The No Texting Policy

THE NO TEXTING POLICYA MERCHANT CITY ROMANCE NICKI BELL Copyright © 2023 by Nicki Bell All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the writer except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Editing by Laura Kincaid, Ten Thousand | Editing + Book Design https://www.tenthousand.co.uk Proofreading by Brooke Washburn-Hazelip Cover design by Christine Cover Design https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/ChristineCoverDesign For the girls with messy buns and yearning hearts CONTENTS Exclusive Reader GroupChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9EpilogueWant to read about Ashley and Matt?AcknowledgmentsSign up to my newsletterAlso By Nicki BellAbout the Author EXCLUSIVE READER GROUP Click here to join Nicki’s reader group and be the first to find out about upcoming releases, cover reveals, make suggestions for character names, plus the chance to read chapters and give feedback! ONE Kayleigh Sky – grey. People’s faces – grey. Buildings – grey. Why is everything in Glasgow grey? I mused from my desk right next to the second-floor window of Donnelly’s debt collectors. The loud, obnoxious wall clock on the opposite wall ticked towards 11 .a.m. It would be 3 p.m. in Mauritius now. I should be sunbathing after a long lunch or frolicking in the ocean while my husband gazes lovingly at me from his towel on the beach. The narrow white band on my left ring finger taunted me. It was even paler than my off-white freckled skin. The last two weeks had both dragged and flashed by. I’d spent it in the centre of a tornado trying to keep from following Dorothy and Toto up into the air. Despite my efforts, I’d ended up in Oz, aka my childhood bedroom, anyway. Mum had converted it into a sewing room the minute I left two years ago, and I’d spent the last fourteen nights studying a cardigan pattern taped to the wall to help me drift off. My makeshift airbed was as comfortable as the conversation I’d had with the hotel when I’d told them not to expect us. The phone on my desk rang and I chose to ignore it. After three rings it circulated to a bearded guy on the other side of the office – Jim, or something, I remembered vaguely from my first day of introductions. Jim-or-Something threw me a dirty look and began to jot something down on his notepad. Ashley – who I’d met on my first day – winked at me from two desks away. She appeared to dislike this job as much as I did, though she’d had a choice in coming here. I hadn’t. Why is everything in Scotland grey? I texted her. Margaret – the older woman between us – had made it clear she found our conversations extremely irritating. And we weren’t daft enough to use our business email. Ashley tended to use colourful language. So texting was the easiest way to communicate. No one else seemed to talk. Or even look at each other very often, as if the huge beige room sucked the soul right out of you and left a mindless drone behind. Because it’s Scotland, she wrote back. The guy in charge of our team stepped out of his office, taking a minute to survey what we were doing. Immediately I dropped my phone into my lap and pretended to tap away on an empty Word document. So far I’d written— Hello, oh my God, this is sooooooooooo boring. I don’t care about chasing people’s debt. I only care about my debt. I wish they’d stop chasing my de— ‘Kayleigh,’ the familiar voice said above me, ‘what are you doing?’ My fingers paused as I met his brown eyes. The scar on his left cheek from when I made him fall off the see-saw was faint against his tan. ‘Work?’ He didn’t look convinced. ‘I hope so. I put my neck on the line getting you in here.’ I pursed my lips. ‘Yes, I’m aware of the part you’ve played in me ending up here.’ My sarcasm wasn’t lost on him, but he’d heard much worse from me during rowdy sleepovers. ‘How many times have I been over here today?’ I held my fingers up to count. ‘The first time – to tell me to stop looking out the window, when that pigeon was eating a burger. Second time – to get off my phone. The third time you reminded me not to swing around in my desk chair while texting. So…’ I tapped all four fingers slowly. ‘Five? I’ve never been good at maths.’ ‘Hilarious. If I have to come over here again there will be consequences.’ He marched away before I could respond, square shoulders rounded out from the bony stubs they used to be. When did he start working out? My phone vibrated with a text from Ashley. What’s his problem? I shook my head at her behind Margaret’s back while I typed, High on power. He forgets I’ve seen him in the bath. Ashley’s eyebrows lifted to her hairline as she read. What? Recently? God, no. When we were, like, five. He’s my little brother’s best friend, I typed furiously. I kept my eye on the glass doors for Jordan’s return. There was a lull in the conversation when Ashley’s work phone rang and she got stuck with a customer. A text from Mum appeared. What do you want for dinner? Every bloody night. I’d barely had an appetite and had survived on toast and water for the last fortnight, but she still insisted on asking. Like I’d randomly decide I wanted rump steak during my mourning period. I missed my flat, where I could go home and have tinned soup for dinner on my corner couch without someone trying to feed me up. Except it wasn’t my flat, and it wasn’t my couch. It was his. That’s why I’m sleeping in sewing-pattern-and-cat-poster purgatory. Nothing, I responded and hoped she