Free Incapable (Love Triumphs Book 3) by Ainslie Paton

lap the next. No cat will ever sort the whites from the colours for me.”
    Did she smile at that? Did he add enough fabric softener to the wash of this uneasy truce with her?
    “I’m ready when you are, Damon.”
    Not . Stiff towels, scratchy sheets.
    He gave her an hour of straight narration. Another good hour of experimentation with his new approach. It had potential. He’d dumped the headphones. Listening to himself as he laid a track was more about security anyway, and he’d long ago refined his awareness of mouth clicks, breaths, the sound of other subtle movement like the fabric of his clothing or the movement of his hands or feet. In that aspect he was a grandmaster. The earpiece and the audio text reader gave him the next grab of copy to memorise and as long as it was phrased correctly, he didn’t need to work off print or screen text. If it wasn’t, he was learning to adapt on the run.
    Twenty or more hours of narrating like this and he’d have the confidence to take his new method into his regular bookings. This job had come up at just the right time to try out a new way of working before he went back to his regular gigs, where his reputation was on the line.
    What wasn’t working was his attempt to defrost Georgia. “How was that?”
    “All good.”
    “Not too breathy.”
    “Not that I can’t easily clean up.”
    “It’s fine to ask me to re-read. It’s fine to ask me anything.”
    “Would you like a coffee break now?”
    He dropped his head into his hands. That was it, she hated him.
    “I don’t like seafood.”
    He looked towards the window and grinned. She had to be looking back. “Good to know.” Not necessarily progress but a step in that direction.
    After the break, when they were back on either side of the glass, he tried again. “My favourite colour is blue.”
    “Mine is green.”
    They were a recipe for colour blindness, but at least he got an instant answer.
    She prompted him to start up where he’d left off. An hour later he needed a water jug refill. Lauren brought it in for him, and the way she was in no hurry to leave told him Georgia had left the control room.
    He sat on the stool they’d provided. “How old are you?” He put a hand up to forestall her protest. He’d have to start there and work quickly to get what he really wanted from Lauren. “A range will do. Age isn’t necessarily something you can tell from someone’s voice or vocabulary. I’m guessing you’re in your twenties.”
    “I’m twenty-three.”
    He grinned, he’d have picked her as younger. He dug Lauren. She’d gotten over her fan girl moment. “What do you look like?”
    “I’m blonde and gorgeous.”
    He slapped his thigh. “Of course you are.”
    “Okay, I’m a little overweight, but I am blonde and blue-eyed. I did some modelling before I took this job, catalogue stuff, not catwalk.”
    “And you’re lying to me, right?”
    “No.” Very definite. Slightly outraged. “Ask Georgia when she gets here.”
    Oh thank you for that segue, girlfriend . “All right, I will. How old is Georgia? What does she look like?”
    “Why’d you want to know what she looks like?”
    He put a hand over his eyes. “Why do you think?”
    She groaned. “Okay, it’s the blind thing.”
    She was a trip. She wasn’t the least bit awed or anxious now. He laughed. “Yeah, it’s the blind thing.”
    “She’s older than me. I’ve got the staff birthday list. She’s twenty-nine. She’s got brown hair, it’s shoulder length, curly, lots of it. She’s shorter than me.”
    “Tell me something I don’t know.”
    “Brown eyes.”
    “And.”
    “Fair skin, like she’s never ever been in the sun.”
    “And.”
    “I don’t know. She’d kind of ordinary. Not ugly, but nothing special. She could do so much with herself if she put a bit of effort into it.”
    He rubbed his face. “Women are so cruel.”
    “That’s not cruel, that’s how it is. You can’t expect men to look at you if you don’t