Читать книгу Hired for the Boss's Bedroom - Кэтти Уильямс, CATHY WILLIAMS, Cathy Williams - Страница 5

OF COURSE, Leo had known what his mother was thinking when she had said, without any hint of inflection in her voice, that they had hoped he might have arrived a little earlier—several hours earlier, she could have said, were she to have been absolutely precise. Instead, she had held back her obvious disappointment and had listened to his excuses without comment.

Meetings had overrun. An urgent call had come through just as he had been leaving the office. Inevitable Friday traffic. Leo had kept the excuses brief, knowing that his mother would never actually tell him exactly what she was thinking, would never express disapproval or condemnation. In fact, he doubted whether there had been any need at all to make excuses, but politeness had driven him to apologise just as politeness had driven his mother to respond as she had, without any hint of censure.

‘Daniel,’ she had said eventually, ‘has popped out to see Heather. Just next door. The quickest way is to walk across the fields to her house, but I expect you would rather drive. Or, of course, you could wait here. I told Heather that he was to be back no later than seven.’

‘I’ll walk.’ He would not take the car because, as a city gent, a billionaire who had no time for country walks, he would never choose to wait.

So now here he was, sampling at first hand the extensive acreage that surrounded the exquisite country house which he had bought for his mother over six years ago following his father’s death.

Leo had never stepped foot beyond the neatly manicured gardens surrounding the house. Naturally, he had known that the grounds stretched as far as the eye could see, encompassing fields and a thickly wooded area which became lush with lilac lavender during the warm summer-months. Hadn’t he, after all, carefully read the reports sent to him by the people he had commissioned to find the property in the first place? Hadn’t he duly noted the practicality of his mother living in a house which would not, in due course, find itself surrounded by housing estates due to greedy building contractors having no respect for open space?

But only now, as he tramped across the endless fields, inappropriately clad in handmade leather shoes and a pale-grey suit which had cost the earth, did he appreciate the true size of his investment. Surely his mother, now edging towards her seventies, didn’t ever explore the furthest reaches of the estate?

It occurred to him that in truth he had no real inkling as to what his mother did from one day to the next. He dutifully telephoned three times a week—or considerably more now that Daniel had landed on the scene—and was told that she was fine, Daniel was fine, the house was fine, life was fine. Then he would attempt to have a conversation with Daniel, which elicited much the same response but in a rather more hostile tone of voice. The details of this fine life were never painted in, so he was at a loss to know whether his mother actually realised just how much walking this hike to ‘the house next door’ entailed.

He cursed himself for thinking that he would enjoy the fresh air and exercise. Fresh air, he acknowledged—swatting past some brambles, while the summer sunshine reminded him of the folly of venturing out in the countryside wearing a jacket—was best confined to those brief mini-breaks called holidays which he took a couple of times a year—usually combining them with work, women or, more often than not, both. As for exercise, he got ample amounts of that at his London gym where he thrashed out the stress of his high-powered job on a punching bag and then cooled down with fifty-odd laps in the Olympic-sized swimming pool. No one could accuse him of being unfit. This, however, seemed to require a different sort of stamina. He found himself wishing that he had had the foresight to bring his mobile phone with him, because he could have usefully used the time to make a couple of calls, which he would now have to do when he returned to the house.

Heather’s house, his mother had assured him, couldn’t be missed—it was a small, white, cosy cottage and the garden was spilling over with flowers of every description. Her face had softened when she had said this, and he had wondered whether Heather was one of her pals from the village, someone with whom she shared gossip once a week over pots of tea.

Or something along those lines, at any rate.

It was a heartening thought. Somehow he felt less of the guilty older-son, knowing that his mother had someone virtually on her doorstep with whom she could pass the time of day. And less of the guilty absentee-father, knowing that this kindly neighbour had also bonded with his son.

The cottage in question leapt out at him without warning, and his mother was right; there was no danger of him missing it. ‘Strike out west and head for the house that looks as though it belongs in the pages of a fairy tale’. Leo hadn’t realised that so many types of flora existed, and he surprised himself by pausing for a couple of seconds to admire the profusion of colour.

Then he circled the cottage, noting the white picket-fence, the clambering roses, all those tell-tale signs of someone who was seriously into clichés. He almost expected to spot a couple of garden gnomes peering out from between the riot of flowers that bordered the little stone path to the front door, but fortunately he was spared that particular horror.

