But he should finish his tea, shouldn’t he? It wouldn’t be polite to leave it.

He sat and stared out of the window, sipping his almost-cold brew. Beside him, Chloe did the same. He could see his own window through hers, across the narrow courtyard. Could see his abandoned easel and even a few naked canvases piled around the room. Prime spying position, this was.

He gulped down the last of his tea and looked over to find that her eyes were closed, her face slack.

“You want me to bugger off so you can sleep?”

“I’m not tired,” she said instantly. “I’m just resting my eyes.”

Since that was clearly bullshit, he should leave. Yet he found himself hanging around and blurting out pointless crap like “So you’re a web designer.”

“Yes,” she murmured.

She was so quiet, her usual snap-crackle-flame extinguished, that he found himself wanting to bring it back any way he could. Even if that meant pissing her off. “Wouldn’t have thought you’d bother with a job. What with your family being loaded and all.”

It worked, kind of. She cracked open one eye like a sunbathing lizard and managed to look haughty while doing it. “You don’t know my family is wealthy.”

He snorted. “You gonna tell me they’re not?”

She closed the eye.

“So why do you work?” he asked, not because he was genuinely curious, but because he wanted to keep her lively. That was all.

She sighed. “Perhaps the monthly amount I receive from the trust is not enough to keep me in sea-salt chocolate and tea. Or maybe I am addicted to ordering antique Beanie Babies for thousands from eBay. It is possible that all my clothes have tiny diamonds sewn into the seams.”

He couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “You’re so fucking …” So fucking unexpected. Like maybe she wasn’t the vicious snob he’d once assumed. Like maybe she was just an awkward, sarcastic grump, and he should stop losing his temper around her.

Christ, he didn’t even have a temper unless he was around her. And he’d learned the hard way that letting a woman fuck with his contentment was a stepping stone on the way to bad shit.

Maybe that was why he found himself saying, “Just so happens that I need a website.”

“Really?” Her tone was dry as sandpaper, but somehow, he could tell that she was interested.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

“You’re probably one of the posher designers, right? Bet you charge out the arsehole.”

“Indeed I do.” She opened her eyes, and something zipped up his spine when their gazes met. It was hot and cold all at once, unexpected and unexplainable. He was still trying to figure it out when she added, “Since you’re being so decent about the cat, I might give you a discount.”

Red arched an eyebrow. “What cat?”

The tilt of her lips was so tiny, it could barely be called a smile. If he did decide to call it a smile, well—it would be the first time she’d ever smiled at him. Not that he’d been keeping track.

“This is only until we find the owners, mind,” he added quickly.

Her not-smile widened like a waxing moon. “It has no collar.”

“Don’t look like a stray to me, though. It’ll be chipped.”

“I’ll find out,” she said.

“Good. And keep it inside, yeah?”

“I’ll see if one of my sisters has time for an emergency kitty litter run.”

Red sighed, resigned to the pitfalls of his own nature. “I’ll do it.”

She gave him one of her usual looks, all irritated and snooty. He was trying not to bristle when she followed up with actual words, words he really hadn’t expected. “You’re so lovely,” she scowled. “I don’t think I can stand it.”

He blinked, an unsettling warmth creeping up the back of his neck. Which meant—bugger this skin of his—that he must be flushing like a teenager. He looked away and shoved his fingers through his hair. His voice was gruff when he said, “It’s nothing.”

There was a pause before she laughed, the sound low and disbelieving. “Oh, my goodness. You blush.”

“Nope.” He knew full well his face was bright red, but he lied anyway.

“You do. This is hilarious. I should compliment you more often.”

“Please,” he said wryly, “don’t.” Clearly, he couldn’t take it.

“Fine. I promise to be consistently awful.” She smiled, really smiled. It was bright and lopsided and absolutely stunning. It only lasted for a second, but he saw the impression of it behind his eyelids the way he might see a firework that had gone out. Then she frowned and raised her fingers to her lips, as if she was confused by her own moment of happiness. Which, aside from anything else, was pretty fucking depressing. She looked at him, her eyes narrow and considering, like he was some kind of lab rat. “Alive,” she murmured under her breath. “Hm.”

His eyebrows rose. “Pardon?”

She cocked her head. “I think … I do believe I have a proposition for you.”

There was nothing seductive in her tone, but the words sent a twisted kick of something through his chest. He’d watched too many rubbish spy films where propositions always ended in blow jobs. “What’s up?”

“It’s rather a long story.” She bit her lip. “Actually, never mind the story; you don’t need to hear it. The short version is that I need to ride a motorbike.”

He’d have been less surprised if she’d gone with the blow job thing. Chloe Brown. Motorbike. Didn’t really compute. He wracked his brain for a passable response and finally came up with “Okay?”

She nodded. “And you, obviously, have a motorbike.”

“… Yeah, I do.”

“Would you like a free consultation? For your website?”

“… I might.”

“Then it’s settled.” She closed her eyes again. “I’ll give you one, and you’ll take me for a ride. Do you mind if we handle the details another time? As it turns out, I am rather tired.”

He opened his mouth to say something like “Now wait a fucking minute,” but all that came out was “Uh.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

That’s what she said. I’ll be in touch. Like she’d just interviewed him for the position of motorbike chauffeur and would let him know how he’d done in due time. Christ, she was so far up her own arse, it was a miracle she could see the sun.

“Good-bye,” she added.

He was stuck between telling her to piss off, remembering that she was a tenant, and wanting to die of laughter.

Then she cracked open one eyelid and said suspiciously, “You’re not one of those men, are you? Because you’d be surprised by how loud I can scream. Years of vocal training.”

Red stood. “Nope. No. Don’t worry. Going.”

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He went.

Ten minutes later, he was in his own living-room-slash-studio, watching Chloe “rest her eyes” through the window. She looked pretty fucking asleep to him, but that was none of his business. He just wanted to check that the cat hadn’t curled up on her face and suffocated her or something. Cats couldn’t be trusted, as Vikram was telling him through the phone.