Love in the Dark (LarssonSiblingsSeries#1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - DELILAH

DELILAH

My face is on fire. I'm struggling to breathe and my eyes are almost sealed shut. Winston is a terror. I woke up this morning, after double-checking that he was closed inside of Poppy's bedroom last night to find him sleeping next to me on my pillow.

Nope. I don't understand how he did it. The bloody thing could give David Blaine a run for his money with his trickery. To Poppy's credit, she called Liam straight away to ask if she could send him back, but he switched off his mobile phone because of signal troubles and couldn't stay on the phone long enough to get an answer.

So, it looks like I have to sleep at the agency until she can make other arrangements for him. It won't be so bad. There's an old sofa at the back of the building and a fridge full of yoghurts. It'll be like staying at home, but with no heating or television.

After the horrendous noises coming from the boiler this morning, I figured the safest thing to do would be to turn it off. It doesn't feel safe. Poppy says that she knows of a guy who has offered to look at it for twenty pounds, which I didn't think was bad. But that won't be until next week.

"Delivery for Miss Conway?" a man's voice says, and I glance up to see a large delivery truck parked outside the window.

I shot out of my seat in confusion. "No, you must be mistaken. I didn't order anything."

The young guy flicks his eyes over his clipboard in a bored fashion, then back to me. "Your building number is thirty-seven C, right?"

"Yes," I say, the warmth growing off my chest spreading everywhere with the dread that is settling in.

"Then it's definitely you. Where do you want them?" he replies, pushing the creaky front door back when it closes on him.

Why is he not listening to me?

"I seriously bought nothing." I can't afford to. And by them, he means multiple items. "I promise you. It isn't me!"

The guy seems a little impatient when he turns away from me to shout something to his workmate lifting the roller door at the back of the van. "It's your address and your name, madam. They're big so handling them in a bigger space will be easier. Do you have a back entrance?"

My eyes fall on the clipboard in his hands when I stride up to him, letting my eyes fall survey the form he shows me. Deliver to Branding and Co at two o'clock. Oh, God. It is me.

My heart pounds in my chest. In what world can we afford leather armchairs? The brand name sounds fancy too. And Italian leather is not cheap. I can't imagine for dad to order anything without telling me. The word PAID in big letters flashes back at me and the worry skyrockets. If they exchanged  money, then our debt just doubled.

I feel sick to my stomach.

"Take them back," I say on the verge of tears, which isn't hard with my already streaming eyes.

The guy's blank expression does nothing for my panic. "We can't take them back. It's against our store policy." He motions to his friend, not at all willing to listen to me. "Check around the back to see if there's access for the van."

I step further into his space, ready to stand my ground. "Can I call your manager then? Please! You must understand that we cannot afford these chairs."

I try to pay attention to what they're doing, but my mind, which is on overdrive didn't give me much of a chance to stop them from moving the chairs in here. Can't they show a little compassion? Don't they know how humiliating this is for me?