Leo himself was minimalist to the bone. His London penthouse apartment paid homage to the axiom ‘less is more’: black leather, chrome and glass. On the white walls, outrageously expensive, abstract paintings were splashes of colour that slowly appreciated in value even as they adorned his walls; it was why he had bought them in the first place.

The door knocker appeared to be some quirky, mythical creature. Leo banged on it twice, just in case he was dealing with someone hard of hearing.

He heard the sound of quickly approaching footsteps, and something that sounded like muffled laughter. Then the door was opened and he found himself staring down into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. A tangle of pure gold, curly hair framed a heart-shaped face, and as his eyes involuntarily travelled further downwards they took in the small, curvaceous figure that, in a society that prized the stick-thin figure, would be labelled ‘overweight’.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded without preamble, lounging against the door frame.

‘You must be Daniel’s dad.’ Heather stood aside to let him enter. She couldn’t help herself. Disapproval had seeped into her voice, and he must have noticed it, because his ebony brows pleated into a frown.

‘And you must be Heather. I was expecting someone…older.’

Heather could have told him that he was exactly what she had been expecting. Her neighbour Katherine had talked about him, of course, had told her all about his meteoric career in the city. And Heather had heard between the lines a description of a workaholic, someone who was driven to succeed, someone who had precious little time for the things that mattered most in life. A lousy son and an even lousier father.

Up close and personal, he was every inch the successful businessman she had expected.

He was also incredibly good-looking; this bit was doing its best to nudge a hole in her disapproval. A lot better looking than those grainy pictures she had been shown in the scrap book Katherine kept of all his achievements, in fact. Indeed, the man was drop-dead gorgeous. Raven-black hair framed a face whose perfect, chiselled symmetry was harshly, coolly sensational. His eyes were grey and watchful, eyes that chose to give nothing away. She felt a shockingly potent quiver of awareness, then thankfully the moment was gone, lost under the weight of her disapproval.

Charitable by nature, Heather knew that it was crazy to judge a book by its cover, but she had had more than a passing brush with arrogance and success. Some women might find all that power and wealth an incredible turn on, but she knew from first-hand experience the price that had to be paid for being attracted to such dazzling light: too high.

‘I have come for my son.’ Having cursorily inspected the tiny hall, with its cosy flag-stoned floor and bowls of flowers on the window ledges by the door, Leo swung back round to face the woman who appeared to be dithering by the front door.

It had been a hot day, and she was wearing what looked like a loose, flowing gypsy-style affair, the sort of outfit that had been fashionable once upon a time. She was also looking at him with the sort of expression that promised a lecture, given half a chance. Leo sincerely hoped she would keep whatever was on her mind to herself, and he had an inkling of an idea what it was. He had no time for lectures, well-intentioned or otherwise.

‘He’s just finishing his tea.’

‘His tea?’

‘Dinner, if you prefer.’

‘Why is he eating here? I told my mother that I would take them both out for something to eat.’

‘I guess he just got hungry.’ Heather refrained from adding to that statement. The fact was, Daniel had refused point-blank to have dinner with his father.

‘Well, thank you very much, but it might have been worth finding out first whether plans had been made.’

This was just too much. Heather slipped past Leo to the kitchen, where she told Daniel that his father was here, and registered his expression of scowling indifference. Then she quietly shut the kitchen door and folded her arms.

‘On the subject of plans…’ she delivered coldly, ignoring the forbidding expression on his face.

‘Before you go any further, I’m in no mood to listen to someone I don’t know from Adam climbing on a podium and giving me a lecture.’

Faced with such a blunt, arrogant dismissal of what she had been about to say, Heather’s mouth dropped open, and Leo took that as immediate and obedient closure on a subject about which he had little interest. He walked past her towards the kitchen but she caught his wrist. It was like being zapped with a very powerful electric charge, and it took all her will power to stand her ground and not cower. She suspected that this was a man who specialised in inspiring fear.

‘I think we should talk before you get your son, Mr West.’

‘The name’s Leo; I think we can dispense with the formalities, considering you’re apparently an honorary member of the family.’ He looked at her small hand circling his wrist and then back to her face. ‘And I guarantee that whatever you have to say is going to be of little interest to me. So why not spare yourself the sermon?’

