The Christmas Project: A laugh-out-loud romance from bestselling author Maxine Morrey

‘I do.’

‘Then I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

‘I look forward to it.’

Liar.

He hung up before I could say anything else. Snatching my coat from the hook, I rammed my arms into the sleeves, fuming at his laid back self-assurance. And the fact that he’d tripped me up into pretty much admitting that I had been more than happy to bump him onto Bernice.

‘You’re going then?’ Bernice asked, watching me savagely trying wrap a scarf around my neck as if wrestling a particularly venomous python.

‘I don’t think I have much choice now. Best just to get it all over and done with as soon as possible. Although, if I don’t turn up tomorrow, it’s because I’ve succumbed to my current desire to smack Michael O’Farrell right between the eyes with a snow shovel.’

‘Be a shame to ruin a pretty face like that.’

‘Fair point. I’ll smack him in the back of the head instead.’

With that, I yanked my bag onto my shoulder and headed out the door.

Chapter Four (#u27559d27-b1b9-578b-adff-c37b57b9653b)

I rang the bell and heard the hurried thud of feet running down the stairs. A moment later I heard another thud, shortly followed by a few choice words before the door was pulled open. Michael O’Farrell stood there in a white T-shirt, faded jeans and bare feet, the right one of which he was holding up and rubbing.

‘Are you all right?’ I asked, as he mutely indicated me to step inside. ‘I thought I heard…something.’

‘Fine,’ he replied. He waited whilst I took off my coat and heels and then began heading towards the kitchen. I followed. ‘Would you like a drink? I’m making one anyway.’

My plan was to say no so that I could just get on with the task in hand but as he pressed the button on the coffee maker, buried amongst the junk on one of the work surfaces, the most delectable smell of coffee drifted out, melting my resolve in one tempting moment.

‘That would be very nice, thank you.’

He nodded and pulled another mug from a cupboard.

‘I saw that,’ he said, without turning.

‘Saw what?’

‘You raised your eyebrows in surprise that I actually got something out of a cupboard instead of just off the worktop.’

I really needed to work on my poker face.

‘You had your back to me. You have no idea what I did or didn’t do.’

‘I’ve eight nieces and nephews and spent a year teaching English in India. I’ve learned to have eyes in the back of my head.’

I rolled my eyes.

‘I saw that too.’

‘Oh, you did not.’

‘Boy. You’re bad at this game.’

I sucked in my cheeks and kept my mouth closed, as my eyes darted to the snow shovel leaning against the wall outside, next to the back door.

‘I’d get to it before you.’

‘Oh bloody hell!’ I burst out.

Michael’s face creased into a brief grin that faded as quickly as it had shown. ‘I can see why Janey likes you.’

I didn’t know what to say to that so I said nothing. But as the silence grew longer, my client seemed disinclined to fill it, happy, it seemed, just to lounge against the counter and drink his coffee. His gaze fell on me and the intensity of his eyes gave off the feeling that he could see much deeper than I was comfortable with. Which, of course, was ridiculous. I knew that. But still. I could also see why he was apparently never short of women to take up to his soulless bedroom. It wasn’t just the good looks. It was easy to see how those eyes and that gaze could be used to make you feel like you were the only person around, even in a room full of people. Or a bar full of alcohol.

‘What are you thinking?’

‘What?’ I asked, my voice coming out a little more squeaky than usual and colour flushing up my neck.

‘You had a very…interesting…expression on your face.’

I wasn’t sure what that meant but I did know I had absolutely no intention of telling my client that I’d been thinking about how easy it must be for him to pick up women in bars. I knew he’d just take it as a compliment. I’d hit myself in the back of the head with that snow shovel before I admitted to that.

‘I was just thinking about the best place to start.’

Michael drained his coffee mug, watching me over the rim. ‘Right,’ he said, giving me the distinct impression that he didn’t believe a word I’d just said.

‘And what did you decide?’

Thankfully I had actually been planning the best way to go about this particular case on the Tube on the way over so I had a quick answer ready.

‘I think the best thing to do is to start with your office. It’s obviously where you spend most of your time when you’re at home, and you told me yourself you find it difficult to locate anything quickly. Getting that into a better state will make it a better place to work and eliminate the stress of not being able to find things when you’re working to deadlines. If there’s anything work related in any of the other rooms, they need to come into your office now so that we can see exactly what we have.’

He gave me another of those assessing looks.

‘Who says it’s where I spend most of my time? You’re making me sound like some sort of workaholic.’

‘Which, according to Janey, is exactly what you are. And, whilst I can’t help with that, I can at least help you be one in a nicer space.’

‘I didn’t realise you and my sister had been discussing me quite so much.’

I pulled my notes out of bag and gave a little laugh. ‘Don’t worry. It was a very brief conversation when she asked me to do this with you. And she mentioned it again yesterday evening when you put her on speakerphone.’

‘So she did. And what else did she tell you?’

I headed out into the hallway and stepped over what looked like a piece of bike engine and hung my bag from one of the coat hooks on the wall.

‘Is that what you tripped over earlier?’ I asked, stepping back over the item again.

Michael, having followed me, looked down at it and frowned.