Page 39 of In Love and Revenge

Rafael’s eyes bulge. ‘I’ll damn well insult him for free!’ he snarls, striding to the wall. ‘Hey, arsehole!’ He hammers on it. ‘We don’t want to hear you bashing one out.’

‘A-Aurora?’ a confused voice calls back.

‘It’s fine, Mike,’ I shout.

The last thing I need is for him to find a reason to complain to the landlord about me. Mike’s been here longer than I have, and even though it’s not The Ritz, living here is better than having to rent a room in a house-share with strangers. Ones who might ask questions about my father.

Rafael whips his head and gives me a warning look. ‘It’s not bloody fine,’ he hisses, before turning back to the wall and banging on it again.

‘Who are you?’ Mike asks in a strained voice.

‘I’m her bloody boyfriend,Mike,’ Rafael snaps, making sure to bite out Mike’s name with extra wrath. ‘So you’d better damn well keep the sounds of you and your dick to yourself unless you want me to rip it off and choke you with it.’

There’s a female purr from the other side of the wall. ‘You heard the sexy-sounding man. Even he thinks you’re pathetic, you sad little toad.’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t stop it, I-I ... Oh God,’ Mike gasps out a choked cry, Mistress’s final insult hitting the spot.

Rafael’s eyes take on a wild sheen. ‘That bloody—’

I grab the cuff of his suit before he can storm out of my front door and bang on Mike’s.

‘It’s not your problem!’ I hiss. ‘Why’d you tell him you’re my boyfriend? You think that’ll make him stop?’

‘It better,’ Rafael snaps. ‘You shouldn’t have to listen to that.’

‘It’s not that bad. He has to listen to me too.’

He reels back, his brows shooting up his forehead.

‘Not like that,’ I splutter. ‘My TV. He’s always complaining it’s too loud.’

He presses his lips together, his eyes flicking to the wall like he’s still deciding whether to go and rip Mike’s dick off like he threatened to.

‘You probably ruffled him. Maybe I’ll get a few days’ peace. Mistress probably won’t thank you, though. He’s putting her kids through university,’ I say.

‘You do realise ...’ he says, his voice a rich, deep growl with a bite of something that I can’t put my finger on. ‘That if he can hear your TV, he can hear everything you do in here. All your phone conversations. Whether you talk in your sleep. What you sound like when you ...’ He swallows thickly. ‘When you take a goddamn piss.’

‘I’d rather not think about it, thanks.’

I’m still gripping on to the sleeve of his jacket, so I let go. But as I do, my fingers graze his palm.

He stiffens, sucking in a breath. ‘Does Dove know you live here?’

‘Was there anything else you wanted?’ I ask. I don’t want to explain how I haven’t been able to admit to my best friend exactly how bad things have become since my father got convicted.

The brown envelope burns inside my other hand. I want to shove it back at him, but I know that’ll get me nowhere with the giant tosser. I don’t want his money. It might not have been pity money when he put it in this envelope, but it sure as heck will be now.

‘The offer?’ he drawls. ‘HR informed me you haven’t returned the signed agreement yet.’

‘I don’t want to work with you.’

If my bluntness offends him, he doesn’t let it show.

‘You won’t be. You’ll be working with the marketing team, and maybe Gabriel. Dove said your social media skills are impressive.’

‘I have a vlog. A fashion one.’

His expression remains impassive, like he doesn’t give a toss whether I post about the intricate workings of the London Stock Exchange or sell vials of belly button fluff.