Never Enough
Page 8
She gusted a sigh and he found himself amused for a moment.
“I need just a few minutes of your time, Mr. Brown. I have to speak with you on an urgent matter.”
She was very starched and prim. “Why don’t you tell me what it is and I’ll judge just how urgent it is myself?”
“I cannot relay this over a phone line. I can meet you at your convenience to explain everything.”
“Who are you and why should I?”
She paused and he got the feeling she was pissed. Good. He was too. He didn’t have time to play around with people. He’d been down this f**king road so many times just thinking about it made him tired.
“As I said, my name is Gillian Forrester.”
“Why don’t we cut to the chase, sweetheart? How much are you looking for?”
“Sweetheart? Just who is it you think you are and who do you think I am, for goodness’ sake? How much for what?”
Okay, so he did feel a little guilty for being rude. “Look, I get strangers coming around all the time looking for something from me. If you need money for your project or a school or something, I give pretty regularly. But you still have to go through my manager. I’ll give you his number and tell him to expect your call.”
“You ought to try using earplugs when you are onstage, Mister Brown.” The accent had gone very proper now. Like the hormone-riddled fool he was, he liked it. Liked the way she drew out the word mister. Maybe he should investigate it a little more.
“Why is that?”
Oh dear God, did he have to do that drawl thing? Despite his manners, he was sexy and her body responded in a major way.
She stifled yet another sigh and kept her uptight British in place. “Because I think you have a hearing problem. Now, I do not want money from you for anything. As I’ve said, I need to speak with you on an important matter. I simply want some of your time. It will take me roughly ten minutes to lay it all out.”
“I don’t have a hearing problem. Though I appreciate your concern. I have a problem with people wasting my time. You’ve received enough of it. Please don’t contact me again.”
Well then, that was easy enough. “As you wish.” And she hung up.
Miles came in from school. She heard his clatter and the stomp of feet that seemed to grow a size every two weeks.
He was safe with her. She’d done her best. Had tried to tell Adrian Brown about this treasure and the man had accused her of trying to extort him! The nerve.
“Mum?”
“On my way,” she called out.
All the annoyance and fear melted as she caught sight of him. Of all the messy he carried along with him with ease. Backpack. Kickedoff shoes. A wash of paper and discarded clothing in his wake. “Oy, don’t you dare get those trainers on my carpet. They’re muddy.”
“You mean my sneakers?” He grinned.
“Don’t give me any cheek, mister. You know what I mean. Trainers, sneakers, the message is the same. Track mud on my carpets and I shall have you for dinner.” She looked him up and down. “Maybe after you’ve had a snack. Go on, I got more peanut butter at the market.”
She wandered with him to the kitchen, leaned against the counter while he made himself a peanut butter sandwich.
“How was school? Did you turn in your book report?”
“It was okay. Yes.”
A year ago, he’d be telling her every last detail of his day. But these days, he had those little teen moments that made him less than chatty.
“Don’t overwhelm me with details, boy.” She moved around the kitchen, pulling things from cabinets.
“Got practice tonight.” He leaned his head against her shoulder for a moment and the memories came rushing back, warming her to her toes. When he was a toddler and in the early grades, he had problems connecting with people sometimes. He didn’t give a lot of hugs, but he would put his head on her shoulder, or when she asked for a kiss, he’d give her the top of his head. Over time, he’d let other people in and had gotten past it for the most part. But sometimes when he was very tired, or emotionally raw, he’d put his head on her shoulder like that and he’d instantly be four years old again.
She kissed the top of his head. “All right. I’ll order you guys a pizza then. I’ve got two lessons anyway. Do your homework first.”
“You’re pretty awesome for a mum who doesn’t know the difference between sneakers and trainers.” He grinned.
“Talk now, monkey boy! You need those braces tightened next week; I’ll have a word with your orthodontist beforehand, shall I?”
He put his hands up, which he could now that he’d shoved half his sandwich in his mouth at once. Gillian winced. “Your teeth are for chewing. Use them.”
He demolished another sandwich, an orange, two glasses of milk and a handful of raisins. He ate like a machine and yet remained long and lanky. Like her own father had been. She shuddered, forcing herself to remember Brody and Adrian Brown were also tall. It was better to imagine Miles getting anything from them instead of Ronnie Pete.
He paused in the doorway after he’d grabbed his backpack. “Are you all right? You look a little pale.”
She managed a genuine smile. He lifted her spirits, silly boy. She hadn’t told him about Adrian and at that point, she wasn’t sure she would. Maybe once he turned eighteen as Cal had suggested.
