EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT: The Varlet and the Voyeur

Excerpt

“You must be Josey,” he said with a small smile as he approached. Even though it was small, it set my heart pounding. He seemed completely confident and at ease. I hadn’t even opened my mouth and already I was failing.

“Yes, I am she.” I nodded. “Sorry about the water. I’m all fingers and thumbs. That’s not a euphemism by the way, hahaha.”

Oh, man. This was bad.

At least I managed not to open with So, voyeurism, eh? What’s all that about? But really, my inner pervert was intrigued. She wanted to know where, why, and with whom he engaged in such activities, but I guessed quizzing him on kink right now wouldn’t work in my favor.

Will’s mouth did a weird, non-smiling quirk thing, but I couldn’t tell if it was a good or a bad sign. Probably bad.

“Didn’t think it was,” he replied, and I swallowed.

“Oh my goodness, I’ve offended you, haven’t I? It was supposed to be a joke, but sometimes I have a weird sense of humor. Anyway, just pretend I never said it.” I held my hand out to him. “I’m Josey Kavanagh and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He took my normal sized hand and shook it in his giant one. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. I’m Will. Bryan said you’re a friend of Eilish?”

“Yes, me and Eilish go way back to our days in the ’hood.”

Silence.

Stop trying to make jokes, Josey. They’re going down like a glass of cold vomit.

“She’s my physio.” His eyes got all crinkly and I wondered if maybe he had a soft spot for her. Eilish had her fair share of admirers, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he did. She was kind, strong, and smart, beautiful, easy to talk to.

“Yeah, she’s great with her hands.” I nodded and internally winced. Usually, I had a ratio of three okay statements for every awkward one. Now every single sentence coming out of my mouth was bad.

William—er, Will—didn’t seem bothered though, or maybe he was just good at hiding it.

“Can I take your order?” the waitress asked, having approached the table, and I was glad for the distraction. She used a cloth to dry up the spilled water as I replied, “Yes, I’ll have tea.”

“Black coffee, thank you,” Will said.

The waitress left, and Will held my gaze for a second. His eyes drifted along my forehead, then travelled down to my chin. He blinked, his eyebrows inching together.

I stiffened. “Do I have something on my face?”

He shook his head. “No.”

I frowned, touching my chin. “Are you sure? You can tell me.”

“No.”

“No, you’re not going to tell me? Or no, I have nothing on my face?” Now I was searching my cheeks with my fingers.

“No, you have nothing on your face.” His eyebrows did this odd thing, where they came together and then apart, and then together again, like he was trying to clear his expression.

I squinted at him. “In my teeth? There’s something in my teeth.” I picked up a spoon and checked the reflection. Unfortunately, it was concave, so I was upside down.

“There’s nothing in your teeth.” His calm voice held a hint of something I couldn’t identify. When I glanced at him again his gaze was still moving over my face in a peculiar way. So I dropped the spoon, unhappy with its distorted reflective qualities, and picked up the knife.

“There’s nothing on your face, I promise. It’s just—”

“What?” I wiped my nose with the back of my hand because—oh God—I probably had a hanging snot.

“It’s just . . . interesting.” He said this haltingly and then winced slightly, giving me the impression he hadn’t meant to say the word ‘interesting.’

I blinked at my miniature reflection in the knife, and then at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve got”—he lifted his chin towards my face and breathed out, sounding frustrated—“you have interesting features.”

I stiffened.

I knew I wasn’t the most conventionally attractive flower in the garden—more like a thistle than a rose—but it wasn’t a nice feeling when someone pointed it out. When I was younger I’d get upset, but these days I tried to own it.

Considering him, and his conventionally attractive everything, I crossed my arms. “My friend Alice from school used to say I looked like a bug.”

Will’s brows drew together, like my statement irritated him. “No. You remind me of those big eyes paintings from that movie. Ever seen it?”

“Can’t say that I have,” I mumbled quietly. Big eyes?

I had no idea what paintings he was talking about or what movie. I also didn’t want to know, because if they were ugly or weird looking, that meant he thought I was too, and I’d rather live in blissful ignorance of the extent to which my features were “interesting,” thankyouverymuch.

The waitress came with our drinks and I busied myself adding sugar and milk as I tried to get the conversation back on course. “So, about this job, what sort of person are you looking for?”