‘I don’t intend to give you a sermon.’

‘Wonderful! Then what exactly is it you want to talk about?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘But you’ll have to make it short, I’m afraid. It’s been a hellish trip up here, and I have work to do when I get back to the house.’

Heather took a deep breath. ‘Okay. I am a little annoyed.’

Leo made no effort to conceal his impatience. In that rarefied world in which he lived, people didn’t get annoyed with him—least of all women—but this one was practically pulsating, so he shrugged. He would let her have her say, and then he would clear off with his son. ‘Okay. Spit it out.’

‘In the sitting room. I don’t want Daniel to hear us.’

She led the way, acutely conscious of him behind her. Once they were both in the room, staring at each other like combatants in an arena, she said in a controlled voice, ‘I don’t think you realise how disappointed Daniel was that you didn’t make it to his Sports Day. It’s a big deal at the school, and he’d been practising for weeks.’

Leo flushed guiltily. Of course he had known that this would be flung at him but it still irked him, that this perfect stranger had the brazenness to stand there, staring at him with wide, accusing, critical eyes.

‘That, as I explained to my mother, was unavoidable—and, now you’ve got that off your chest, I think I’ll leave with my son.’

‘Why was it unavoidable?’ Heather persisted. ‘Don’t tell me that there was something more important than seeing your son come first in the hundred-metre sprint?’

‘Actually, I don’t have to tell you anything,’ Leo informed her coolly. ‘I don’t make a habit of explaining myself to anyone, least of all someone I’ve known for—what?—roughly fifteen minutes. I don’t recall my mother even mentioning your name in any of the conversations I’ve had with her.’

That came as no surprise to Heather. Daniel went to the local private school. He stayed in the house with Katherine, and occasionally, over the past eight months his father had deigned to visit, usually on a Sunday; a full weekend presumably was just too much for him. More often than not, he imported both Katherine and Daniel to London, sending his driver to collect them on the Saturday morning, and delivering them back to the country promptly on the Sunday afternoon.

Anyone would think that a man who had lost his son for years, when his ex-wife had disappeared off to Australia, would have wanted to spend as much time as possible making up for the wasted time!

Clearly not the man standing in front of her.

Katherine would not have mentioned Heather because her son would have had zero interest in finding out about the people who figured in his mother’s life. From what Heather had gleaned, Leo West was an utterly selfish money-making machine.

‘I realise I don’t have any right to tell you how to lead your life,’ Heather said, doing her best to be fair, ‘but Daniel needs you. He would never say so because he’s probably scared of you.’

‘Has he told you that he’s scared of me?’ This conversation was now becoming bizarre. He had expected to be greeted by a motherly lady, maybe to be offered a cup of tea, which he would, naturally, have refused; to leave with his son in tow, any sullenness over his absence at the wretched Sports Day to be forgotten when he presented him with the present he had bought. It was the very latest mobile phone, capable of doing pretty much anything bar washing the dishes and cooking the meals.

Instead, he was being held to account by a twenty-something girl with a challenged sense of dress who had probably never set foot out of the village.

‘He doesn’t have to. I can tell. He doesn’t see enough of you. I know it’s none of my business, but relationships have to be worked on. Daniel’s a very vulnerable little boy, and he needs his father. Especially now. He’s suffered the loss of his mother. He needs the security of his dad to see him through.’

‘You’re right—it’s none of your business.’

‘You’re not much into listening to what other people have to say, are you?’ Heather flared angrily.

‘On the contrary, I spend a good deal of my time listening to what other people have to say. I just have no interest in an interfering neighbour regaling me with amateur psychobabble—unless, of course, you have some kind of degree in child psychology. Do you?’

‘No, I don’t, but—’

‘Well, maybe you’re his teacher, hmm…?’

‘No, I’m not. But that’s not the—’

‘And you’re not exactly a lifelong friend of my mother’s, are you? I’m sure, if you were, I might just have a passing idea of who you are.’

‘No, but—’

‘In fact, when and how did you exactly come into contact with my mother?’

