Best Man (Close Proximity Book 1)

by Lily Morton

  “Zeb.” He hesitates, and I know he’s got a zinger in store. “Zeb, you’re not your dad. It’s a statement of pure fact that I’m giving you now. You are not him. So bending over backwards to not let your wanker of an ex down won’t mean you’ll slide into bad habits.”

  I try to think of a clever answer but end up just shrugging awkwardly. “Let’s not talk about this anymore,” I suggest, sliding the paperwork towards him. “That’s the Hawley file. Get Simon to do it. He’s got a degree in horticulture, and he’s got a good relationship with them, and they’re comfortable with him. Also, make sure you pay Jesse and give him a bonus. He’s doing me a huge favour at short notice.”

  He nods, accepting the paperwork. He’s not just my assistant. He’s the office manager and the company would fall into disarray if ever he left. He’s got a mind like a steel trap. He demonstrates that immediately. “I thought he didn’t want paying. That’s what you said yesterday.”

  I shrug awkwardly. “I’d prefer to pay him and keep this–”

  “Businesslike?” he offers sweetly.

  I glare at him, trying silently to move him along. “Yes, of course, businesslike. What else would it be?”

  “You should think about taking on a partner.”

  I stare at him, reeling at the switchbacks of daily conversation with him. They leave me with mental whiplash. “Why?”

  “How can I put this delicately?” I groan, but he carries on relentlessly. “Because we’re getting busier every week, and I love you, Zeb, but you’re better with the details than you are with the customers. You’re pretty shit with them.”

  “That’s your version of delicate?”

  He shrugs. “We each have to make the best of our own pluses and minuses.” He grimaces. “The problem is that you’re too intimidating.”

  I draw back, stung. “I am not.”

  “I don’t mean personally,” he says, shaking his head in exasperation. “I mean you’re very organised and thorough and somehow people feel a lot less when they’re with you. Some of the customers are already feeling that when they come to us. Try explaining to a hot as fuck man who has his own business and wears bespoke suits made on Savile Row that you need to hire someone to be your boyfriend for an office do.” He holds his hand up when I open my mouth to protest. “I know you’re kind and so do they after a bit, but it’s not easy to confide what you see as a failure to someone who looks like they’ve only had sunny days. Impressions are everything.” I stare at him and he smiles. “Just think about it.”

  “I will.” I grimace. “God help me, but you do sometimes give good advice and I usually end up taking it.”

  “Hope you do with this last bit, then,” he says cheerfully.

  “Oh no,” I groan, covering my face. “I knew you hadn’t dropped it.”

  “Oh yes. You’re going away with a fucking gorgeous bloke. If you get the chance, I want you to do what comes naturally.”

  “You want me to organise my paperwork and colour code the filing cabinet?”

  He shakes his head. “You’re hopeless.”

  “I’m realistic. Have you actually seen Jesse?”

  “Seen and salivated over. Yes.”

  “Well, you know how he is.” He gazes at me and I shake my head in exasperation. “He’s twenty years younger than me, as fickle as the weather, and a total walking disaster.”

  He looks at me for a long second and a mysterious smile crosses his face. “One day you’re going to listen when I talk to you. And when you realise that, you’re going to apologise for thinking I talk a load of crap every day and know far too much gossip.”

  “I have no idea what is happening at the moment,” I mutter.

  “Just at the moment?” he says tartly and then seems to relent. “Jesse is actually a lot of things besides gorgeous. He’s also smart and, most importantly, he’s very kind.” I stare at him, and he nods. “You know he is. You said it yourself the other day. Half the messes he ends up in are because he cares about people and he goes two steps further than anyone else to help them. He’s never met a stranger, he’s sociable, and genuinely interested in people. He’s like a throwback to olden times. He should be in Miss Marple.”

  “Hopefully not as a dead body,” I grumble. “But he’d be in the midst of it if he was. He’s flippant and like a fucking butterfly.”

  “He’s funny and he has a conscience,” he corrects me. “I’m sure you already know this, but it’s easier for you to pretend in your head that he’s stupid.”

