Page 68 of Santa's Baby
I hate people sleeping on my side. Ever. Not even Josh ever did it on bestie nights. It’s just one of those things. My side is always my side, and Reuben’s should be Reuben’s – especially since he isn’t here to invite me into it, but I can’t resist. I hold his pillow tight and breathe him in. I don’t know what makes scentsso powerful, but I get an animalistic rush at the thought of him lying here, sleeping.
Sleeping next to me.
Iwanthim next to me.
I want to share this bed with him, and hear his deep breaths in the night. Feel his arms around me. Touch his naked skin while he’s far away in dreamland.
I’ve actually managed a decent few hours of shut eye since Reuben left for the grotto. As tempting as it would be to hole up here under the covers straight through until he gets home, I’m going to have to shift my butt. My mug is empty on my nightstand, as well as the water glass next to it. I need a pee and another round of painkillers to help combat my aches and pains from the glory wall. I always keep a stash in my handbag for such occasions.
Plus, I have a whole manor’s worth of curiosities to explore. The home of the man I’m obsessed with is here for the stalking. It’ll give me a lot more insight into him than an online grotto calendar andReuben Sinclairsearch terms ever will.
There’s a robe on the back of the bedroom door that just about fastens around me. Maybe I should have taken the opportunity to drop into Belgravia this morning since I have little here with me. Just some half washed lingerie still discarded in the shower, and a dirty coat and stilettos downstairs.
I’m making my way downstairs when I hear my phone ringing. Crap. I don’t remember where I left my bag. Probably in the kitchen, on one of the worktops, or by the breakfast bar while I was drinking my hot chocolate. It cuts out while I’m dashing to the kitchen, then starts right back up again… behind me.
Turns out my bag is hung up in the main hallway. My gentlemanly client must have put it there for me. My phone is still ringing when I fish it from my bag, and my loved-up smiledisappears when I see the name on screen. It rings out again before I can answer.
Josh.
Oh, fucking hell. FUCK.
There are eighteen missed calls from his number in the notifications window.
I didn’t check back in with him this morning after the glory wall. I forgot to update him on my next proposal!
I call straight back with my heart in my throat.
“Hey,” I say.
“Tiff?! What the fuck? Where are you? Are you ok?”
I could slap my own forehead. “Yeah, I’m cool. All good. Was just tired. Sleeping. Sorry, my bad. Should have let you know.”
“Should have let me know?! No fucking shit! I’ve been worried sick. So has Ella. We figured you were asleep, so called around your place to check, and you weren’t there. So, where the fuck are you?”
Bollocks.
I picture Josh in my apartment, searching for me, scared shitless to find I wasn’t at home. We have a key to each other’s places, and I didn’t send him a fucking D&S message when I finished last night. He didn’t know I was done and safe.
Fuck it.
“Where are you, Tiff?”
“I’m, um… busy. I’m on another proposal.”
“On another proposal? After the glory wall? Are you fucking serious?”
“Yeah, something came up. An urgent one.”
“Really? Why the fuck didn’t you let me know? I got onto Orla a few hours ago and it looked to her like you were busy. Then she sounded weird. Said there were some things she’d investigate on your calendar, but hell knows what. She wouldn’t fucking tell me. Agency rules and all that, so I know she couldn’tgive me more, but I was about to call the fucking police, Tiff. I thought you’d been fucking kidnapped!”
My gut lurches. Josh has spoken to Orla. About me.
Orla is one of the Agency team admins, managing entertainers, and schedules and clients. She can see calendars, she can see locations, and bookings histories, and FUCK. I feel like a criminal on the run.
“Why the fuck did you get onto Orla, Josh? I’m fine!”
“Because I figured she’d know where the fuck you were, or who the fuck had kidnapped you!”