Read Repeating History (History #1) for Free Online Page A

him.
    “How is Maya doing?” he asks calmly.
    “Good... she’s cracking on with her HR paperwork.”
    “Thank you,” he seems almost sincere, “if she becomes a pain, let me know.”
    “I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I smile at him bitterly. “I always was good at babysitting.” One thing I definitely will not be doing is being some sort of intermediary between them. That is not happening.
    “Clara,” Andrew looks surprised, “that’s not what I had in mind.”
    “What did you think we’d become friends and braid each other’s hair?” I throw his own words back at him. I’m more pissed than I’d realised.
    “It wasn’t my idea,” he looks uncertain for what I can only presume is the first time in his life.
    “Perhaps not,” I’m angry and I’m not completely sure why, “but I’m still going to have to baby sit your sister. Do you know what I think?”
    “No. But you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t tell me.” He’s so frustrating. He’s entertained by the situation we’ve found ourselves in; no that’s not right, he’s entertained by the situation he has put me in.
    “I think you are looking for ways to irritate me further... this is all part of some plot.” I’m in for the long haul when I take a deep breath before opening my mouth again to rant, “either she’s spying on me or you are just some sort of pigheaded man that thinks he can do whatever he wants. You’ll never take me seriously, will you? I’m here to work, not babysit your sister! If you want to know how she’s doing, ask her your fucking self.”
    “If that’s what you want, princess...” his teasing tone is back and the lift is full of static charge. I can feel it in my bones, for fuck sake. I don’t understand the effect he has upon me. He’s staring at me, almost challengingly and he’s definitely standing too close. His face is inches from mine and I can feel his breathe on my cheeks. I feel almost tempted to inch forward and lean up so that I can kiss him but that is completely absurd. “Are you ready for this meeting?”
    “Of course I’m ready,” It angers me slightly that he doubts me.
    “I only mean, you’ve had a lot to catch up on.”
    “I catch up quick.”
    “I know you do,” he’s smiling at me, “I remember when we used to have to do cross country and no matter how much I might be beating you for 97% of the race, you always caught up and beat me in the end.” His eyes are twinkling with humour. I don’t understand why he can’t take anything seriously.
    “Yeah...” I don’t really know what to say. Truth is, if I didn’t beat him, teenage me had considered it a failure. He was the ruler by which I measured my growth. He was the stick by which I measured my tears. He was the tape by which I measured my success and he was the string by which I measured the size of my heart.
    “Every time I tried harder to beat you and every time you still managed to win.” He’s pouting now and it’s quite funny. It’s cute.
    “I never won at tennis.” I don’t know why I’m reminding him of all the times he’d beaten me. I’d begged my father for tennis lessons so that I might finally beat him but he’d refused. Hadn’t stopped me learning though. Eventually, I paid for my own lessons.
    “No... and hockey... I always won at hockey.”
    “Yeah.”
    “And maths. I was better at maths.”
    I need to stop him before he lists all the things he was better at than me. We’d be here all day otherwise. “But I was better at English.”
    “Barely...” his eyes are twinkling. He’s so naturally competitive.
    “This isn’t the career I’d pictured you in.”
    “Really? What did you think I would do?” He seems genuinely interested in my response. He’s leaning towards me, an eyebrow raised, waiting.
    “I don’t know... perhaps the police or something sporty,” I consider my words carefully, “you never seemed particularly creative.”
    “I’m not very creative,” He’s