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My brain nods along smugly. Told you so.
Chapter Three (#u697d782f-5ce1-53b4-a34f-e2c965695d4f)
IT HAS BEEN a week and I’m still here. What’s more, my brain and I are almost friends again. I have been behaving. Working hard, speaking politely, keeping my sexy, kinky ‘if only’ thoughts hidden behind a mask of disinterest.
Of course it helps that I’ve hardly seen Jack.
He’s been in Tokyo for four days, on a trip I would usually do with him.
Here’s how it would go: Private jet. Limousine. Luxurious hotel accommodation—his apartment there is being remodelled. Meetings. Late-night debriefing.
You get the picture, and you no doubt see the risk.
‘I have too much on,’ I said when he’d decided he needed to go personally. ‘Seriously, there’s no way I can leave the office now.’
He ground his teeth together, looked at me as though I were pulling some soppy, emotional crap and then he nodded. ‘Fine.’
He’s due back today and my desk is no clearer—it’s just a different heap of papers that covers it now. My phone bleats and I grab it up, my nerves not welcoming the intrusion.
Perhaps my impatience conveys itself in my brusque greeting.
‘You sound like shit.’
The cackling voice brings an instant smile to my face. ‘Hi, Grandma.’
‘Where’ve you been, lovey?’
‘Oh, you know...’ I eye the paperwork dubiously. ‘Living it up.’
‘If only. Let me guess. You’re at work?’
‘You called my work number, so I suspect you know the answer to that.’
Another cackle. ‘Are you coming to see me any time soon? I have something for you.’
‘Another lecture on my priorities?’
‘You’re a smart girl. You know your priorities are out of order.’ She sighs. ‘Take it from a woman at the end of her journey. There’s a big, beautiful world out there, and even if you devote your life entirely to travelling you’ll still never get to see everywhere and everything.’
‘God, that makes me feel both nauseated and claustrophobic. It’s saccharine and overly sentimental even for you, Grandma.’
She laughs. I love her laugh. My grandma shines a light with her smile alone.
‘Everyone’s allowed a bit of sentimentalism at some point, aren’t they? Especially at my age.’
‘I travel everywhere,’ I point out, flicking my calendar onto my screen and scanning it. ‘In fact I’m off to Australia next week.’
Crap. With Jack.
‘Oh, yes? That wouldn’t be a work trip, would it?’
I grin. ‘No. And by no, I mean yes—but I imagine I’ll still get time to pet a koala.’
‘You know they’re not just crawling around the streets? You actually need to go bush to find one.’
I burst out laughing. ‘“Go bush”? Grandma, you’re a Duchess. I think it’s in the manual that you’re not allowed to “go bush”—or go anywhere, really.’
I’m not joking. Grandma really is a Duchess. She married my grandpa, who was a decade her senior and had come back from the Second World War with what we’d now know as post-traumatic stress disorder. She was a nurse, and his family hired her to care for him—to “fix” him. She quit on the first day. There wasn’t anything wrong with him, she declared. He was just different.
They got engaged that afternoon.
It’s the only fairytale I believe in—and only because it has a macabre degree of reality to it. Grandma did fix him. He made her a princess—of the social variety—and she made him whole in a different way, just like she said.
We lost him years ago, and now she’s the one who’s a little bit broken. But still amazing. The most beautiful person in my life. My other constant.
Jack and Grandma. Great. An emotionally closed-off sexy widower that I should definitely know better than to want, and a champagne-swilling octogenarian, relic of the aristocracy. These two are the anchors in my life...
I shake my head, my smile rueful.
‘Pish! I’ll have you know I went bush and did a great many other things in my time.’ She sighs heavily. ‘And now it’s your time—and you’re spending it in some ghoulish house on the edge of the moors.’
‘It’s a mansion, actually, with state-of-the-art offices. And it’s Hampstead Heath—not a moor.’
‘Still...’ A huff of impatience. ‘You’ll come this weekend?’
‘I promise.’
I click in my calendar and make a note. Without entering my plans straight into my calendar I’m running blind. My eyes are dragged of their own accord to the entry for my parents’ anniversary. Ugh.
‘I suppose you got your invitation?’
‘Mmm...’ It’s a noise of agreement that could mean a thousand things. ‘Very elegant paper.’
I stifle a laugh. ‘Stiff and unyielding.’
My implication hangs in the air, unspoken.
‘Ah, well. At least there’ll be booze.’
‘And lots of it.’
I run a finger over my desk. Grandma and I got rather unceremoniously sloshed at the previous year’s anniversary affair. If we hadn’t been related by blood to the bride du jour we definitely wouldn’t have been invited back.
‘We’ll do a rehearsal at the weekend,’ she says, and I hear the wink in her words.
‘Perfect. See you then.’
‘Good, darling. Ta-ta.’
My phone rings again almost as soon as I hang up, and the smile is still playing on my lips as I lift the receiver and hook it beneath my ear. ‘Yeah?’
‘Gemma.’
His voice gushes through me like a tidal wave crashes over the shore. We’ve been in constant contact while he’s been travelling—but only via email or text, and only in the most businesslike sense.
At no point has he reminded me of the way his mouth pushed me back, tasting me, robbing me of comprehension and hammering every last one of my senses. At no point have we discussed how he made me come against the wall of his office.
Hearing his voice now is as intimate and personal as if he strode into the room and straddled me, reached down and kissed me...
