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‘How bad—?’
‘Eight million short-term investment dollars gone, spread across three different clients. Mrs Armiga is sitting on the fence on the issue for now. I successfully reassured the other client.’ His eyes closed briefly in a small sign of weariness he wouldn’t have wanted her to notice. ‘If the clients who withdrew their short-term monies had been able, they’d have taken the rest of their funds today as well.’
The clients had signed investment agreements. ‘They have to honour the arrangements they’ve made with you.’
He shook his head. ‘True in theory, but, with the alternative that they would immediately start legal proceedings to get the funds released, I agreed to transfer control to them. That will be done on Monday.’
Molly’s mouth tightened and angry words burst out. ‘I hope their investments do badly. I hope they buy stocks and bonds that sink without a trace. I hope their favourite underwear gets washed with a colour-leaky red shirt that’s covered in fluff and has paper in the pockets!’
‘I’ll recoup the losses, Molly.’ His low words were warm, calming, a little amused in a grim kind of way—encouraged as well as encouraging?
Jarrod gestured her closer to his desk. ‘I know we’ve run over time. Give me your address details. We need to be at the venue tonight at seven p.m.’ He explained the general location.
She nodded, remembered the whole ‘Mollyrella goes into society’ thing, and her stomach knotted afresh. Well, she couldn’t pull out, could she? Eight million dollars gone already, more on the way.
The three-faceted attack plan needed to be put into action just as much as Jarrod had intimated. ‘The trip should take about half an hour from my flat.’
‘I’ll call for you at six-thirty. Can you be ready in time? If not, I can drive you home now as well.’
He’d never done that, had never offered, or needed to.
‘I could take a taxi both ways tonight.’ Would it cost a lot? Probably. ‘And I can make the bus on time now.’ She shifted in the chair on the other side of his desk and tried not to notice how good he looked backlit by the city’s skyscape—tall buildings, cloudless sky. Battle-sharp hazel eyes watched her so intently.
‘No taxi. I want to brief you further on the way there.’
Right. ‘I’ll just jot down my address, then. It’s on file, but this will be quicker for you.’
And babble out the ridiculous while she was at it. Molly bit her lip, and reached for his sticky notepad and a pen. As she handed the address over, she asked one last question. ‘Do you think Mrs Armiga will come round?’
‘I don’t know. She listened to what I had to say, and then said she’s always thought I looked too smooth.’ He got to his feet in a sharp movement. ‘What does she mean by that? Well, the outcome is our client is not convinced she can trust me, but she hasn’t pulled her file—yet, at least.’
I’d say you’re more whisky-smooth: delicious, but with a kick.
She hadn’t said that aloud, had she? No, of course not.
Get a grip, Molly!
‘Tonight we’ll start to turn the tide back our way. You’ve got some great cutting-edge strategies you’ve implemented even in the last month.’ Molly headed for her office, drew out her handbag and the carrier bag. ‘We’ll talk the business up, and people will begin to realise the rumours can’t be true.’
Jarrod followed behind her. ‘Don’t be worried for me, Molly, will you? I’m annoyed as hell, and I won’t stop until this situation is completely resolved, but it will be.’
‘I know. I have complete faith in you.’ Not so much in herself, but she’d committed to this now and she wouldn’t turn back. Not while he needed her.
He paused with his hand on the light switch, and for a moment his brows drew down and his gaze flared as he stared at her. Then he shook his head, flicked the switch, and they stepped out.
They got into the lift. Molly breathed in and out and commanded herself to calm down. That look…Well, it had just been a look, right?
She was all out of sorts. It was the dress, and the stress, and spending his money on herself, and having to dive into that social world, all together. Belly flop, more like.
‘You’re not too smooth.’ She spoke the words to fill the silence, and then attempted to explain. ‘I don’t mean you’re not smooth personally. I’m sure you’re as smooth as is appropriate, and that’s none of my concern, anyway. But, in business, you’re exactly the right amount of non-smooth.’
‘Thank you.’ Did his lips twitch before he turned away? ‘I appreciate that explanation.’
Molly faced forward and wished they’d get to street level. When they finally did, she scooted off the lift so fast she almost didn’t fit through the gap in the still-opening doors.
‘I’ll be ready at six-thirty.’ She would completely get over this feeling of impending panic between now and then, take control of herself and be ready to present an utterly businesslike front when he called to collect her.
Yes. That was much better. ‘I’ve got the work PDA with me. I’ll bring it as we agreed, so I can keep track of names and information. Goodbye.’ Molly bolted and didn’t look back, even if she was a little tempted.
She half-jogged her way to the bus stop and tried not to feel uptight about the upcoming events. With a PDA in her hand and a clear agenda, this didn’t have to feel all that different from a day in the office.
And what if it took a week, or two weeks, or a month, or three months, before she could safely draw back? All that time at her boss’s side—days, weekends, evenings—to make it really hard to remember he was her boss and she was his PA, and nothing else could possibly be…
Nonsense.
Nonsense, the idea of them being anything else to each other, and to this taking three months. The rumour issue would be resolved fast and that was that!
