Take My Breath Away by Ali Ryecart

Chapter Three

PERRY

“Better?”

James scrutinises me over the rim of his coffee cup. I’ve avoided eye contact as much as possible, and I do it again by looking down at my empty plate, every scrap of breakfast gone. The restorative power of a fry up, along with pain killers and a couple of pints of water on the morning after the night before, is nothing to be scoffed at. I’ve also finished my coffee, and I could do with another. As though James knows exactly what I’m thinking, he pours a steady, nutty stream from the cafetière.

“Much, thank you. And thanks, too, for helping me out last night — I was in a state, and I owe you one — and for the lend.” I wave to the borrowed clothes I’m drowning in, and am about to say I can take them home to wash them, before I stop myself.

James shrugs. “No problem. They’re just some old sweats.” He doesn’t say anything more, just sips his coffee.

Old sweats, the last thing I could ever imagine James wearing.

I’ve never seen him in anything but sharp-as-a-knife tailoring, classic Savile Row, and shined-to-within-an-inch-of-their-life shoes. Suited and booted, the words were invented to describe James Campion. But not today.

Tailored suit trousers have been replaced by narrow legged dark jeans. A plain light blue shirt hugs his toned upper body. The top couple of buttons are undone, displaying the crisp white crew neck of the T-shirt beneath. Folded back shirt sleeves reveal forearms with a light scattering of dark hair and — a glimpse of a tattoo. Tattoo?James and tattoo go together about as well as vegan and pork pie do. This isn’t the James I’ve come to know from his frequent visits to the office, and as for the ink…

A low, rumbly chuckle fills the air and my gaze snaps up, locking onto his. That crooked smile is there on his lips once again, and the questioning lift of a brow as though he’s daring me to ask. Heat flares in my cheeks. I’ve been gawping, and caught in the act.

He pushes his sleeve further up his arm, to reveal more.

“The result of forty-eight hours leave spent drinking too much beer in Hamburg,” he says. “I was in the army. It’s my regimental badge, but that was years ago.”

James, in his army uniform, as fit as they come. It’s a mouthwatering thought but one I don’t want to dwell on, not when he’s sitting opposite me, not with that cocky smile on his face.

A place to stay, clean clothes, and breakfast. It’s not just thanks I owe him, but a massive apology for his Friday night I managed to royally screw up.

“I’m so sorry for ruining your evening. Sorting out a drunk wasn’t top of your To Do list, I reckon.”

James shrugs. “There was no evening to ruin. I’d gone out from habit rather than any real desire to do so.”

There’s a tinge of what sounds like resignation colouring his words — which is a surprise, from somebody as assured as James — but my hungover brain’s sluggish and clumsy, and incapable of close scrutiny of anything other than the coffee in my cup.

We fall into silence for a few moments, before he asks the question I know is coming.

“So, are you going to tell me?”

I groan. “Do I have to?” I peek up at him through my lashes.

He tilts his head to the side and studies me, and it takes all I have not to fidget and squirm under his moss green gaze.

“I can’t make you, so perhaps I should ask Elliot? I’m sure there are employment laws against having members of staff living in the basements of their places of work.”

“What?” My whole body jerks and I snap my head up so hard my neck cricks. “Oh, God. No. Please. Don’t say anything to Elliot.” The idea of my boss knowing… It’s mortifying.

“Then you tell me.”

I hesitate for a second, trying to think of a way to explain my shit storm of a life.

“I, erm, lost my home recently.”

“Lost your home? You were repossessed?”

I shake my head, and force myself to hold his gaze.

“No. I was living, until a few days ago, with my boyfriend. Grant. He—he threw me out.”

I just want the earth to open up and swallow me whole. It’s humiliating to admit to, but it’s only the tip of the iceberg.

“We had an argument. Again. I went to work, and when I got back to the flat he’d changed the locks. I went to a hotel, to get a room just for the night, to let Grant calm down, but when I tried to pay both my debit and credit cards were declined. We…”

It’s no good, I can’t hold James’ gaze any longer. I let my eyes fall as I stumble through my sorry tale.

“We had joint accounts — not long after I moved in with him, he said it’d make things easier with paying bills. That was about six months ago. Like a fool, I agreed.”

I swallow hard, unable for a moment to talk. What the hell must James think of me? Whatever it is, it can’t be less than I think of myself.

“He cleared them out?”

I nod. “Closed them, too. They were with internet banks, and only one authorisation was needed.”

“So, you have no place to live and no money. Correct?”

“Well, sort of yes and no.”

“That doesn’t make a lot of sense, Perry.”

His voice is softer, coaxing almost, and I force myself to meet his eyes. I have to salvage something from this pathetic tale.

“I don’t have anywhere to live, but I’m going to line up some rooms to go and see. The basement, nobody ever goes down there, and I needed something quick. And free. Grant cleared out the ready cash, and I don’t have anything until I get paid. What I had on me, I drank it last night.” I wince, at the thought of how he found me as much as the lingering hangover I’ve got. “But, I’ve got other money. The problem is, it’s tied up in special accounts which take time to unlock.”

Inheritance money, deposited at a private bank. It’s not the kind of account where I can take out a few quid at a hole in the wall machine. I have to apply for access, and wait for it to be granted. God alone knows why Granddad attached so many stipulations to it. It’s a sizeable sum of money, and no doubt he thought it was in my best interests, but my best interests, right now, would be for me to be able to get my hands on it quickly and easily.

“Wasn’t there somebody who could have helped you out with some money and a place to stay?”

