by S. J. Coles
“I didn’t lie on my CV,” Rick said carefully. “I just was…you know…selective with the details.”
“That’s lying, Rick.”
“Swanson and Gerrard would never look at the likes of me without something to make it worth them looking.”
“But you could dance circles round anyone else,” Ella went on. “Dad always said you had an insane talent for this stuff. That’s all that should matter—not where you grew up or the fact that your first job was at Maccie Dee’s.”
“It shouldn’t matter,” he agreed, “but it does. But it’s fine. I got the job and I’ll do it well. They’ll have no reason to dig any deeper.”
“But—”
“This merger they’ve got in the pipeline is worth several billion. They hired me because I know everything there is to know about Egerton, Baines and Russel. And that’s not a lie.”
“Who?”
“EBR…another finance firm. I studied them at uni for my dissertation. I can help Swanson and Gerrard make this the deal of the decade. Then I’m in for good. Five-figure salary from day one, plus bonuses. An advance bonus mid-January. Job security for life.” He pulled his chair closer to hers, and she raised her slightly worried eyes to meet his. “Believe me, El. I can do this. I owned that interview. Cecily Swanson even invited me to their New Year’s booze-up at The Savoy on Saturday.”
“The Savoy?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Fancy.” She examined his face. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”
“Tell her what?” Rick asked, searching the half-empty fridge for his last cans of Stella.
“You know what.”
Rick passed Ella a can and cracked open his own without meeting her look. “It’s not like that.”
“I saw the way she looked at you,” she said, the mischief she’d never completely lost dancing in her eyes. “Like a cat what’s got the cream.”
“Yeah, right.”
“We don’t get the likes of her in the cafe, Rick. I mean, ever.”
“She must’ve heard about your coconut cake.”
Ella gave him a sardonic look. “Or she followed you in.”
“You’re dreaming.”
“Rick, I watched her do it. You came out of that bank with a face like a back of a bus—”
“I’d just flunked another interview—”
“And she watched you come down them steps, cross the road and followed you like a posh cat after a mouse.”
“Nah,” he said, shaking his head.
“I’m telling you. She saw something she liked. You think these West End types buy sympathy coffee for just anyone?”
Rick swallowed more beer, hoping it would drown the nervous tingling in his belly. “Even if you’re right, she’s engaged.”
Ella snorted. “You clearly don’t read Twitter.”
“Not these days. Why?”
“Everyone knows that engagement’s bollocks,” she went on, pouring her lager into the empty cava glass. “Harry Whateverhisnameis is the nephew of one of your new firm’s partners and cousin of some other.”
“Harry Gerrard-Hanson. Yeah, he’s related to one of the senior partners in EBR and to a former partner of S&G. These sorts of companies are always inbreeding. The marriage is why the deal’s on the table at all. So?”
“So,” Ella went on, flicking through something on her phone. “The wedding hype? The cover stories in People and Hello!? The huge ceremony at some stately pile on Valentine’s Day? It’s all a sham. The likes of Cecily Swanson ain’t gonna be sticking to no vows for this fat bugger’s sake.” She showed Rick a picture of Harry Gerrard-Hanson on some gossip site. His eyes were watery and dull, his hairline receding, his face and neck those of a man that ate too much and moved too little.
“There is nothing between me and Cecily Swanson.”
“I know you know that. I’m just not sure she knows it.”
“I can’t tell them I’m gay, El,” he said. “This shit matters in places like this, especially for someone like me. They’re…old school.”
“Bigoted, you mean.”
“Okay, maybe. But if they can make our lives better, then screw what they think. We deserve this, right? You said it yourself.”
“So what happens when she finds out?”
“She won’t.”
“She might notice when you don’t fall into bed with her at this fancy-arse drinks party.”
“You’re worrying too much. So maybe she likes what she sees. She’s only human, right?” He smirked but at the look on Ella’s face sighed. “But whatever. You don’t give JA jobs to eye candy. She knows I can help land them this deal. That’s what’s most important to her.”
Doubt warred with the hope in Ella’s deep-brown eyes for a long moment. The hope won. “If you say so, bruv,” she said, brushing his lapels, “but maybe playing on it a little can’t hurt. So we need to take you shopping.”
Rick winced. “I don’t get my bonus until after New Year. And the last lot of care home fees maxed the Visa.”
“So I’ll pick up a couple of extra shifts. Oh, and I found a shop that’ll buy my rings for a decent price—”
“No,” Rick cut in. “No, El, I can’t let you—”
“Rick, I’m doing this,” she insisted. “We’re in this together, remember? And besides…I’m ready to let them go.”
He took in his sister’s earnest expression. For a moment she looked so much like their mother his heart broke all over again. “Ella…”
“You know what I think about this walk-the-walk bullshit,” she cut him off, “but if you say you gotta play the game then I’ll help you play it…at least for now. And a big bit of playing a part is looking the part.”
Rick glanced down at his winter-sale Matalan suit and his father’s last decent tie and sighed. “Fine.”
“Atta boy.” She raised her glass. “To new beginnings.”
“To a new life,” he said, lifting his own, “and to dreams coming true.”
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About the Author
S. J. Coles is a Romance writer originally from Shropshire, UK. She has been writing stories for as long as she has been able to read them. Her biggest passion is exploring narratives through character relationships.
She finds writing LGBT/paranormal romance provides many unique and fulfilling opportunities to explore many (often neglected or under-represented) aspects of human experience, expectation, emotion and sexuality.
Among her biggest influences are LGBT Romance authors K J Charles and Josh Lanyon and Vampire Chronicles author Anne Rice.
S. J. loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website details and author profile page at https://www.pride-publishing.com