‘We met a while back, at a gardening convention at the village hall. A television celebrity was giving a talk about orchids, and we both just—’

‘Fascinating, but here’s what I’m wondering—what’s a young girl like you doing at gardening conventions? Isn’t that the luxury of retired people who have endless time on their hands to potter around in their gardens? Don’t you have more exciting things to do? You know, if you did, maybe you wouldn’t find yourself drawn to nosing into other people’s lives.’

Leo was in equal measure outraged that she’d dared to voice opinions that breached his personal boundaries, and borderline distracted by the rising tide of colour that was colouring her cheeks. The woman blushed like a virgin, and it struck him that he wasn’t very often in the company of a woman whose face was so transparent. He favoured the career woman, and it had to be said that career women weren’t given to blushing.

‘How dare you?’

‘Pretty easily, as a matter of fact,’ Leo commented smoothly. ‘Don’t go on the attack unless you’re ready for a fight—first law of success.’

Heather looked at the impossibly handsome man staring coolly at her, and wanted to fly across the room and punch him in his arrogant face. That reaction was so out of character for her that she closed her eyes briefly and blinked it away. She was placid by nature, not given to screeching hysterics. So who was this wild creature that had taken over her body?

‘Okay,’ she said tightly. ‘You’re right. Your relationship with your son is no business of mine. I’ll go and get him right now.’ She walked towards the door and only looked at him to say quietly, ‘And, for your information, I have a job and I don’t nose into other people’s private lives because I have nothing better to do with my life. I wanted to be helpful. I’m very sorry you misread my intentions.’

Instead of feeling like the victor in what had always promised to be a pointless exchange from where he was standing, Leo now felt like the villain. How had that happened? He had said what needed to be said, had told her to keep out of his business, she had agreed—so why did he now feel as though he had won the battle but lost the war?

Always the winner in any verbal showdown, Leo was unaccustomed to being caught on the back foot, and for the first time he was rendered temporarily speechless. He found that he was staring into space and hurried out, almost bumping into Daniel, who greeted him with a sulky glower.

‘I…I apologise for missing your Sports Day, Daniel,’ Leo began, very much aware of Heather standing in the background—probably committing this awkward little scene to memory so that she could bring it out at a later date and use it against him should the opportunity ever again arise.

‘Whatever.’

‘I hear you came first in the hundred-metre sprint,’ Leo said, trying to bring the tension down a notch or two. ‘Well done!’

He looked at Heather, and as their eyes tangled she felt a wave of sympathy for the man. Of course, he didn’t deserve her sympathy. From all accounts, he threw money at his son but rarely gave him the time that was so essential. But, her naturally warm nature reluctantly seeing the situation from both points of view, how hard it must be, she thought, for him to incorporate a young child into his life? Up until eight months ago, he had been completely unaware of his son’s existence, and had been accustomed to doing everything his own way, with no need to consider the welfare of another human being.

‘He’s a star,’ she interjected into the silence, moving forward and pulling Daniel towards her in a natural embrace. She wondered how his father couldn’t be charmed by his gorgeous, dark-haired seven-year-old son with those big brown eyes and skinny, vulnerable legs sticking out from his school shorts, which he had yet to change out of. ‘Aren’t you, Dan?’ She ruffled his hair affectionately and then said brightly, ‘You have a wonderful weekend, and don’t forget you can pop over any time if you want help with your English homework!’

Relegated to the sidelines, Leo saw that rarest of things, a shy smile of warmth and affection from his son. Naturally not directed at him, but a smile nevertheless. He looked at his watch and said briskly, ‘I think we should be heading back to the house now, Daniel; leave Heather to get on with…whatever she has to get on with.’

‘Can’t you come across on the weekend?’ Daniel suddenly turned to Heather with a pleading look, which of course immediately made Leo frown impatiently. Was his own company so dire that his son needed rescuing from any possibility of prolonged, unwanted bonding at all costs? Leo was uncomfortably reminded of Heather’s little talk, the first little talk he had had on the subject of his son since he had met him on that plane at Heathrow all those months ago.

‘We could go see that Disney movie,’ Daniel was now saying with a touch of desperation in his voice. ‘You know, you told me that you wanted to see it but you would have to rent a child to take along…’

‘I’m sorry, Daniel. I’ve got heaps of things to do, and I was just teasing when I said that I wanted to see that movie. I don’t actually like Disney movies.’

