Page 12 of In the Frame

“You’re not obligated, but clearly, you have the time, and it would be mutually beneficial, as you would enjoy the art, and I would enjoy the business. And it would be useful for me to be seen with a partner for the evening. Would you take me up on this to make up for tonight?”

“You also need to make amends to me for the way you’ve acted,” I counter, amused.

He arches a brow and gives the faintest ghost of a smile. “That’s not an answer.”

“Fine. One fake date. If we get out of here. When.”

“One fake date,” Florian agrees, satisfied. He smiles then, something actually surprisingly beautiful, and so fleeting like I imagined it. He leans his head back against the wall, looking upward.

We lapse into another silence then, in the chill and almost dark.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because when I wake up, there’s the surprising weight of Florian’s head on my shoulder, and he’s sound asleep. Clearly, awake Florian wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing like willingly touch me.

And I fall asleep again too, unexpectedly comforted by the steady warmth of him pressed into my side.

Chapter Six

The lift springs to life with some pent-up mechanistic violence.

At the same time, the overhead light blasting on to full from darkness startles us both awake as if we’re catapulted right into some diabolical interrogation as the lift jerks up. It definitely breaks the weird spell of peace we were under, somehow removed from the buzz of the city and the fraught evening.

We scramble unsteadily to our feet, both reaching for the walls and each other, bumping our elbows into each other’s ribs and arms as we flail around trying to find our footing after the sudden awakening. Awkwardly, Florian bends for his phone, still set on the tiles, and the lift arrives with a lurch and one last creak of complaint at the fifth floor.

While I work to open the folding metal door and push open the oak door to the fifth-floor corridor, Florian scowls at his phone. “Still no signal, and it’s gone half eleven. And I have one bar left.”

“C’mon, let’s see if we can get you sorted out.” I glance over my shoulder back at him as I lead the way out. He shoves his phone into his pocket. There’s one last tinkle of glass hitting the tile as he leaves the lift. His cheek is pink and sleep-creased from where he slept on my shoulder. Does he even realize he did that? If he does, he gives no sign.

The hallway is broad and ornate, with a chair rail dividing the oak wainscotting and the upper plasterwork. Two chandeliers hang overhead, with light sconces on the wall, and several painted landscapes in oil. Under our feet, the rug is plush and impeccable. The surroundings are something Florian’s used to, but coming from a shared student house straight to this has been a meteoric rise in my living standards. And it’s going to be brief because it’s just while my mate’s away and I can find my own place to stay in London.

Florian takes it all in stride, following me down the hall to my borrowed flat. After all of that, I’m glad I haven’t lost my keys, and I unlock the door.

“I’m flat-sitting for my friend Arran,” I explain to Florian, in case he’s wondering how a disaster of a bartender can afford a place like this. Which is a fair question. Even after staying in the flat a few days, I can’t believe I’m staying there for Arran, a man I’ve met a few times but don’t know overly well. “I’m looking after it while he’s away for work. Well, I’m feeding his cat. He’s an artist I know. My friend, that is, not the cat.”

Florian just nods, and thankfully, he doesn’t make any further quips about successful or unsuccessful artists. Or cat artists. In fact, he doesn’t ask any questions at all. Instead, he’s preoccupied with fidgeting, his phone in hand.

“Let’s put your phone by the window to get messages. I’ll get the charge pad to give it a boost while you clean up.”

He hesitates on the entry rug, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “I don’t want to track glass through your flat. I’m aware I’m still losing pieces…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll vacuum.”

But Florian remains fixed in place, still looking worried. He gazes around, efficiently taking in our surroundings, bright abstract paintings and sleek Italian furnishings. It’s fair to say Arran is a success. Still, Florian hangs back in the entry.

Something must be wrong with me because it’s kind of cute how worried Florian is, and he shows no sign of moving from where he stands fixed in place.

“How about I take your phone and put it to charge while you change?” I suggest. “And then you can check messages by the window. Reception’s good there. I usually put my phone on the windowsill when I get in because half the flat doesn’t seem to have coverage.”

Florian nods and lets me take his phone, our fingers brushing. His hands are frozen, which spurs another thought and a shiver right down my spine on his behalf. “Right, let me do that, then I’ll get you a towel if you want to warm up and freshen up with a shower, and I’ll bring the suit and shirt too.”

So I do, and he does, leaving only a minor trail of debris that I hoover while Florian disappears into the thankfully pristine bathroom to get ready. Soon, I hear water running in the shower, which confirms he must be both chilled and possibly sticky after the earlier drinks incident.

It’s a strange thing, imagining Florian naked in my shower.

I wouldn’t have bet on any man being naked in my—temporary—flat tonight, never mind someone like Florian. Who probably eats people like me for breakfast without batting an eye. And for lunch. He probably tears through assistants too, because he’s obviously demanding if he thinks he can just call some poor person on a night off to bring him a suit on demand.

But there’s no point thinking much about Florian, because I’m sure there’s unfinished business between him and Billy, and therefore there’s no point dwelling on even an idle daydream about what a naked Florian might look like. But I bet he’s spectacular.

I walk into the kitchen, where my phone comes alive with incoming messages, and I notice the clocks on the stove and microwave are both flashing 12:08 a.m. It must have been a power failure that caused the lift to stop.