He quarter turned his head towards Lauren, his dimple appearing. “Because it’s a hell of a lot politer than saying good to smell you again.”
“You kill me,” Lauren said.
Oh God, why didn’t he kill Lauren, slay her with his lazy wit, because then they’d take him away and the app developer could hire someone else to do the job. But that was about as likely as death by falling house.
“Though Georgia does smell particularly good.”
Lauren laughed. Georgia blushed hot, but at least he’d never have the satisfaction of seeing it. “We’re in Studio B again. Would you like some help to get there?” Lauren was already standing.
“Nope. If you walk in front of me and don’t lead me over any open trapdoors, I’ll be fine.”
Hmm, what she’d give for a trapdoor. She turned her back to him and went to the outer door of Studio B, holding it open so he could come through. He put one hand to the doorjamb, then trailed it along the corridor wall.
“Are you mad with me, Georgia Fairweather?”
She was furious with him because he made her feel things she didn’t want to feel. “Why would I be mad with you?”
“I think it’s because I’m breathing.”
She let the door go and it bumped against Damon’s shoulder. He stepped forward and it shut behind him, closing them in the narrow corridor to the control room.
She’d just closed a door on him. “Of course I’m not mad with you.” She walked forward and opened the second door.
“Yeah, you are. I’m sorry.”
She held the door and glanced back at him. He looked straight at her. She’d be in his blurry blob range. The only way to betray herself was with her voice, she needed to school it to be cool. “What do you have to be sorry for?”
“I’m not sure, but something tells me it’s the right thing to do.”
“The only thing we have to do is get four hours of your voice down.” She went through the door and it closed behind her. He didn’t step through. She opened it again. He hadn’t moved. “Sorry, I…” He could’ve opened the door. He’d deliberately waited.
“Georgia, I am sorry I was too familiar with you. It won’t happen again.” He’d wanted the privacy. He had no way of knowing how many people were on the other side of the door.
“Come through and let’s get started.”
“Yes, let’s start again.” He put his hand out, shake ready. She looked at it; she didn’t want to take it but she couldn’t leave him hanging there like that. “Georgia?”
She put her hand in his and let him control the shake.
“I’m Damon Donovan. You might know me as the voice of Captain Vox. I like burnt fig, honeycomb and caramel ice-cream, parasailing and long slow walks on the beach.” He held her hand steady. “Your turn.”
She sighed so he’d hear it. “I’m Georgia Fairweather, nice to meet you.”
He laughed. He might’ve been annoyed she wouldn’t play, but he laughed. He still had her hand and she’d have to make a thing of it to pull it out of his grip.
“Things to know about me. I tell bad jokes. Cats creep me out. I love music and books. I grew up in a small country town. I think Google is making us dumb, Facebook killed friendship and selfies are the beginning of the end of civilisation. Also I don’t understand adult colouring books. Your turn.”
“Um. We need to start.” She needed him in another room, separated from her by thick glass.
He opened his hand and released her. “We just did.”
He didn’t say anything more than was functional as she set him up on the iso booth. He had a new tablet and an earpiece he wanted to try out. A program that would read him the text he’d then voice for the recording. He was working on a way to eliminate the need to read text in any point size. Ah, so that’s why he’d taken on this job. He was using it to experiment with his process.
She went into the control room and air became easier to breathe. He was standing at the lectern. She got feedback. His tablet.
“Damon is there wifi on your tablet? I’m getting feedback.”
His hands moved. The interrupting signal stopped. “Better?”