Page 16 of Tears of Ink

Then I notice his gaze has settled on the exposed row of roses I have displayed across my collarbone. He doesn’t say a word, and I refuse to shift my jacket to cover them up. He’s the one who turned up unexpectedly, ruining my chances of getting laid.

“Okay let’s go.” The words escape before I have any chance to think on them further. Which is probably a good thing. I could have stood there analysing all night.

He flashes me that dimple and cute smile.

“Not The Ritz, though. You could come out of that place in a wooden box.” I slide my portfolio across the floor of the studio. There’s a low snigger, and he shoves his hands in his jean’s pockets, the epitome of casual cool. He could have fallen off the front page of GQ. I wonder how many people have tried to take his photograph.

“I think I can manage something better than where my mother goes for a glass of sherry.”

“Nothing fancy, though. You don’t want to make me uncomfortable.”

His eyes settle on my face, and I melt under their weight. “No.” He pauses. “No one would want that.” There’s a flicker across his lips, but I don’t know what it means so I start to walk down the hallway to the stairwell with him trailing behind. It’s all I can do not to fall over my own feet.

Out in the narrow street, the day is winding down. The streets are noticeably emptier of people, no doubt home now their day is done. I hadn’t realised how late I’d been murdering that piece of rock. “Walking?” I stop and wait for him; the pavement could lead me in two different ways.

He slides his hand out of his pocket. “I drove,” he shrugs sheepishly. “I didn’t know if you were going to repel me.”

“Repel you? Are we in an Austen novel?”

“Repel me with your cantankerous bad attitude.”

His eyes challenge me, so I switch things and grin. I can’t help it. I know he could mean a job for the summer. I know being on the right side of his family could mean more exposure than I could spend the next ten years trying to build. But I can sense a game building, a challenge.

I also know he’s damn annoying. “Lucky for you, I’m feeling friendly today.”

I could be very friendly towards him. I could tug him back into the alleyway behind and show him just how friendly I could be.

He laughs. I’m sure he knows what I’m thinking.

“Your carriage, my lady.” He steps up to a navy car. Smart and sleek, its trim is a gleaming silver.

My mouth falls open. “You have an MG Roadster?” I step up, completely forgetting myself, and run a hand along the immaculate paintwork. Oh my god, this car looks like it’s just out of the factory.

“Yeah?” He can’t disguise his surprise.

“What is this, a nineteen sixty-six, mark one?”

His mouth falls open, which is all levels of funny, but I’m too taken with the car to use it to my advantage. “Yeah, how do you know?”

“My dad used to have one.” The words slip out before I can contain them. A sharp slice cuts me some place around my chest.

“Nice.”

I can’t breathe, though. For a long moment, standing here in this shady Islington street I’m lost in forgotten memories. Faith, don’t put sand all over the leather. A squeal of laughter echoes from the past.

“Would you rather walk?”

I glance up into Elijah’s face. There’s a frown between his eyebrows.

“No.” My answer wobbles. “No, it’s okay.”

He opens the door and I slip onto the leather, sinking deep.

“Where are we going?” I try to switch it back on. Switch the me of now back on.

“I know a good pub, if you fancy a pint somewhere?”

“It’s London, there are thousands of good pubs.”