Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“You must let me know how that goes.”
“I will.”
“So . . . Leighton?”
Fuck, how the hell am I going to tell Gary that Harrison isn’t going to be a client? “I’ll let you know,” I say, smiling. Dying.
Gary gives his phone his attention, blessing me with a break and an opportunity to pull my shit together. And, luckily, he stays engrossed all the way to our floor. I dip out, calling a goodbye, and slide into my office, shutting the door. Breathing.
And coughing when I see a bunch of peonies in the middle of my desk. I creep towards them like they might leap off and attack me, my eyes scanning for the card. No card.
Lowering to my chair, I stare at them, getting angrier by the second. If I was completely heartless, I’d pluck every bloom off the stem and crush them with my bare hands. Fuck you, Jude Harrison. Except the compassion in me refuses to allow it. And that’s only because I know these flowers were Evelyn Harrison’s favourites. How screwed up is that?
I pick up the bouquet and put them on the floor behind my chair so I don’t have to look at them, answering my desk phone when it rings. “Amelia Lazenby.”
“I have Tilda Spector for you,” the receptionist says.
“Thanks.” I get my game face on and rest back in my chair as she’s put through. “Hi, Tilda,” I say, injecting a ton of enthusiasm into my voice. “Good to hear from you.”
“Amelia.”
I still in my chair as Jude’s voice washes over my skin. I don’t need to ask how he got past reception. Is there nothing Anouska won’t do for him?
“Please, just hear me out. Give me a chance.”
A chance to fuck me over again? No. That would be perfect for him, wouldn’t it? The biggest and most successful fuck-you to Nick. I slam the phone down and stand from my chair, heading for the kitchen to get a coffee, feeling all the emotions I’m fighting to keep restrained creeping back up my throat. My mobile vibrates in my hand. Him. I shake my head, silently begging him to leave me alone. Let me lick my wounds in private. Let me at least try to get over him.
Gary’s in the boardroom with Leighton when I pass, and both men look up at me. I force a smile but frown when Gary waves me in. Pushing the door open, I hang on to the handle and the doorframe.
“You two look cozy,” I say in jest, rejecting another call from Jude.
Gary clears his throat. “Leighton, would you mind?”
“Sure,” he says, jumping up from his seat and making a hasty exit, forcing me to move aside to let him pass. He doesn’t look at me. It’s odd.
“Should I close the door?” I ask.
Gary nods, so I do, my curiosity raging. Something’s wrong. Gary’s acting awkward, and I’m quite sure I don’t like it.
“Are you sleeping with Jude Harrison?” he asks. No foreplay. Bam.
Fuck.
My world stops spinning as my boss studies me, obviously watching for my knee-jerk reaction.
“What?” I breathe.
“Are you sleeping with Mr. Harrison?”
Oh God, oh God, oh God. “I . . .”
“Shit, Amelia,” Gary says around his extended gasp, the look of disappointment on his face painful. “What the hell are you thinking?”
“It’s not like that, Gary,” I rush to explain, as he drops to a chair heavily. “Jude . . . Mr. Harrison sprang it on me.” I shake my head to myself when Gary’s eyes widen. “I mean the financial-planning bit, not himself.” Oh God, could I make a bigger mess of this? I rub my forehead. “I was seeing Mr. Harrison,” I say. “Briefly. Not anymore.”
“You realise what this looks like?”
“Yes, I do. Did. Mr. Harrison mentioned his current planner was leaving, so he wanted to move his interests elsewhere.”
“So you didn’t sleep with him to secure his business?”
“What? No! Jesus, Gary, come on. You know me.”
“I know what this looks like, Amelia, and I don’t like it. Leighton secured a meeting with Harrison, and the next thing he’s cancelled and rearranged with you.” He stands, palms pointing to the ceiling. “Are you saying that isn’t the case?”
“No, it’s not.” Fucking hell, how am I going to explain? “I started seeing Mr. Harrison after the convention.”
“But his wealth wasn’t on your mind?”
I gape at him, indignant. “No, Gary, his wealth was the furthest from my mind. In actual fact, I’d met Mr. Harrison before, but I had no clue who he was until the conference.” I cannot believe I’m having to explain myself out of this. Fuck you, Leighton, and fuck you, Jude Fuckboy Harrison. But I can’t very well tell Gary that Jude only arranged a meeting with Leighton Steers to warn him off me. Or can I? I rub my forehead again. “Gary, I had every intention of telling you that I couldn’t take on Jude Harrison as a client because of my personal relationship with him.”