Page 49 of Desperate Lies
“You’re working?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Can I help?”
“Now? You already helped me earlier today,” she says, referring to the session we did when I came home, going over her projections and brainstorming ways she can bring in income quickly.
“I can’t sleep, so I’ll either be putting on the TV next door and watching some mind-numbing crap, or I can help you in here.”
“Sounds like a no-brainer,” she says, tapping the stool next to her.
I sit and stare at her screen. “What on earth are you watching?”
She has a video open, paused on a couple embracing. The man is lifting the woman onto the kitchen surface, her legs hooked around his hips. They look like they’re about to go at it by the sink.
“Oh, it’s a trend. Look.” She rewinds the video and unplugs her headphones so I can hear the music. I don’t recognise the song, but the lyrics are suggestive to say the least.
“Here, in the first clip, she’s reading her book,” Diana explains, and the video shows a woman in her pyjamas, reading in the kitchen. “And then she falls into the book, as such. We see what she’s thinking. What she’s imagining.” At this point, the image shifts, and the man appears as if from nowhere, hiking the woman onto the kitchen counter. She throws her head back in ecstasy. The book she was holding is nowhere to be seen. The transition is seamless, and after a second or two of this passionate embrace, the video reverts to the woman in her pyjamas again, alone, holding her book, looking confused but delighted.
I don’t watch this type of thing, and I have no idea what to make of it.
“It’s depicting the fantasy of reading a romance book. We’re all slopping about in our pyjamas when we’re reading the book, but our mind is there.” She pauses on the embrace and points at it. “I love this trend. It’s romantic and sexy and…” She glances at me and stops talking to clear her throat.
“Anyway, I’d do it if I could,” she continues, “because if you make it slick, the views on these are huge at the moment.It would really expand my audience.” She sighs. “But I can’t because I don’t have a man to play the part for me.”
She minimises the screen, and I’m acutely aware that I’m a man, sitting right beside her. It would be rude to ignore that fact.
“I’ll do it for you,” I offer before I’ve thought it through.
She releases a gasp that sounds both shocked and amused. “That’s not why I showed it to you. If I wanted you to do it, I would have asked directly.”
“Would you?” I nod at the screen. “Really?”
She rolls her lips, that blush creeping into her cheeks again, not looking at me when she says, “Maybe.”
Her embarrassment is disarming, but I don’t want to fixate on it. Can’t afford to read into it. “I’m awake. You’re awake. We might as well do something useful with the time. I’d hate your enthusiasm to be stymied because you’re short-staffed when I’m sitting right here, perfectly capable of helping you.”
She turns to face me fully, leaning her elbow on the island and staring at me like she can’t believe what I’ve just said. “You’re really offering to do this? You’d lift me up on the kitchen counter and pretend to make out with me?” She laughs softly at the suggestion. “You must be truly sleep deprived.”
I will myself to stop talking, or at least admit that, yes, I’m tired and woozy, and that maybe I’m not making the best choices, but instead, I say, “I’d have to stipulate that you can’t see my face in the video, though.”
“What if Lizzie sees it? She’d know what we’d done straight away.”
I offer a lazy half-shrug. “We’ll tell her I was helping you with content creation. Which would be the truth. It’s not like I haven’t done it before.”
“You onlywatchedbefore,” she corrects. “You’re more of a spreadsheets kinda guy.”
“Well, maybe I want in on the action.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if I am flirting.
She smiles, shaking her head as she snaps her laptop closed. “Okay. If you’re serious about this, then I need you to put on a shirt and trousers. You don’t look like the fantasy of the ideal man in your t-shirt and boxers.”
I frown, pretending to be offended. “I’ll be sure to wear a suit to bed in future.”
“You do that,” she agrees, seemingly amused. She glances at my bare feet. “And put your socks and shoes on, please.”
I wriggle my toes, which strikes me as a damn stupid thing to do. “I thought you liked my feet.”