I shrug. “Not really. My parents live in Spain, where they own a bar. They’d have sent me some money, but they’d have also asked a lot of questions I didn’t want to answer. As for friends, none are really in a position to let me stay. Except for Alfie—”

“Alfie?”

I nod. “He’s an old friend. He’d let me stay, no question. Only problem is, he’s not in London at the moment and I’m not sure when he’ll be back. Could be days, weeks, or months. So, it means I need to get myself sorted, and fast, on a temporary basis at least.”

“By sleeping in the basement of an office block?” He quirks a brow, and his lips twist into an incredulous smile, as though it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s heard. He’s right, it is, but it’s the position I’m in and a flash of anger sparks through me.

“Yes. I didn’t have too many choices when I found myself confronted with a key that no longer fitted the lock, radio silence from Grant, and cards that were no more than useless bits of plastic. I think I showed initiative.”

“Indeed you did. But I know when I’m being told off, and rightly so. I’m sorry.”

“And I shouldn’t have snapped, not when you’ve been so good to me. Anyway, I thought if I bunked down at work for a few nights, until I could get sorted… But there are a couple of security guards who do the rounds, and Elliot, he gets in early. Then I hit on the brainwave of the basement. Nobody goes down there.”

There’s an intensity in James’ moss green, feline eyes that’s almost dazzling. His face is set and serious, more I think than I’ve ever seen before.

“So, would it be fair to say you’re up shit creek with only a very small paddle?”

“A small paddle’s enough to get me moving.”

James laughs, lights sparking in his eyes.

“However,” he says, jumping up and gathering the plates, “you can’t stay in Elliot’s basement. You’re not a bloody troglodyte. Have you any idea when this friend of yours is likely to be back?” He leans over as he stacks the dishwasher, his jeans stretching across his muscled arse. I look away, not wanting to be caught staring again.

“Alfie? Not sure, to be honest. Last time I spoke to him was a few weeks back. Sometimes he likes to go off grid.”

“Off grid?” James looks at me over his shoulder. “He’s not one of those grungy sorts who lives on bits of twig and a few berries and believes a good steak, or just a simple sausage, is a crime against Mother Earth, is he?”

James looks so horrified it’s impossible not to laugh but I wince as my alcohol-pickled brain protests.

“He’d certainly qualify as grungy, but not the rest of it.”

“So were is he, being all off-grid?” James asks, coming back to the table.

“He’s somewhere in Scotland, or he was the last time I spoke to him. On a mountain and living in a yurt. He’s a shepherd.” James’ eyes widen. I’ve surprised him and I can’t help smiling. “When he’s not being an urban street poet, that is.”

“An urban street poet? Give me strength. How do you even know somebody like this?”

“We met a uni. He studied accountancy, so when he’s not—”

“Being a rap goatherd?”

“Shepherd urban poet. There is a difference, you know.” James snorts, and rolls his lovely eyes, but they’re filled with good humour. “He earns money by contracting, then he takes off again. He says the city’s too confining. But he’s smart, and bought his own place as an investment, when we were still students. When he’s in London he’s got a kind of open door policy. The last time he was here, he had a mime artist, a circus skills instructor and an, er, exotic dancer and her snake staying.”

James chuckles. “Sounds rather intriguing. Anyway, your clothes should be dry now.” He gets up and disappears through a side door near the French windows into what must be a utility room, and returns with my stuff. My heart sinks like a stone. It’s time to get dressed and go.

“Thank you. I’ll change then make a move. Leave you to your weekend. But thanks, again, and I’m sorry for, well, everything.” For crass flirting, and being sick…

For a moment I wonder if he’s going to try and stop me, but he doesn’t. Why should he? Despite what he says, I screwed up his night out and now he’ll be glad to see the back of me. I push myself up without enthusiasm. I’ll while away a few hours away in parks and galleries before I bed down for the night again in the musty, dusty basement.

“When you’re dressed, we’ll go and pick up your stuff.”

I’m in mid-turn, but I stop. What’s he talking about? I don’t have any stuff in the basement, beyond a blanket and towel and some toiletries — there’s a shower at work, thank God — and a change of shirt and underwear I’ve been forced to buy. But why would I be picking them up?

James is looking at me as though he’s waiting for something to click. When it doesn’t, he tuts.

“Don’t you want to get your things? From the flat?”

“Yes, but I can’t get in. Grant won’t answer my calls or texts, so I don’t know—”

“Don’t worry about that. We can still get your belongings.”

If there’s some way of getting my stuff…

I don’t have much there, but what I have I could easily store in boxes in the basement until Alfie’s back from the wilds. But how the hell does James expect to be able to help me get my things back from a flat that looks like a poster for Fort Knox?

“…back here, somewhere stable whilst you sort yourself out.”

James is staring at me, one brow arched as he waits for me to answer.

“Err…”

James sighs. “You really haven’t been listening to me, have you? We’ll collect your things, locked door or not, and you’ll come back here to stay. You can’t live in an office block basement, you’ve got nobody you can stay with, and not a lot of ready money. To get back on your feet, you need a helping hand. Or a fairy godfather. I can be both.”

“Oh, no, I can’t—”

“Why not?”

I open my mouth, snap it shut, and open it again. Why not? I don’t have an answer.

James slaps a palm on the blond wood table, hard and decisive, the decision made, before he stands.

“Good, that’s sorted. Get dressed, I want to be on the road in ten minutes.”

It doesn’t even occur to me to argue as I rush from the kitchen.