“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you...” She swallowed away the temptation to tell him about the author’s death. “Essie’s asked me to be her personal assistant.”

“You?” he said. “Why?”

Although Liv constantly asked herself the same thing, his questioning stung.

“She knows I’m interested in her books and I know her characters inside out. In fact—” she hesitated for a moment, considering how much she could say “—she wants me to work for her full-time, in the new role.”

He nodded at the cash. “So, that’s your pay raise? Wow.”

“Not really, this is more for...” She couldn’t think how best to explain it. She certainly couldn’t tell Jake she was completing Essie’s book. “I’ve packed in my other two cleaning jobs.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. He turned a dial on the oven and took the pasta off the hob. “When did all this happen?”

“Hmm, a while ago.”

“And you’re only telling me now? Didn’t you want to discuss it first?”

“You’ve been busy with Paperpress,” she said. She’d hoped for a nice family meal with posh cake, not having to justify herself. “Congratulations might be nice.”

Jake shook his head as if stunned. “Yeah, sure, well done.” He rubbed her arm absentmindedly before flicking through the money in the envelope. “This is brilliant. We can pay for the plumbing, and an electricity bill has just arrived. We’re a bit short on the Paperpress wages this week.”

“Hold on a minute,” Liv said, snatching it back. “The leak is an emergency, and we’ll have to pay the cash back.”

Jake scratched the back of his neck. “Why?”

“This money is for things I might have to do for Essie. We’ll just borrow it for a short while until I receive the extra pay in my salary. And we don’t want to spend it all on bills anyway. What about a nice meal out, or a weekend away? We’ve not done that for ages.”

He nodded at her. “Okay, let’s think about it,” he said. “Writing nonsense sure pays well for Essie.”

Liv felt her body rock. Jake’s comment felt like a spear through her gut. “What did you just say?” she said.

Pink tinged Jake’s cheeks. “Nothing. I just mean that she churns out her wild stories and gets paid a fortune, while the rest of us work proper jobs.”

When Liv thought about all Essie’s handwritten pages, her throat shrank so tightly she could hardly speak. She’d typed up seventy thousand words and now had to stitch them together like an intricate embroidery, plus add more of her own. How dare Jake call it nonsense. “So, in your opinion, gluing pages and leather covers together is more creative?” she said. “It’s certainly not more lucrative.”