  “Why is it easier?”

  He settles back in his chair and eyes me like I’m appearing before him in court. “Because you fancy him,” he says calmly.

  “I fucking do not,” I start to splutter, and he holds up his hand. To my chagrin I immediately stop talking.

  “You do, Zeb. You always have. Right from the first moment you met him I saw the sparks, and you’ve always been so protective of him.” He stands up. “I saw other things too.”

  “What?” I say reluctantly.

  “He fancies you too.” I close my mouth with an audible snap, and he smiles. “That’s me done.”

  “I feel like getting on my knees and offering thanks.”

  “Try getting on your knees and offering the gorgeous Jesse a nice blowjob.”

  “Oh my God, I’m old enough to be his father.”

  “He’s twenty-four, not a teenager, and what you don’t know about him would fill a football stadium.”

  I stare at him. “And just what does that mean?”

  “It means you should seriously consider doing him.”

  “Doing him. What a delightful turn of phrase you have. Have you gone through any workplace training? He’s my employee, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “Pah, that’s a silly detail.”

  “Says everyone who’s ever ended up in a tribunal.”

  He waves his hand cavalierly and leaves my room on a tide of misplaced righteousness and Miller Harris aftershave.

  I stare down at my desk. I need to go and pick Jesse up. I think of his high-boned face, the neck-length shiny brown hair, and his warm brown eyes, and my mouth waters. I call up the image of his long, wide-shouldered body and swear at the tightening in my groin. Then I think of having him to myself for the next few days. All of those warm smiles and eager curiosity, the silly jokes and that easy manner of his. Despite all the shit going on in my private life, Jesse has always managed to cheer me up. Just seeing his face makes me smile.

  I might speak about his butterfly tendencies, but he’s so much more than that. There’s something very steadfast about him. And something inherently very beautiful that has nothing to do with his looks. He has a way of commanding your attention, and I’ve always left his company feeling lighter in myself.

  I’m well aware that I’ve always had a small crush on him, but I put that to the side one day when Patrick seized on the subject of Jesse. Apparently, I talked too much about him and Patrick objected. I can still recall the argument that followed, and how, after that, I pushed my enjoyment of Jesse down into a hole inside me and turned the key.

  It was easier all round for me to concentrate on his youth and put everything else aside. However, he isn’t a kid anymore. He’s a very handsome twenty-four-year-old. I shake my head. And I’m still twenty years older than him.

  I wander over to the mirror and make myself take a long look at myself. In my head I itemise the crow’s feet at the corners of my eyes, the wrinkle appearing between my brows, and the flecks of grey that are starting to show in my hair. Then I make myself look down at my body and remember that I am practically middle-aged and things are not as tight as they were.

  I remember Patrick sneering at me when we were arguing once, telling me how ridiculous I was with my crush on a boy. The words still manage to hurt me, and with all that in the forefront of my mind I let myself think of Jesse’s looks and body again, confident that I’ve come to my senses at last. My cock stirs despite all my efforts. I�
��m fucking screwed, I think dolefully. What have I done?

  I’m no nearer an answer when I pull up outside his flat and honk the horn. I look around curiously. At one point this must have been a well-off area because the houses are beautifully proportioned, but then it must have fallen victim to the steady encroach of bedsit land, and here we are. Windows are dirty with sheets hung up at them rather than curtains. Rubbish blows idly round in the faint breeze and two dogs are fighting nearby over an upturned rubbish bin.

  Movement catches my eye, and I turn to see Jesse coming out of the door of the block of flats. He’s dressed in faded jeans, a pale blue shirt, and blue and white seersucker striped Vans, and he’s wheeling a suitcase. He grins at me, and I can’t help the uptick of my lips. I’ve tried many times but it doesn’t work. There’s just something about him that makes me smile.

  Then I notice the man following him carrying a suit bag and my smile falters slightly. He’s stunningly beautiful, and the laughing conversation they’re having and their body language displays a familiarity with each other. I’m so busy staring ahead and trying not to analyse why my spirits have sunk that it takes Jesse three gos at calling my name through the window.

