sit Charlie down and do some straight talking. It was one thing to help a mate out of a tricky situation, but not when he had a gorgeous girl like Willow at home. She had “Perfect Partner” stamped all over her. Ben also wanted to make it crystal clear to Charlie never to take advantage of him again. His conscience was giving him hell over the whole thing.
‘Help?’ Willow queried, interrupting Ben’s thoughts.
‘Yeah. I could peel the veg or…’ he trailed off.
Willow was so flabbergasted at Ben’s offer of assistance, for a moment she could only gape at him. Blimey. When was the last time Charlie had ever done such a thing? She couldn’t remember. Actually, she could. It was never.
‘Really, it’s fine. You sort your stuff out.’
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Ben, now feeling a bit gauche.
‘I’m sure.’
‘Right, then I’ll… ’
He pointed at the staircase.
‘Yes,’ she said, and this time gave him a proper smile.
Half an hour later, delicious smells were wafting up the staircase to Ben in his new bedroom. His stomach let out a growl of hunger. He’d managed to fit most of his clothes in the small wardrobe but had now run out of room. Lifting the frilly valance around the bed, he discovered it was a divan with two empty draws. Thank goodness. He was just folding the last of his belongings away, when Willow yodelled that dinner was ready.
She had opted to lay the small table in the kitchen, rather than the one in the dining room where she and Charlie usually ate. Willow liked to court romance which – whippy cream aside – was usually thin on the ground. She often lit a pretty candle centrepiece to add some ambience. Consequently she didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of eating in there with Ben. However, the kitchen’s bistro table was very casual. It was often used as an additional prep surface, and regularly covered in flour and pastry trimmings.
‘Something smells good,’ said Ben, coming into the kitchen and rubbing his hands together.
His voice was over-jocular, and Willow could tell he felt as uncomfortable as her about their eating together.
‘Listen,’ she said, placing her hands against the work top and giving him a frank look. ‘Don’t feel you have to sit here making conversation with me.’
‘O-Oh,’ said Ben, looking both surprised and relieved.
‘If you want to read the newspaper while eating or watch the telly’ – she indicated the small flat screen on the other side of the kitchen – ‘then I really don’t mind.’
‘Is that because you want to disappear into the pages of a romance?’
He nodded at the Kindle languishing near the hob. She’d obviously been reading while stirring the gravy.
She hesitated.
‘Only if you’re reading too.’
‘I don’t read romances,’ he teased. ‘But I do like scrolling through the news on my phone.’
He removed his mobile from his back pocket and set it down by his knife and fork.
‘My habit used to drive Anna mad.’
Willow laughed.
‘Well it won’t drive me mad and, yes, I’d like to do nothing more than read my Kindle whilst mindlessly eating.’
‘Feel free then,’ said Ben in delight.
Willow gave a small sigh of relief and placed her Kindle on the table.
‘Glad we’ve sorted that out,’ she grinned.
They ate their dinner companionably. Ben read an article about Prince Harry’s fury with the press and the way they were treating wife Meghan, while Willow imagined that she was the heroine in the sizzling hot romance she was currently enthralled with. In her mind’s eye she could picture Charlie as the bad boy billionaire who – despite his incredible looks, charming personality and stonking wealth – had only just realised he was madly in love with his personal assistant. Willow had no trouble letting her imagination put her in this character’s shoes. Now Charlie was saying he couldn’t dictate another letter until he’d dictated exactly what he was going to do to her. On his desk. Which was huge. Like a certain part of his anatomy.
‘I feel sorry for Harry and Meghan,’ said Ben.
Willow tore herself away from the billionaire who was panting harder than a randy mongrel pursuing a Crufts’ winner.
‘Why’s that?’
‘Well, they don’t have it easy, do they?’
‘What, you mean, with all their wealth, servants, and luxurious accommodation?’ she teased.
‘I think Harry’s pretty down to earth. He was living in a very twee cottage before he married Meghan. It didn’t even have air conditioning.’
‘Ben, the average homeowner in Britain doesn’t need air-conditioning,’ Willow pointed out.
‘We will in the future,’ said