‘You’ve got lots of them in that cabinet in your sitting room,’ Daniel was quick to point out, with the unerring talent of a child to say precisely the wrong thing at the wrong time.

Heather reddened, cleared her throat, could think of nothing to say, reddened a bit more and eventually broke the expectant silence. ‘I’ll think about it.’

Of course, she had no intention of going to a movie with them, or going anywhere else for that matter.

She had spoken her mind, for better or for worse, and had met with a resounding lack of success. Leo West was egotistical, driven to the point of obsession and would never take advice from anyone, least of all from a woman like her. Hadn’t he assumed that she busied herself meddling in other people’s lives because she had no life of her own?

She had a life. A very good one!

In the stillness of the cottage, which seemed unnaturally quiet when her warring visitors had disappeared, she considered the excellent life she had.

Wonderful job, doing the one thing she couldn’t have been happier doing, illustrating children’s books, getting inspiration from her garden which she translated into pictures that were slowly achieving notoriety as works of art in themselves. She worked from home, travelling into London once a month so that she could go through her graphics with her art editor. It was a real luxury.

She also owned her cottage outright. No mortgage; no debt owing, in fact, to anyone. Which made her as free as a bird.

True, there was no man in her life, but that, she told herself, was exactly how she wanted it.

Little snippets of her past intruded into her peaceful cottage: Brian, as she had first known him when she had still been a young girl of eighteen and he had been on the brink of his glittering career. Blonde hair, straight, thick and always falling across his face, until he had had it cut because, he had told her seriously, in his profession men all wore their hair short.

Heather blinked and shoved that little nest of bitter memories back into their Pandora’s box. She had learnt years ago that dwelling on things that couldn’t be changed was a waste of time.

Instead, she shifted her attention to the kitchen which still bore the remnants of Daniel’s hastily eaten meal of spaghetti Bolognese. His father, he had told her, had planned on taking them out to dinner but he hadn’t wanted to go. He hated those fancy restaurants they went to. He hated the food. As a postscript, he had added that he hated his father.

Which made her start thinking of Leo and, once she started, she found that she couldn’t seem to stop. That cold, ruthless face swam into her head until she was forced to retreat to her little office and try and lose herself in the illustration she was currently working on. She was peering at the detail of a fairy wing, every pore in her being focused on the minute detail of painting, when the bang on her front door sent her jerking back, knocking over the jar of water, which shattered into a thousand pieces on the wooden floor.

A second bang, more demanding this time, had her running to the front door before she had time to clean up the slowly spreading mess on the ground.

She pulled open the door before a third bang brought down the roof.

‘You! What are you doing here?’ He was no longer in his suit. Instead, he was wearing a pair of cream trousers and a navy-blue polo shirt. Behind him was a gleaming silver Bentley.

At nearly nine in the evening, the sun had faded to a dull, mellow, grey light.

Leo dealt Heather a grim nod. ‘Believe me, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me to be here, but I have been put in the difficult position of having to ask you to accompany us to the cinema tomorrow. Daniel has dug his heels in and refused to budge. I’m being blackmailed by someone who hasn’t even graduated to books without pictures. It’s ridiculous, but it’s true, hence the reason I’m here when I should be reading over a due-diligence report that can’t wait.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Why don’t you let me in and I can explain?’

‘I’m sorry, but can’t this wait until tomorrow? It’s late, and I have stuff to do.’

‘Late?’ Leo made a show of consulting his watch. ‘It’s ten past nine. On a Friday night. Since when is that late?’

Heather heard the amused incredulity in his voice and felt her hackles rise.

‘I was working,’ she said stiffly.

‘Of course. You never got around to telling me exactly what you do for a living.’

‘You aren’t interested in what I do for a living.’

Leo thought that she was spot on with that, but circumstances had forced his hand. He had returned to the house with Daniel in frozen silence and had endured what could only be called silent warfare.

The mobile phone had been looked at and then refused, on the grounds of, ‘Thank you very much, but the teacher doesn’t allow mobile phones at school.’

And, ‘It’s a kind thought, but young children don’t need mobile telephones,’ from his mother.

Frustration had almost driven him to ask his mother what the hell was going on because surely, surely, this complete lack of co operation couldn’t just be caused by the fact that he had missed a Sports Day! But Katherine had taken herself off to bed at a ridiculously early hour, and so here he was, compelled to try and do a patch-up job with the amateur psychologist in the hope that the weekend might not end up a complete write-off.

