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“They’d better.” Harvey stood. “I don’t want to hear any more about this. You’re dismissed, both of you.”
* * *
Bumping my Aston Martin down the rutted track that led to the farm car park, I gritted my teeth. My mood was already low, thanks to the email I’d received this morning. A distant uncle had written to me on behalf of my estranged parents. Reading between the lines, it said that the family was disappointed in my conduct, and I shouldn’t expect an invitation to any formal functions anytime soon. The wording was cleverly phrased, and I could easily picture my father at the formal desk in the manor house, dictating the words. I pushed away the spike of hurt, reminding myself that I’d done what was best for me and I didn’t control the actions of my parents.
I parked the car, and as I climbed out, I saw Jordan exiting a dark grey Lexus. He was dressed casually in a red hoodie matching our team colour, ripped, soft-looking blue jeans, and his feet were clad in a pair of red-and-white Air Jordans. A backwards cap was shoved on top of his head.
My heartbeat stuttered. I hated the way this man got under my skin so easily.
“Where’s your other car? In the garage?”
Jordan stared at me blankly for a moment as I stomped over to him, pointing my finger at his car. No, that wasn’t correct. Theodore Lewin did notstomp. I walked. Heavily.
“My other car?”
“Well, I assume this is a rental. It’s far too unassuming for a poser like you.” I gave him a disdainful once-over, and he grinned.
“It is, isn’t it? But it’s much better for the environment thanyourcar. You should really look into getting a hybrid.” He glanced over at my beautiful, gleaming machine before turning back to me. “Don’t worry, when the money from my underwear endorsement comes in, I’ll be sure to buy something extra flashy. Environmentally friendly, of course.”
Before I could come up with an appropriately cutting response, Rory exited the passenger side of the car. He was followed by a guy with a huge camera slung around his neck, who climbed out of the back, along with…Amir?
“Amir?”
He gave me a pained smile. “I’m afraid I’m stuck on babysitting duty today.”
“What about your other clients?” I hadn’t been aware that our agents were going to be here. Although, when I thought about it, it was probably a good thing. It meant that there was more of a buffer between me and Jordan.
“My other clients don’t exist today, according to Harvey Raines.” Stepping closer, he lowered his voice. “This was your fuck-up, and you’d better be on your best behaviour in front of the photographer. I don’t want this to happen again. It’s been a nightmare trying to rejig my schedule so I could clear everything to be here today.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I glared at Jordan. This was his fault. He caught my eye and glared right back, his eyes—which appeared to be a greyish green today—flashing dangerously.
“Ahem.” Rory cleared his throat pointedly. “Theo, meet Rob. He’s our photographer for today. He’s going to follow you from a distance while you tour the farm and…” Scanning a piece of paper he had clasped in his hand, he continued. “…sample the wares in the café and shop. Everyone good with that?”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel, striding towards the farm entrance.
I guessed it was showtime.
The first photo-op moment was in some sort of corrugated iron shed full of goats. Goats. I shuddered.
“What’s your problem?” Jordan hissed as we entered. “Didn’t you grow up in the countryside? This is basically your mother ship.”
“I grew up in a manor house, you imbecile. Not afarm.”
“My apologies, my lord.” He dropped into a bow, and Rory immediately stepped over, cuffing him on the side of his head.
“Don’t antagonise him, Jord.”
“I wasn’t.” Jordan pouted, shooting Rory an injured look. I rolled my eyes, turning away from them both and pasting a smile on my face as the photographer was pointing his camera directly at me. From behind me, I heard Jordan ask Rory to take some photos of him with the animals for his social media. Of course. Any excuse for him to pose.
We entered a small enclosure at the behest of our tour guide, and I gingerly perched on the edge of a straw bale next to Amir. Jordan took a seat on the bale opposite me, his gaze fixed on the tiny white goat—kid? at his feet.
“Would you like to hold him?” The tour guide smiled down at Jordan, and his mouth curved into a wide, bright smile.
“Can I?”
The tour guide showed him how to hold the goat, but all I seemed to be able to pay attention to was the huge smile on Jordan’s face. One of his real smiles, not his rehearsed ones. He tucked the goat’s head under his chin with a happy sigh. Stroking over its fur, he murmured, “Ror, can I get a goat?”
“You absolutely cannot.”