‘I’m meeting some clients in the City. I need that presentation on the Tokyo project, as well as an up-to-date cost analysis and the report I had done. Meet me in an hour.’
It almost sounds like a question, but we both know it isn’t. My body hums with vibrations. I’m going to see him again. It’s the most alive I’ve felt in a week. My abdomen clenches in anticipation. Of what?
My body is getting carried away, but thankfully my brain is still lucid-ish. ‘Fine,’ I hear my brain say, cool and unconcerned. Liar.
There’s a pause and I wonder what’s coming next. ‘Good.’
The little tick of approval sends a thrill along my spine. I hate that. I repress my pleasure.
‘And, Gemma? Rose has something for you.’
I gather the documents he needs and quickly run through the project presentation, then step out of my office, laden with files and my MacBook Air.
Sophia and Rose are in the office they share, heads bent, and I smile crisply at them. ‘I’m meeting Jack in the City. He says you have something for me?’
I address the question to Rose, who reaches into her desk and pulls out an envelope. It has his dark, confident writing across the front. My name, scrawled in his handwriting. I resist the urge to run my fingertip over the letters.
‘Thanks.’ I nod crisply and Sophia reaches for her phone before I’ve said another word.
‘Hughes—Miss Picton is travelling to the City.’
‘Thanks.’ I nod, pleased that things are working efficiently.
I hired Sophia to replace the last of Jack’s assistants to quit. He’s run through about six since losing Lucy; my own job has been filled a dozen times at least. I think it kind of bonds Sophia and me—a similar determination not to fail runs through us both.
‘Will you be long? Shall I move your two o’clock?’ asks Rose.
I can’t reach my phone and can’t remember off the top of my head what I have at two. I guess my blank stare conveys that, because Rose smiles at me kindly. How she’s managed to work for Jack for three years is beyond me. She’s a butter-wouldn’t-melt kind of woman, and yet there’s a quality to her that makes her oblivious to Jack’s demanding requests and lack of charm.
‘Carrie Johnson.’
‘Right.’ I nod distractedly, thinking only of the mysterious envelope. It’s small and there’s something inside.
Carrie is my friend who’s looking for a new job—I have her in mind for something with the foundation, though I don’t know exactly what yet. She was made redundant in the last round of restructuring at her company, and she’s brilliant and incisive—far too clever to let go.
‘Yeah, shift it to tomorrow. Thanks. Please apologise for me.’
‘Here.’ Sophia scrapes her chair back and walks towards me with outstretched arms. ‘I’ll help you to the car.’
I hand over some of the papers gratefully. The offices are in a separate wing of The Mansion, and we step out onto the short path that winds through a manicured garden before opening out into a gravelled courtyard. It’s really well designed to keep business away from personal life—not that Jack has much of a personal life outside his fuck-fests.
At least, not that I know of.
I slide into the back of the limo, distracted; I don’t think I even acknowledge Hughes, which is unusual because I like him and we usually have a nice banter going.
You know everything there is to know about me.
I’m startled. The words come from nowhere and I look over my shoulder, half expecting to see Jack’s cynical smile. Is that even true? Do I really know him that well?
We’ve spent a heap of time together, that’s true. But I don’t know if I would say I consider us well acquainted. Out of nowhere the memory of his lips on mine sears me, pressing me back into the leather seat with a groan.
I reach for the envelope, and now I give in to temptation, running my finger over his scrawled writing before tearing the top off.
My emotions are mixed as the object inside falls into my palm.
The distinctive dark red foil denoting a Cherry Ripe confectionery bar is instantly recognisable. I check the envelope for a note; there isn’t one. But his meaning is clear.
I can’t help it. I tear the paper off the bar and inhale.
Cherries will remind me of Jack forever. I don’t think I can say I hate them anymore.
My gut clenches as I recall the intimate way his finger circled me, teasing every nerve ending, finding where to press to make me moan.
Fuck.
A shiver dances along my spine and it is still pulsing even as the car pulls into the underground car park of the City high-rise that houses Jack’s offices. I gather he used to be based here a lot more. It was only after Lucy died that he set up shop, so to speak, at his home.
I make a point of smiling brightly at Hughes as I step out of the limo, laden with documents.
‘Need a hand, ma’am?’
‘I’m fine,’ I demur.
I can’t help but wonder if my cheeks are burning after the delicious thoughts that have travelled along with me.
Why did he stop? What happened to push him away from me?
I wanted everything. I wanted him. That technically makes me a complete idiot, right? Because I know he’s a total man-whore, and I know it would make my job pretty untenable to be fucking Jack, but in that moment none of it had mattered.
Which only goes to show that I need to be even more on my guard with him.
I am not going to let this get out of hand. There are plenty of hot guys out there. Plenty of men who can kiss you like you’re their dying breath.
Except I don’t think that’s necessarily true...
I’ve dated a fair few guys—most of them smart, handsome, powerful. I have a thing for that sort of man, I suppose. But none of them has done this to me. My mind is still mushy. I only have to close my eyes and remember the way it felt to have his body pressed hard to mine, almost holding me up with the weight of his strength, and I’m having palpitations and flushing to the roots of my hair.
The lift whooshes up and reminds me of the glass elevator in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. It seems to be building up speed as we get nearer the top, and my tummy lurches as I imagine it bursting through the ceiling and flying into outer space.