In celebration of this utter certainty, that was no certainty at all but what she so wanted to believe, Molly slumped into a seat on the bus, drew her phone from her bag and sent a text message to her mother.
Do you think Faye would have a pair of sandals I could wear with a burgundy evening-dress? I have to go out on business with my boss tonight.
There. See? All about business. A few moments later Molly opened her mum’s return message.
I checked with Faye. She has a pair of sandals with glass beading all over them. Three-inch heel. They’d go with anything. How exciting, Molly. A chance to do something grand for the night!
Yeah. Great. And glass-beaded sandals with a no-doubt uncomfortable heel would do nicely. The pumpkin coach could drop her and her broken toes off at her flat at midnight.
The phone rang in her hand. Molly jumped, and then answered. ‘I don’t know about glass-beaded sandals, Mum. Maybe something a bit more sensible would be better. Personally I don’t see why people don’t just stick to shoes with a thick strap and a decent tread, like I do for work and weekends.’
A long pause of silence ensued and she realised she might have sounded a bit ungrateful. Molly drew a breath. ‘Mum?’
‘I take it you made your bus on time?’ Her boss’s voice poured into her ear.
And he was definitely smiling this time. She didn’t need to see him to know it.
‘Yes. Yes, I did make the bus on time.’ Molly sat up straighter in her seat, not that he could see her. Jarrod had her number for emergencies. She’d put it into his mobile phone herself. Why hadn’t she checked the display before answering? He had never called before, and she’d made a right goose of herself, hadn’t she, blathering on about shoes?
In the background she heard a clattering sound—the underground roller-door of their building going up?
Molly pictured him driving his car one-handed, mobile phone in the other. ‘You’re not allowed to drive and talk on your mobile phone. You could have an accident.’ Great. Now she sounded like a mother hen.
‘I know. We bought Bluetooth, remember?’ Oh, yes. He definitely sounded amused.
Enough to make her hopes of regaining control of her changed circumstances, of riding it out with barely a ripple in the usual fabric of her work for him, threaten to crumble. Things were changing already, and she hadn’t even sorted out her shoes.
He went on. ‘The phone is on hands-free. I always use the technology we buy.’
‘Oh. Good, then.’ It was silly to feel so gratified by his words. No, her heart simply stuttered in shock that she had forgotten about the purchase even for a moment. In her defence, she’d had a long and trying day, and it wasn’t over yet.
‘I wanted to tell you to eat something before tonight.’ His voice returned to a more usual tone. ‘It’s only drinks and nibbles, and I don’t want you to be hungry.’
‘Thank you. That was thoughtful.’ If Molly knew her family, either Faye or Izzy or both would be ready for her when she arrived at the group of three flats they rented. They would have sandwiches in hand, and be ready to throw open their wardrobes so she could pick a pair of shoes and any other accessories she might deem necessary for the evening.
And her mother would be waiting to hear about it by phone as she went about her evening cleaning-job in a building full of offices not so different from the one Molly had just left.
Generous. They were generous…to a fault.
‘I’ll be sure to eat.’ If she could push anything down over the knot of unease currently lodged halfway up her oesophagus.
‘Then I’ll see you soon. We’ll take care of this, Molly. Between us, we’ll do it.’
‘I’ll do my best to help you.’ Not to embarrass him in front of his peers. Not to embarrass herself. Molly’s tummy contorted into fifty different balloon-shaped animals, and stayed bunched in all those multicoloured knots.
‘See you soon.’ Jarrod ended the call.
Molly put her phone away and peeked into the bag at her hastily purchased dress. So there would be an art exhibition. She’d attended some free ones at Turbine Hall and other places. No difference, really—other than the whole glitterati, buckets of money; nothing like her lifestyle.
And so her boss had phoned when he never had before. Things had changed; she had to expect he might ring, or whatever. They both needed to adapt. Molly simply needed to control her responses to him as she had always done, no matter the surroundings or circumstances at the time, and everything would be fine.
* * *
Izzy and Faye went one better than throwing open their wardrobes. They were waiting on her doorstep, arms full of all sorts of offerings, sandwiches included. Well, they did only have to walk from the flats either side of Molly’s to be there. Guilt rose in Molly’s chest, because they were wonderful, and giving, and always had been, and she shouldn’t resent them…
Where had that thought come from? The two women started to talk at once, and Molly ushered them inside.
At six twenty-five, Izzy leaned close to adjust the necklace around Molly’s neck for about the fifth time.
‘You look beautiful, Molly.’ Strands of frizzled red hair brushed Molly’s face as her aunt hugged her. ‘I’m so glad you chose to wear this pendant. It really suits the dress.’
A fine gold chain held a large Broome pearl in the shape of a squished piece of confectionery. Izzy had bought it two years ago with a work bonus from the courier company that employed her. Money she could have socked away into savings. Her pleasure now in lending the thing made Molly’s tummy knot all over again.
Faye stepped closer and glanced at Molly’s feet. ‘It’s worth a whole week of selling electric fryingpans over the phone just to see you in those lovely shoes. I always mean to wear them when I buy them.’
‘There are worse things than a shoe addiction.’ The pronouncement came over the speakerphone into Molly’s small living room.
