From Paris With Love This Christmas. Jules Wake
Assembler. What the heck was that? Experienced assembler required.
That counted her out. Her finger scanned down the rest of the column as she leaned on the dresser, studying the back pages of the local paper.
UK driving licence required. Perhaps they might consider a French one.
A possible.
Must be fully conversant with Word/Excel and have some knowledge of accountancy packages.
No, not suitable.
Car owner.
‘You’re back.’ She jumped at the sound of Jason’s voice and folded the newspaper quickly.
‘Yes, I popped into town,’ she said brightly as if sounding upbeat might dispel the leaden lump in her chest. ‘I’ve got your money for you.’ She handed it to him.
‘Thanks.’ He put the money on the side, leaving it there as he began to pull clothes from the yawning mouth of the washing machine.
It hurt that he left the crisp bank notes so casually on the side. They represented a third of all she had access to at that moment.
Her bank account wasn’t as flush as she’d thought. Of course there’d been the first class flight to London, the new dress and boots from Printemps and this winter’s collection new Prada handbag and the matching purse this month. Asking Maman for an advance on next month’s allowance appeared to be out of the question.
‘I really appreciated you lending me the money.’ She fingered the ribbing on the sleeve of her fine knit jumper not looking him in the eye.
‘No problem.’ He shook out a pair of jeans.
‘So the bills here. Are they quite expensive?’
‘They’re alright.’ Jason picked up the basket and hummed to himself.
Hesitantly she watched as he started pegging out his washing on a rack besides the rather feeble radiator.
‘So,’ she said brightly, ‘how much do you pay?’
He looked up from the task and glared at her. ‘If you want to know how much rent I pay your sister, spit it out and ask.’
‘No. I wanted to know what kind of expenses are involved in owning your own home. I’m thinking about buying an apartment in Paris.’
‘It’s probably different there but here, there’s council tax which is a hundred and thirty-three pounds a month,’ as he spoke, he flipped the clothes over the rack with efficient quick movements, ‘electricity is thirty-five pounds a month, gas varies but again about thirty-five pounds and water is about three hundred pounds a year, plus the telly licence which obviously you wouldn’t pay in France.’
‘Right.’ Her stomached flipped. ‘That’s really helpful.’
He raised a sceptical eyebrow and she gave him a half-hearted smile. Over two hundred pounds a month, so half of that was a hundred pounds, plus food and other expenses.
When his back was turned, she tucked the paper behind her back and slid out of the kitchen to head upstairs.
Settling on her bed she opened the paper again and sighed. The jobs either looked terribly dull or you needed previous experience.
‘Wanted: door-to-door canvassers who are highly-motivated, enthusiastic and professional. With a passion to meet and exceed targets. Quality individuals needed to represent our company.
Hello, this sounded promising.
Whether you have previous experience or not, as long as you have a passion to succeed, we’d love to talk to you.
This position requires excellent face-to-face communication skills with a positive and outgoing personality.
Basic pay negotiable with fantastic commission structure in place.
Siena sat up straighter. Oh, yes. She could feel it in her bones. This sounded like a great job. Maman thought she’d go running home, but Siena would show her.
Monday morning and brewing day. With a yawn and a stretch, he rubbed his bristled chin. Shaving was a chore and it wasn’t like he worked in an office any more but after a few days, the stubble drove him crazy.
He staggered through to the bathroom and then stopped dead. The shower was running.
He knocked on the door. ‘Siena? Is that you?’
‘Yes, won’t be long.’
Bloody hell. He wanted a pee, a shave and a shower. No, he needed a pee. Right now. He wanted his usual morning routine. For a minute he waited but there was no fricking sign of the water abating. Did the fact she was up so early mean she had a flight to catch?
He’d avoided her on Saturday night by inviting himself along to the pub with Ben. That had backfired a bit because Claire had been there and had somehow ended up hip to hip with him all evening and he might have had a drink too many and might have kissed her. But suggesting lunch on Sunday had probably been his stupidest move. He didn’t want to lead her on and he had horrible idea that he might have given her the wrong signals.
Two full minutes later and his bladder was telling him he wasn’t a freaking camel. He could have burst in but catching Siena naked again felt wrong. Stomping downstairs, he barged into the kitchen, knocking a toe painfully against one of the wooden chairs.
‘For crying out loud,’ he spat through gritted teeth. Grasping the hot tap, he turned it on full and looked up at the ceiling. ‘Take that, madam.’ A second later, he heard a squeal of shock. He let the tap run for a good minute until he heard the shower door slam.
With a satisfied wrench he switched the tap off.
Knocking on the bathroom for a second time made no difference.
‘Siena, I need to get in there.’
‘I won’t be long.’
‘You already have been.’
‘I’ll be out in five.’
‘You’ve got five seconds before I go and pee in the wastepaper basket in your bedroom.’
There was no response.
‘One.’
He heard Siena sniff.
‘Two.’
‘Three.’
He opened her bedroom door, listening with satisfaction to its loud, familiar squeak.
‘Don’t you dare!’ She shot out of the bathroom, her hair bundled in a towel with another wrapped around her. ‘I’m out.’ She stuck her nose in the air. ‘Honestly, some people have no patience.’
‘Some people are trying to get ready to go to work. Alien concept I’m sure.’
She stopped, drew herself up and with a haughty stare looked right down her nose at him. If he hadn’t been so damn desperate for the loo, he might have found it cute. Her attempt at snotty would have worked better if she were a few inches taller but he topped her by three inches.
‘I’ve got a job interview, actually.’ With that she sauntered off to her bedroom.
He dived into the bathroom, so full of steam he could barely see a thing. Blessed relief. Now he could think straight. What the hell was she talking about? He shook his head and climbed into the shower, promptly slipping on the fragrant suds all over the shower tray and banging his knee hard on the tiled wall. Christ alive, she was a liability. A job? Doing what? Smelling