  I lower it. “Shit, sorry. I was daydreaming.”

  His brow quirks and he grins. It’s glorious at such a close range. “No problem. I just wondered for a second whether I was expected to run behind the car all the way to the Cotswolds.”

  “I’m not discounting that option yet,” I say wryly, just to hear him laugh. He has a wonderful laugh. Rich and full and almost dirty.

  I open the door and climb out, going round to the boot and opening it. “Stick your case in here,” I say briskly, watching as the other man ambles over. He’s dressed in old jeans and a navy T-shirt and he’s wearing flipflops, but he moves like he’s on the catwalk. I blink and Jesse laughs and nudges me.

  “I know,” he whispers. “It happens everywhere.”

  I turn to him. “I’m not looking at him like that,” I start to say, trying to explain that I’m not leering at his boyfriend. It would be impossible when all my senses still seem to be tuned to Jesse’s wavelength despite the all-round hopelessness of that silly yearning. Luckily, he saves me the humiliation.

  “Charlie has this effect on everyone. Good job he’s oblivious.”

  “Don’t you mind?”

  He blinks. “Why would I mind?”

  “Isn’t this your boyfriend?”

  To my astonishment, he laughs loudly. “No, he’s my flatmate. He’s far too happy for me.” He looks sideways at me. “I like them older and surlier,” he says slowly and no less brutally effectively. I feel my cock stir under that clear brown gaze and leap into evasive manoeuvres.

  “Hello.” I smile quickly at Charlie and ignore Jesse. “Do you want to give me that? I’ll hang it in the back of the car.”

  He smiles and it’s seriously like an angel has descended. God knows how he goes about his normal life without his way being littered with smitten bodies. “Thank you. Bloody coat hanger was hurting my fingers.” He hands it over and reaches out to hug Jesse who’s still smiling curiously at me. “Have a good time,” he says happily to Jesse. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “That actually doesn’t leave me with a very wide field. While the saintly existence seems to suit you, I can’t say I’m gagging to live it with you,” Jesse says. “I’ll deal with things my own way, thank you.”

  “Badly then,” the blond man says sadly, surprising a laugh out of me. He smiles at me. “Have a good few days,” he says cheerfully. “Try and keep this one in order.”

  “I don’t think I have that level of power. I’m not exactly sure who does.” We smile at each other and I turn to find Jesse staring at me. For once there isn’t a trace of a smile on his face and it looks wrong somehow. He has a face that’s built to display his warmth and charm. I wonder if he’s having second thoughts.

  “You still okay to go?” I ask hesitantly. His expression clears and I contain my sigh of relief when the smile appears again, poking at the corners of that wide mouth like the sun around a cloud.

  “Of course,” he says. He hugs his flatmate. “You going to be okay?” he asks somewhat anxiously, and I watch them curiously.

  “Of course,” Charlie says. “Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worrying exactly.” I tilt my head slightly. Even I can hear the worry. “I’d just be happier if Misha was around. Not that you need him, but you’ve had quite a few episodes lately.”

  Charlie steps back, his face closing down slightly. “He’ll be round tonight. He’s got the week planned.” Jesse’s shoulders sag, and his friend smiles. “I’m an adult, Jess. I don’t need to be treated like a–”

  “Like a child,” Jesse fills in, smiling wryly. “I know the tune, and I know the lyrics.”

  “Well, sing it properly, then,” Charlie advises happily, and, smiling at both of us, he turns and heads back into his flat, oblivious to the woman who nearly walks into a postbox as she stares at him.

  Jesses looks at me and laughs. “Happens every time,” he says cheerfully. “You ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be,” I say wryly as we climb into the car. I drive an Audi which, according to the salesman, is known for its spacious interior. He obviously hadn’t travelled with Jesse before though, because sitting next to him it’s like the space has suddenly shrunk. Like we’re in a reverse Tardis where I’m preternaturally aware of the scent of green tea that seems to cling to his skin and that sun-warmed long body.

