“You’re the one who organised and oversaw the whole thing. And there’s pictures of you working all over our accounts—people know who you are.” That’s news to me, the sly cow. “They do?” At least she looks a bit apologetic. “Er, yes.” “Bex—” “They like you, Griff. I thought it would be nice.” “They like me?” I feel like I’ve swallowed a wad of cotton wool. “They can’t like me. They don’t know me. It’s just pictures.” “They think you’re cute and manly and good with plants.” “All true,” Olu murmurs, and I know he’s trying to make me blush. Thank God my beard is overgrown enough right now to hide
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