The Last Word. A. Michael L.Читать онлайн книгу.

      They ended up sitting back at the same table as last time, but as soon as they sat down, things seemed to get awkward. Tabby wasn’t entirely sure why. It wasn’t her, she knew that. She’d realised being around Harry and having to deal with the exhausting banter all the time meant she had no time to focus on how pretty his eyes were. Which was a relief. But somehow, the meeting wasn’t working.

      ‘So, I really liked this idea of People Within Places, if you wanted to explore that further. I – ’

      ‘Yes, that’s – ’

      ‘I was – ’

      ‘Oh, sorry.’

      ‘No, you go ahead.’

      Silence.

      It kept happening. Harry would try to be accommodating, overly friendly, make a big deal over the smallest idea. And it wasn’t just patronising, but it made her feel like the idea was worthless and he was just trying to be kind. Which meant, clearly, none of her ideas were very good, and he was just trying to get whatever he could out of her.

      ‘Listen, darling, I was hoping we could go back to the uni fees concept. I love it, I think it’s brilliant.’

      ‘It’s not,’ Tabby said flatly.

      ‘What?’

      ‘It’s not brilliant. I don’t know what you’re doing right now, but it’s weird.’

      Harry sighed. ‘I’m trying to be a supportive editor.’

      ‘By holding my hand like a child? I’m not a moron.’

      ‘Look, your friend said I’d been tearing you down, so now I’m trying not to. But apparently I’m an arsehole either way. I’m making an effort here, so could you stop making me feel like I’m being a shitty human being?’

      Watching Harry lose his cool was way too much fun. A delicious vein in his neck seemed to twitch, his cheeks went a little red and his eyes seemed to turn a darker green. Tabby was enjoying him being off-balance way too much. But maybe now it was time to apologise. After all, she’d won, right?

      ‘I’m sorry, Harry, honestly.’ She smiled and patted his hand.

      ‘You don’t look sorry,’ he grunted, and then looked at her closely. ‘You look smug.’

      She widened her eyes. ‘That’s just my face. Why would I be smug? Look, we’re trying to get used to each other, it’ll take some work. I appreciate you making the effort.’

      ‘Don’t have this problem with my other writers,’ Harry sighed. ‘I just chat away and they take it or leave it. None of them tell me to my face that I’m talking bollocks.’

      ‘I’ve never done that!’

      ‘No, but you would, wouldn’t you?’ This time it was Harry’s turn to grin, as Tabby looked a little abashed.

      ‘Maybe. But I’d find a more creative way of saying it. And I’d only do it because you seem to bring out the worst in me.’

      ‘I seem to do that with most women.’ Harry winked, and she rolled her eyes and suddenly things seemed OK again.

      ‘All right, how about we decide you won’t babysit me. If you really don’t like it, tell me. But maybe throw in a compliment now and then to take the sting out. You know, constructive criticism.’

      They clinked glasses once again, and Harry poured the last dregs of the bottle into Tabby’s glass.

      ‘So tell me, what’s the deal with getting to know the pub owner’s life story?’ Tabby leaned in, watching as Harry’s lips quirked.

      ‘I like people. I know you think I’m just some pretentious twat who talks about Pinot Noir and drives a sports car and wears designer suits – ’ Tabby opened her mouth to interject and he held up a hand ‘ – no, I know I give off that impression. And it has its uses. But most people, present company excluded, tend to think I’m all right.’