her face lights up as she speaks. I bet if I pressed my hands to her cheeks, I’d feel the heat of her sunshine.
“That’s all on you.” She seems amused and discomforted to have revealed so much, judging by the way she reaches up to slide away her hair. “You and your accent. My fairy prince.”
“I’m no fairy tale. I more like a horror story.”
“To work for, sure.”
I narrow my gaze, not sure if she’s teasing. “I guess you’re a little less so now that you’ve realized I can do the job and that I’m not going anywhere. But yeah,” she says, hurrying on. “I loved your accent, dreamed about coming to London, and life is about living life and not giving in to fear.” She holds out her hand in culmination. Sort of,so here I am.
I feel like a complete shit. Of course her parents were devastated after losing Connor, but I never imagined they’d smother Mimi in the process. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend,” I murmur, drawn to take her hand again.
“It’s not your fault.”
I nod as I turn it over in mine, my gaze not lifting from her dainty fingers. “I should’ve done more.” Like a flash of sin, I see her hands tightening on my forearm, her eyes lust hazed, her breath on my face. I drop her hand on instinct.
Mimi straightens, possibly disappointed, but then she winks. “Well, keep your eyes peeled for that report, Mr. Whittington.”
“Just Whit,” I mutter, twisting my laptop back to where it was.
“Mimi and Whit. Whit and Mimi,” she says as she sashays her fabulous arse over to the closed door. I slide open my desk drawer, pull out a rubber band, and slip it over my wrist. “Oh, I forgot to tell you.” She swings around. “El said that Lavender likes this new vegan restaurant in Shoreditch.”
“Not vegan and not Shoreditch,” I mutter, dropping that hand to my lap and furtively palming my tortured dick.Down boy.
“No?”
“It might be her birthday, but not all of us enjoy eating jackfruit masquerading as barbecue.”
“What was that? That thing you just did?”
I look up at the sound of her confusion, then back again when I realize how ridiculous this is. “When I complained?”
“No. If your lips are moving, you’re complaining. I meant the thing you put on your wrist.”
“They don’t have rubber bands in Florida?” She pulls a dissatisfied face at my answer. “Maybe I’m starting a new fashion.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“If I needed a rubber band, where else would I keep it but on my wrist?”