Her mum’s voice, and Molly knew what would be next, because she’d heard it before.
Faye leaned close to the phone. ‘You don’t buy all that much Swiss chocolate and French perfume, Anna, and it’s only when you actually import it that it really costs.’
‘Don’t get caught on the phone when you should be cleaning, Mum. You’re not at someone’s desk, are you?’ Until a year ago, Molly and her mum had shared a rented flat two suburbs away, but the one-bedroom flat between Izzy and Faye’s had become available. It was closer to Molly’s work, and they’d all insisted Molly should move into it, that it was time she had her own place.
Anna had taken in a weekday boarder, and Molly’s fate had been sealed. She did enjoy having her own space and being closer to her work, but…
‘I’m perfectly safe, Molly.’ Her mother’s voice was calm and unruffled. ‘Local phone calls to close relatives are permitted from the tearoom. I’m treating this as my break time.’
Molly relaxed. That was okay, then.
‘He’s here!’ Izzy made this announcement from her position at the curtained lounge window. Her words pulled Molly’s mind from family worries to work ones.
‘Molly. He’s gorgeous.’ Izzy twitched the edge of the curtain back into place and turned to glance at her. ‘Why didn’t you ever say?’
‘I didn’t notice.’ Liar. ‘He’s my boss. I don’t see him that way.’ Great big liar.
Now he was here, and the two of them were about to go out, would it be okay? Molly’s heart rolled over and played dead. Just like her dog, Horse, in one of his silly moods when he wanted her to pet him and rub his tummy and tell him what a good boy he was. On cue, a foghorn woof sounded from the flats’ communal back yard.
Molly forced breath back into her lungs, and used it to once again try to explain things. ‘This is business. It’s not a date. It’s nothing to get excited about.’
‘If you say so.’ Faye tiptoed to the phone and picked it up, whispered something Molly couldn’t hear, and hung up. Then she tiptoed towards the back door of Molly’s flat. ‘We’ll just leave quietly. You look like a million dollars, anyway, you really do. Whether you want to treat it as a date or not.’
‘You look like a princess.’ Izzy followed Faye, also on tiptoes. ‘Maybe you’ll meet someone there who’ll sweep you off your feet, if not your boss.’
Fairy tales again. There’d never been any telling them. Both women slipped out the door. Molly locked it behind them. She didn’t want to meet anyone. The only feelings she had…
Were completely controllable. Molly went to her room to collect her bag—also borrowed. She felt the comforting weight of the PDA in there, and drew a breath aimed at steadying her nerves.
There were footsteps on the path outside, on the porch, and then the doorbell chimed.
‘Coming,’ Molly muttered. Coming, ready or not.
CHAPTER THREE
JARROD waited on the porch of Molly’s tiny flat. The flats on either side sported cluttered yards full of potted plants, garden gnomes and odd bits of small statuary. Molly’s yard had a miniature rosebush either side of the path near the porch, a neat little area of lawn and nothing else.
The area didn’t tell him much about his PA’s private life, not that he needed to know.
Jarrod smoothed his hand over his tie and acknowledged he felt tense, keyed up. Understandable. His business was under attack and he wanted that fixed.
Footsteps sounded inside Molly’s apartment, the tap of heels on parquet.
His PA had made that odd comment about shoes when she’d answered her phone, so maybe it only sounded like heels. Even so, he wondered briefly how she would be dressed. In classic black, maybe, something that covered her from neck to toe and went with her thick-framed glasses. Before he finished the thought, the door swung open.
Molly stood on the other side, but it wasn’t the Molly he knew and worked with. It was a vision of a woman with silky dark hair flowing about her shoulders, a flawless face, big brown eyes, and her perfect figure outlined in a beautifully simple burgundy dress that left her arms bare, outlined her curves, dipped in at her waist and flared all the way to her feet.
‘I’m ready. I have the PDA. Izzy and Faye made sandwiches and I talked them out of three layers of necklaces and fifteen cheapskate arm-bracelets.’ The words tumbled breathlessly over each other, and his PA’s face flushed in a way that made her look even more becoming. ‘That is, I’m ready to leave.’
‘I’m glad you’re ready,’ he said rather stupidly. Was his jaw hanging open? He clenched his teeth, just to make sure that wasn’t the case.
‘Yes,’ she muttered through softly parted lips. ‘I’m ready to beard the vultures—that is, to see the sculptures.’
‘You’re wearing heels.’ This was said rather accusingly. He tried to soften his tone. ‘You don’t—at work.’
The sandals on her feet did indeed have heels. They were also encrusted in small glass beads, and he couldn’t seem to take his gaze from toenails painted with burgundy polish to match that on her short, trimmed fingernails. He forced his gaze slowly back up, and noticed the delicate pearl necklace that lay in the valley between her breasts.
‘Not—I don’t usually, no.’ She lowered her hand from the doorknob.
He couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about so he made the only announcement that came to mind. ‘We should go.’
His voice sounded about an octave lower than usual. His ears buzzed, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. A wash of warmth flooded his bloodstream as he added, ‘You’re also not wearing your glasses.’