‘You seem to have something on your face…’ He rubbed his finger along the blue streak adorning her chin and gazed in bemusement at his finger. ‘What is it? Paint? Is that how you spend your Friday evenings—painting your house?’

Heather pushed the door, but Leo wasn’t having any of that. He wedged his foot neatly into the open space and met her hostile stare with a grimly determined expression.

‘You can’t just come here and disturb me at this hour,’ she said through gritted teeth.

‘Needs must. Now, are you going to let me in?’ He stood back and raked his hands impatiently through his hair. ‘I don’t suppose,’ he said heavily, ‘that I was the only father who didn’t make it to the Sports Day.’ It was a concession of sorts and as close to an olive branch that Leo was going to offer.

Situation defused.

‘Yes.’

‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘No, I’m not. Every single parent was there, taking pictures. Daniel had asked me to come along to watch, pretended that he didn’t care whether you came or not, but I watched him, and he kept looking around for you, wondering if you were somewhere in the crowd.’

‘Are you going to let me in?’ Leo asked brusquely, not liking this image of himself as some kind of heartless monster.

Heather reluctantly opened the door and allowed him to stride past her. She hadn’t noticed earlier, but he dominated the space—not just because he was tall, but because of that aura he exuded, an aura of supreme power. He owned the air around him in a way that Brian never had, even though it had seemed so at the time. She shivered.

‘So, where were you painting?’ Leo asked, looking around him. He had quizzed his mother about Heather, ignoring her look of surprise at his interest, and had gleaned that she and Daniel trotted over to the cottage whenever they had a chance. Heather had, it would seem, become quite a fixture in the household. Little wonder that she had been polishing her soapbox in anticipation of his arrival.

He followed her into a room at the back of the house, and was confronted by walls on which hung every manner of artwork. Yet more were housed in an antique architect’s chest against the wall.

‘I broke my glass,’ Heather said, kneeling down so that she could begin carefully picking up the shards. ‘When you banged on the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone.’

‘You…paint?’

Heather looked briefly at him and blushed, suddenly feeling vulnerable as those flint-grey eyes roved over the artwork on her walls. ‘I told you that I had a job,’ she said, before resuming her glass-collecting task. It would take a heck of a lot more elbow grease to fully clean the ground, but the biggest bits had been collected; the elbow grease would have to wait until the morning, because right now she was finding it hard to think properly. She just wanted him out of her cottage so that she could get her scattered wits back into order.

Leo dragged his eyes away from the paintings and focused entirely on the woman standing in front of him. When she had told him that she had a job, he had assumed something along the lines of a secretary, maybe a receptionist somewhere, perhaps. But she was an artist, and it explained a lot. Her apparent lack of any recognisable fashion sense, her woolly-headed assumption that she could say whatever she wanted to say without thinking, her earnest belief that she could somehow solve a situation over a cup of tea and a good chat. Artists occupied a different world to most normal people. It was common knowledge they lived in a world of their own.

He refocused on the matter at hand. ‘I don’t know how you’ve managed to form such a strong bond with my son,’ he said, not beating about the bush. ‘But after the Sports Day…situation…it seems that the only way this weekend isn’t going to descend into a nightmare is if you…’ Leo searched around to find the right words. It wasn’t in his nature to ask favours of anyone, and having to do so now left a sour taste in his mouth. He especially didn’t like asking favours from a woman who got on his nerves. Moreover, he would have to be pleasant towards her.

Leo had tried his damnedest to form a bond with his son, but there was murky water under the bridge, and he had had time to reflect that it wasn’t Daniel’s fault. Without a great deal of difficulty, he could see any relationship he might have with his son sink without trace beneath a tide of remembered bitterness.

‘If I…what?’

‘Movies…lunch…dinner. I leave on Sunday afternoon,’ he felt compelled to tack on because he could see the dawning dismay spreading across her face.

‘You mean you want me to sacrifice my entire weekend to bail you out of a situation you can’t handle?’

‘Sacrifice?’ Leo laughed drily. ‘I don’t think there’s a woman alive who has ever seen a weekend spent in my company as a sacrifice.’

‘That’s the problem,’ Heather said. ‘Men like you never do.’