Page 119 of Kiss Me Like You Mean It

‘Sounds good,’ Lee says neutrally.

Phoebe picks up her plate and licks the maple syrup off it, and I don’t even have the heart to stop her.

‘Shall we watch a movie before your meeting?’ she asks.

‘Sure,’ I agree, and as Phoebe keeps up a stream of cheerful chatter, Lee and I descend into silence.

‘Why am I so nervous?’ Lee asks me later, as she moves around, straightening cushions and smoothing the curtains so they fall just so. Magda has collected Phoebe and Taco so it’s just the two of us in the house, getting ready for our interrogation.

‘I don’t know.’ I walk over and take her hand in mine, holding her still. ‘I let you rearrange the spice rack and everything.’

‘You’ll be glad about that when he tells us he’s doing a surprise inspection,’ Lee mutters, but she squeezes my fingers. ‘He’ll say, wow, this is truly the spice rack of a responsible adult, and you’ll say, thank you, Lee.’

‘Thank you, Lee,’ I say, and I drop a fleeting kiss on her mouth.

We haven’t spoken about the awkward moment at the breakfast table this morning. What is there to say about it that we didn’t discuss last night? I thought about bringing it up, but what if it pushes her further away? Lee and I agreed on the parameters of this relationship, and I can’t immediately start asking for more, knowing she might not be able to give it.

‘Besides,’ I say now, keeping my tone light. ‘Nothing can be as bad as the first time he came over. We’ve got this. It’s not our first rodeo.’

‘I hate it when people say that,’ Lee grumbles. ‘Would you consider someone who had done two rodeos to be an expert? That doesn’t seem like enough rodeos.’

‘How many rodeos would be sufficient?’

‘I don’t know!’ she huffs, exasperated. ‘Maybe if someone said “this isn’t my seventeenth rodeo” I’d think, huh, this person probably knows a thing or two about rodeoing.’ She pauses, frowns. ‘Wait, is rodeoing a word?’

‘How did we end up here?’

‘I have no idea!’ She has a wild look in her eye. ‘It’s your fault! You’re the one who started going on about rodeos.’

‘You’re absolutely right,’ I agree. ‘But it’s all going to be fine. You’re wearing your shoulder pads and everything.’

She deflates, leaning against me, and I press my cheek to the top of her head. ‘That’s true,’ she says. ‘We can handle this.’

‘We’re a good team,’ I agree.

We’re still standing wrapped around each other like that when there’s a knock at the door.

‘Show time,’ Lee says, pulling her shoulders back.

It is 3 p.m. exactly. Charles Saunders waits neatly on the doorstep. Lee invites him inside, all calm politeness, while I fix everyone a cup of tea.

‘Thank goodness,’ Charles says gratefully. ‘I haven’t had a proper cup all week.’

It’s incredibly civilised.

We arrange ourselves around the table and Charles pulls an embossed, leather portfolio from his briefcase, unscrews the cap on his gold fountain pen and begins going through his questions.

‘Most of this is standard,’ he says, looking at us over the top of his glasses. ‘Obviously the terms of a clause such as this one are very broad. It’s a trifle unorthodox and leaves a certain amount of latitude to the trustee.’

He puts a lot of emphasis on those last words. Essentially, everything rests on his assessment. No pressure there then. The first questions he asks are easy enough: some family background, a little more about Lee’s personal history, education and work.

Lee is serene and businesslike throughout. I try not to get distracted by how hot and competent she is.

‘Now about your intelligence work,’ Charles says to her, sliding his fingers over the notes in front of him. ‘Could you elucidate on some of these contracts? I noticed in the records you provided that several of them are rather sizeable.’

He hands her a piece of paper and she scans it while I try not to look thrown. What intelligence work?

Lee leans forward and runs her eyes over the document. ‘Certainly,’ she says. ‘Do you mind if I consult my notes?’