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Zoey nods mindlessly, so I take the lead.
“Thanks, man,” I say, offering my hand. I lower my voice as I lead him out of Zoey’s office. “I’m booking you to do the wiring but send me the bill. You have my office email.”
“Sure thing. Let me know when the asbestos is sorted, and I’ll get it done in a few days. I’ll send you the asbestos guy’s details. I’m sorry it’s not better news.”
Grant leaves, and when I go back into the office to see Zoey, she hasn’t moved. Walking over, I lower myself to my knees so I’m face to face with her. She flinches, and her glassy blue eyes flick to me.
“Sweetheart, are you—” I don’t get to finish my sentence because Zoey has flung herself into my arms and buries her head into my neck, sobs wracking her body. Her petite frame lost in my chest. “Shhh, it’s okay.”
She mumbles something that I don’t hear and when she pulls back, her eyes are red, and her face is wet. I use my thumb to wipe away her tears. She sniffs and tries to compose herself. “It’s not okay, I have to figure out where to put over fifty animals for the next what? Three weeks, maybe more, and on top of that my arsehole father won’t give me my trust fund. Why are we even doing this if he doesn’t give it to me? I’ve worked so fucking hard on this place, and it keeps testing me.” Her watery eyes connect with mine as they darken with sadness. “Jesus, I’ve dragged you into such a mess.”
“Hey, don’t think like that. We can figure this out.” She slumps back onto my chest as I stroke the back of her head, holding her close to me with my other hand, and I brush my lips against her forehead.
That maybe isn’t the right thing to say because Zoey plunges into me again and starts crying, her delicate hands clinging onto my shirt for dear life.
After a while, Zoey eventually relaxes and sits back in her office chair and I stand too, stretching my legs.
“Shit,” she says, slumping her head into her hands. She sniffs and then sits upright, pushing her shoulders back. “I ruined your shirt.”
I look down to see wet patches on my chest. “It doesn’t matter, it’s a shirt. Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”
She nods. “I need to make some calls to other shelters to get the animals looked after.” She pauses and then looks at me, puffy eyed and red nosed. “Can you find Lloyd and Sam and update them? They should be back now. I think the animals will be fine for the next few days whilst we sort things, but I need them to know.”
“Of course, I’ll find them.”
I find the guys just as they’re coming back from a walk and I explain everything. They both want to help Zoey figure things out, so I find myself hovering a lot. Grant has emailed me the details for the company he recommends for the asbestos, so I figure I may as well call them too. If nothing else, I can get an idea of the cost for Zoey to work with.
Chapter 34
Zoey
It’smidnight.HarrisonandI went to bed hours ago, but I couldn’t sleep. I’m plagued by what happened today at the shelter. The post-it notes surrounding me in the living room are covered with scenarios and costs that I’ve managed to get from the internet. None of which are probably accurate because the asbestos isn’t in my house, it’s in my business. And the wiring in the shelter dates back to the Jurassic period, it seems.How am I meant to fix all this?
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself, running my hand through my unruly hair.
I glance over the rough cost of the asbestos. Even if I can get it covered with insurance—which I don’t think is possible judging by the policy I scanned through an hour ago—there’s a good chance I’d have to pay upfront again, and until my dad decides I’m not lying, even though I am, about my marriage, he’s stubborn enough to withhold my trust fund, and I’m left without any cash.
I swallow thickly because that’s just not an option.
Max emailed me yesterday saying the claim has been approved for the plumbing works and I should get the money back in the next week. That would give me five grand, which might cover some of the asbestos cost, but the wiring? Unless I’m planning on selling my body and all my organs on the black market, I think I’m going to struggle to come up with anything.
What I thought was my answer to getting more money has just turned out to be me, dragging Harrison into my mess, sleeping with him, and feeling guilty about it all because nothing is resolved. Fun times.
I decide looking at numbers is making me too antsy, and all the numbers are starting to look like hieroglyphics. So, I open my phone to find the list of other London shelters. I know a few of the managers by name, but I write down each number on more post it notes, and when I have a decent stack to call tomorrow, I lean back on the soft sofa and exhale roughly.
You’ve got this, Zoey.
Fighting for this shelter is, without a doubt, the hardest and most rewarding thing I’ve ever done in my life. But I know it’s something I could never live without.
My eyes grow heavy and I close them for a second when I hear padding feet behind me.
“Sweetheart?”
“In here,” I reply, my voice flat and weary.
The padding gets closer and two large hands thread into my hair, tipping my head backwards against the sofa; his soft lips land on mine. My fingers instantly thread into his hair too, holding him against me, taking the kiss like it’s the only air in the room. He moves his hands to glide over my throat and down my pyjama top, aka his t-shirt, and cups one of my breasts, awakening a deep yearning in my sex.
“Come to bed,” he whispers against my mouth, breaking our kiss. His hair is tousled, and his eyes are still half asleep.