Will thought on it a moment, then answered, “I need someone who’s honest.”

I waited for him to continue, widening my eyes. When he didn’t, I prompted, “That’s it? Just honest? That’s the only requirement?”

He stared at me, as though considering, or maybe struggling to find the right words. Maybe he was one of those verbally constipated people. I noted his eyes were gray-ish green, the color reminded me of granite for some reason.

Abruptly, he said, “Living with Bryan worked because he was sober and attending AA. He had this rigid routine and I followed it. But then he left to move in with Eilish and things went downhill.” He glanced at his hands, like they held a memory.

Studying him, I nodded. “So, you need someone like Bryan? Who doesn’t drink, smoke or do drugs, who goes to bed at a reasonable hour and gets up at 5:00 a.m. to work out?” Because if so, I was not that person.

I loved wine. We were in a relationship.

I did exercise, but mostly (only) because of my dog.

I’d also indulged in a little marijuana every now and again. In fact, my parents were the only ones I smoked it with. Most people thought this was weird, I know, but my dad was an intellectual and my mam was an artist. They claimed it opened their minds, helped them access a higher plane of thinking, but really, they just liked getting high.

Honestly? I liked it because of the snacks. My dad couldn’t cook a real meal to save his life, but he made the best snacks whenever he was high. My favorite was his fondue. Sometimes I’d pretend to smoke just to get the snacks.

And last but not least, I wasn’t a morning person. My alarm going off at 7:00 a.m. was my least favorite part of the day.

“No, I don’t expect you to be Bryan.” William’s eyes seemed to smile, but the rest of his expression was unchanged. “Honesty a-and boundaries.” He took another deep breath, his gaze moving over my shoulder. “Someone to”—he frowned, again looking frustrated—“someone to help me resist my worst impulses, and check in on me, hold me accountable.” A dark cloud seemed to form behind his stare as he brought it back to me.

“Can you explain that a bit more? What do you mean, ‘check in on me’?”

He glanced over my head, squinting. “Be present. Ask me about my day, tell me about yours. Ask me what I’ve been doing, if I’ve been tempted to seek out company.” His eyes came back to mine. “That kind of thing.”

“So, I’ll be like a mish-mash between a therapist and a babysitter.” Blarg! I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth.

But he nodded, not looking at all perturbed by my description. “Yeah, basically.”

“And what if you are tempted?”

“Distract me. Remind me of all the reasons why it’s a bad idea, my responsibility to the team, the ramifications to my career.” His gaze flickered over me, and he added quickly, “If you think you can do that then the job is yours.”

The job is mine? What??

YES!

Except . . .

My stomach flipped over.

I really wanted to lie and tell him I was sure I could do that, but I had to be honest. “Cards on the table, I might not be the person you’re looking for.”

He sat back, his gorgeous head tilting to the side as though he were studying me, his delicious voice a deep rumble. “How so?”

“I’m messy and disorganized. I drink too much wine and I oversleep. I’m not great with boundaries, frequently overstepping, or just saying absolutely the wrong thing. I never seem to know when something is or isn’t my business, offering opinions when I should hold my tongue. I also have a dog. He’s a bit of a handful.”

“I like dogs,” Will said, his eyes seeming to smile again. “On the farm we had lots of working dogs.”

Rocky was about as far from a working dog as you could get. He was a ball of pampered, energetic mischief, but I wasn’t going to get into that right now.

“The fact is, in all honesty, because I have a real problem with honesty—in that I’m always honest and frequently to my detriment, like now—I would absolutely love to take you up on this offer, but I think there are people out there far better suited. You’ll have a much higher chance of success if you choose someone else.” I paused to give a soft laugh. “Someone who’s the opposite of me, basically.”

Will didn’t say anything for a moment, studying my face in a way that made me start to feel self-conscious again.

Then he said, “You’re hired.”

My brows shot right up into my forehead. “Have you listened to a single word I’ve said? I’d make a terrible sober companion, or well, voyeurism abstinence sponsor, I guess.”

“I disagree.”

What?

I stared at him, incredulous. “Why on earth do you want to hire me?”

“You’ll tell me the truth even if it won’t benefit you to do so.” His gaze was steady. “That’s what I need.”

Mouth agape, I blinked. Well. . . wow.

Did you hear that? I’m what he needs!

And I’d told him the truth, so maybe I was right for this job after all.

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