  I should probably break into conversation, but instead I turn the radio up and drive off. We travel in silence for ten or fifteen minutes while I navigate the early morning rush hour. Or at least I travel in silence. Jesse talks, but it’s an easy-going chatter that doesn’t require much beyond an occasional yes or no or a grunt.

  It isn’t until we’re heading out of London on the motorway and it’s calmed down a bit that he steps up the chat. “So, tell me about the people who are going to be at this do,” he says, stretching his long legs out and sighing happily.

  I shoot him a quick look and go back to staring at the road ahead. “Well, there’s Patrick. Did you ever meet him?”

  “No. I’ve heard of him though.” I see him look at me from the corner of my eye. “I’ve heard a lot about him,” he says innocently.

  “I’m sure,” I say dryly.

  “You were together for five years. That’s a long time.”

  I suppress a smile at the casual tone that doesn’t quite conceal the curiosity. “Okay, I’m not one for talking about my private life, but I suppose you deserve to know. We were together for five years and living together for two, but he never entirely settled into the relationship. His family has always had a lot of expectations of him, and settling down with a man wasn’t on that list.”

  “Let me guess, settling down with a girl and popping out a few children was.”

  I shake my head. “You guessed it.” I shrug. “He cheated. I found out. I expected him to be remorseful. To my surprise, he wasn’t. And that’s it.”

  “That’s it?”

  The patent incredulity in his voice makes me smile. “What did you expect?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. More.”

  “Why? He’d cheated. There was no way back for me after something like that, and he didn’t appear to be looking for forgiveness anyway. He’d lined up my replacement before he left.” I shrug. “Patrick never wastes time. He likes his life to proceed the right way and smoothly. It was never going to be that way with me.”

  “And yet you’re his best man. Why?” He huffs. “I wouldn’t have given the wanker the pickings off my nose.”

  I look at him curiously, wondering where this passion is coming from. Youth, I suppose. Although I can’t remember being like that. My idealism left me a long time ago to be replaced by resolve. I envy him.

  “Listen, Patrick is who he is. He doesn’t pretend to be anything less or any
thing more. He’s selfish and arrogant and charming. It’s a slightly dangerous combination. But at one point he was my friend. I haven’t got enough of those to cast one aside just because we didn’t work out romantically.”

  “Do friends cheat on one another?”

  I shake my head. “Lovers do it all the time,” I say cynically. He opens his mouth, and I talk quickly because his youth hurts me somewhere in a tiny spot in my chest. “He asked. He caught me at a weak moment, and I said yes.” I wonder whether he’ll ask what that moment was, but to my relief he doesn’t. I don’t think he’d like the answer.

  Instead he says calmly, “Okay, tell me about the rest of the cast.”

  “Frances is Patrick’s fiancée. She’s twenty-three, I think. The only child of very rich parents. She’s charming and spoilt, but a good hostess. Her mother and father are Charles and Oona. I believe he’s something big in the city.”

  “What does that even mean?” he grumbles. “People always say that and it conjures up an image of Godzilla shimmying up the Shard.”

  He surprises a laugh out of me, and I listen to it with disbelief. “It’s how he describes himself. He’s not known for modesty,” I say wryly. “They have a huge home in St John’s Wood and a cottage in the Cotswolds where they rub shoulders with the Camerons.”

  “Kevin and Louise?”

  I laugh. “No, you pleb. David and Samantha, of course.”

  “Is that where we’re staying?”

  I shake my head. “No, we’re at a country house hotel just outside Stow-on-the-Wold. It’s huge and they’ve booked the whole place for a few days. Then in a month we’ll have to go to the wedding and the party in London.”

  “No quick trip to the registry office, then?”

  “Not for Frances. What she wants, she gets.”

  “Like your ex?”

  I nod. “Just like him.”

  He nudges me gently with his elbow. “Not sure it’s a prize she’s got,” he says softly, and I smile awkwardly.

  He must sense the awkwardness. He seems to have a fine-tuned sense of what people are feeling and thinking. I’ve seen him turn many potentially unpleasant situations around with just a few words and a smile so the glaring people end up laughing and smiling and utterly charmed.