“I’m good. Just had to run around a little earlier.”
“I need just a few minutes of your time, Mr. Brown. I have to speak with you on an urgent matter.”
She was very starched and prim. “Why don’t you tell me what it is and I’ll judge just how urgent it is myself?”
“I cannot relay this over a phone line. I can meet you at your convenience to explain everything.”
“Who are you and why should I?”
She paused and he got the feeling she was pissed. Good. He was too. He didn’t have time to play around with people. He’d been down this f**king road so many times just thinking about it made him tired.
“As I said, my name is Gillian Forrester.”
“Why don’t we cut to the chase, sweetheart? How much are you looking for?”
“Sweetheart? Just who is it you think you are and who do you think I am, for goodness’ sake? How much for what?”
Okay, so he did feel a little guilty for being rude. “Look, I get strangers coming around all the time looking for something from me. If you need money for your project or a school or something, I give pretty regularly. But you still have to go through my manager. I’ll give you his number and tell him to expect your call.”
“You ought to try using earplugs when you are onstage, Mister Brown.” The accent had gone very proper now. Like the hormone-riddled fool he was, he liked it. Liked the way she drew out the word mister. Maybe he should investigate it a little more.
“Why is that?”
Oh dear God, did he have to do that drawl thing? Despite his manners, he was sexy and her body responded in a major way.
She stifled yet another sigh and kept her uptight British in place. “Because I think you have a hearing problem. Now, I do not want money from you for anything. As I’ve said, I need to speak with you on an important matter. I simply want some of your time. It will take me roughly ten minutes to lay it all out.”
“I don’t have a hearing problem. Though I appreciate your concern. I have a problem with people wasting my time. You’ve received enough of it. Please don’t contact me again.”
Well then, that was easy enough. “As you wish.” And she hung up.
Miles came in from school. She heard his clatter and the stomp of feet that seemed to grow a size every two weeks.
He was safe with her. She’d done her best. Had tried to tell Adrian Brown about this treasure and the man had accused her of trying to extort him! The nerve.
“Mum?”
“On my way,” she called out.
All the annoyance and fear melted as she caught sight of him. Of all the messy he carried along with him with ease. Backpack. Kickedoff shoes. A wash of paper and discarded clothing in his wake. “Oy, don’t you dare get those trainers on my carpet. They’re muddy.”
“You mean my sneakers?” He grinned.
“Don’t give me any cheek, mister. You know what I mean. Trainers, sneakers, the message is the same. Track mud on my carpets and I shall have you for dinner.” She looked him up and down. “Maybe after you’ve had a snack. Go on, I got more peanut butter at the market.”
She wandered with him to the kitchen, leaned against the counter while he made himself a peanut butter sandwich.
“How was school? Did you turn in your book report?”
“It was okay. Yes.”
A year ago, he’d be telling her every last detail of his day. But these days, he had those little teen moments that made him less than chatty.
“Don’t overwhelm me with details, boy.” She moved around the kitchen, pulling things from cabinets.
“Got practice tonight.” He leaned his head against her shoulder for a moment and the memories came rushing back, warming her to her toes. When he was a toddler and in the early grades, he had problems connecting with people sometimes. He didn’t give a lot of hugs, but he would put his head on her shoulder, or when she asked for a kiss, he’d give her the top of his head. Over time, he’d let other people in and had gotten past it for the most part. But sometimes when he was very tired, or emotionally raw, he’d put his head on her shoulder like that and he’d instantly be four years old again.
She kissed the top of his head. “All right. I’ll order you guys a pizza then. I’ve got two lessons anyway. Do your homework first.”
“You’re pretty awesome for a mum who doesn’t know the difference between sneakers and trainers.” He grinned.
“Talk now, monkey boy! You need those braces tightened next week; I’ll have a word with your orthodontist beforehand, shall I?”
He put his hands up, which he could now that he’d shoved half his sandwich in his mouth at once. Gillian winced. “Your teeth are for chewing. Use them.”
He demolished another sandwich, an orange, two glasses of milk and a handful of raisins. He ate like a machine and yet remained long and lanky. Like her own father had been. She shuddered, forcing herself to remember Brody and Adrian Brown were also tall. It was better to imagine Miles getting anything from them instead of Ronnie Pete.
He paused in the doorway after he’d grabbed his backpack. “Are you all right? You look a little pale.”
She managed a genuine smile. He lifted her spirits, silly boy. She hadn’t told him about Adrian and at that point, she wasn’t sure she would. Maybe once he turned eighteen as Cal had suggested.
“I’m good. Just had to run around a little earlier.”
