Rania Algafari never asked to be different, and when she escaped the war in Syria and moved to the UK, her only goal was to live her life in peace. Get up, go to work, avoid talking to the dead - that sort of thing.
But not everyone dies quietly, an...
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Rania had changed her hair when I saw her the next evening. A high ponytail instead of a plait, and I wasn't sure which style I liked best. Truthfully, neither of them. I wanted to see those dark tresses tumbling loose around her shoulders, or better still, spread out over my naked chest.
At least, that was what my cock thought. My head told me that lusting over Rania was a very bad idea indeed.
"You're early," she said, glancing at her watch.
"By ten minutes. Traffic was lighter than I thought."
I neglected to mention the hour I'd spent hanging around at home, just waiting until I could leave.
"Do you have far to come?"
"The trip takes about forty-five minutes."
"Oh."
She bit her lip, and I wished she were biting mine. For fuck's sake, Lawson. She's not your type.
But what was my type? I'd had two failed relationships, one with the kind of girl my mother wanted me to date and the other with a cop groupie, although I hadn't quite realised the extent of her tastes at the time. Since then? More one-night stands than I cared to think about and some quality time with my fist.
"There are still other people in the building," Rania said. "You'll have to wait until they leave."
"How about I give you a hand?"
Her eyes widened in surprise. "What? No, you couldn't... It's not your job."
"And helping me isn't your job either, but you're still going to, and seeing as I'm planning to drive you home again tonight, it's in both of our interests to clean this place quickly."
"I can take the bus."
"You can, but you're not going to."
Now she put her hands on her hips. "Are you always this bossy?"
"You're welcome. Where's the hoover?"
A couple of the salesmen gave me odd looks as I shoved the vacuum cleaner around the reception area. What? Hadn't they ever seen a man cleaning before? Probably they left all that to the little woman at home. Or a cleaning service, like RJ did. Someone came in three times a week, and I made a mental note to be less messy. We should buy the lady a Christmas present too. Chocolates or something. I didn't even know her name.
Rania walked past with a tray of cups, flicked her eyes upwards, and mouthed, "Two left."
Hurry up, assholes.
Another half hour passed before they sauntered by, ignoring me like I didn't exist. Was that how they treated Rania too? As though she were invisible? No wonder she sounded so bitter about life in England.
I turned off the vacuum cleaner and watched from the window until two sets of flickering headlights moving down the drive showed our last two friends had departed for the evening, then I went to find her. She was on the top floor, stacking paper towels into a cupboard.
