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I looked at Tamsin. “I’m so sorry. I think I need to talk to her.”
“Oh, thank God,” Tamsin said, and then clapped a hand over her mouth. “I mean, no. I mean. Of course.” She clambered out in a flurry of steam and flustered dignity, wrapped herself in a towel and paused, glasses fogged. “For the record, I do think you two should kiss. I’ve got a tenner on it.” She winked, which on her was devastating, and left.
Kat watched her go, then slipped into the tub opposite me, put the champagne on the edge and handed me a glass.
“I’ve never been so jealous in my life,” she said.
“You? Of Tamsin?”
“Of anyone who got to sit this close to you without it being a war.” She sipped, then smiled at the bubbles. “Two years. I’ve been so bloody scared of you. You’re better at the clients than I am, you know that. You walk into a room and they trust you. I only beat you on paper, because I’m sharper with the numbers.”
“Don’t you dare be nice to me.”
“I’m trying to be honest.”
The steam rose. The water slid hot over my collarbones. Her foot slid up my calf under the water and rested lightly on my knee, and her eyes were so serious, so open, that I forgot what I’d been angry about.
I could kiss her right now. Or I could ask what I’d been dying to ask for a day: whether the promotion was really, finally hers.