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.
It doesn’t.
Is it wrong that I’m just a teeny bit disappointed? I always thought that looked to be so much fun—the way that elevator flew all over London’s skyline.
The offices are buzzing, and it’s so strange to be back in this kind of environment that I freeze for a moment, simply soaking in the noises. Anywhere else I’ve worked, it’s been like this. I was like a headless chicken most days, surrounded by people who were every bit as harried and exhausted as I was. Exhaustion used to bleed into energy, so that I fed off a state of perpetual tiredness.
Someone rushes past, arms full of papers, and that reminds me that I need to do something with the files I’m carrying. I begin moving quickly down the carpeted corridor, eyes straight ahead lest I be called upon to answer a query. The problem with being Jack’s right-hand woman is that people see me as a substitute for him. I cannot visit this office without being waylaid with a dozen queries at least. Only I don’t feel like talking to anyone at this point in time.
The conference room is at the end of the corridor. Two enormous timber doors provide entry to it. I shoulder my way in, making straight for the table, and I’ve just dropped the files down onto its glass top when I realise I’m not alone.
There’s a movement to my right. No, a shadow more than a movement. But it captures my eye and I turn around slowly, careful to keep my expression neutral, because deep down I know who it is.
‘You’re here already,’ I murmur, pleased with how unaffected I sound.
Especially when he’s wearing his charcoal Armani suit with a crisp white shirt. And a dark grey tie. Oh,