Terms of Agreement

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Charlotte - Two Years Later

G athering my notebook and pen, I used my free hand to enlarge the calendar invite that had just popped up on screen and pulled my focus away from the Share Purchase Agreement that I’d been drafting. Scrolling through the invite, I double-checked the location—gross.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I had anything against meeting room seven specifically. I hated all of the meeting rooms on this floor. Someone from Human Resources had tried to assure us that the floor-to-ceiling glass doors and walls were designed “to promote the flow of the open office space and make the conference rooms seem more welcoming and less austere.” But the only thing I felt whenever I entered one of the fishbowls was the prickling awareness that I’d assume restaurant housed lobsters felt when a middle-class family strolled by their tank.

It was performance appraisal day, and unless I was very much mistaken, my appraisal last year had been in the same room. It hadn’t gone badly per se—not technically. I’d been given a four out of five, which, according to the firm’s grading system, meant that I had exceeded expectations. So, I was doing a good job… but not a great job. And I needed to do a great job if I wanted to get anywhere on the partner track. Taking a fortifying breath, I turned on my heel and headed off towards room not-so-lucky number seven.

As it came into view, I gripped the notepad tighter in my arms, mentally rattling through my list of achievements over the past year.

1. I was still part of the mentorship programme

2. Over the summer, I was shadowed by two vacation scheme students

3. I’d now clocked the highest billable hours of anyone at my level for the second consecutive year

4. I’d widened my scope, working on a greater variety of deals with a number of different partners in the team

I ran through the list, my bulleted list a mantra that left me cautiously optimistic by the time I reached the meeting room. Gulping past the dryness in my mouth, I raised my knuckles and tapped lightly on the glass door.

The head of the Jones I’d walked into the second bedroom, fully intending to use it as a sort of home office-come-guest room-come-whatever it needed to be, but when my eyes had landed on the large bay window and I’d seen how the mid-morning sun lit up the room, I’d allowed myself a moment to let my imaginings run free.

Crossing to the cream coloured armchairs that nestled near the bay window, I set the wine and cheese down on the small side table positioned between the chairs, before stepping out of my slippers and climbing into my favourite chair. I ran my hands over the chair’s soft, corded fabric and let out a happy sigh. My gaze flitted from one corner of the room to another, taking it all in as a pleasurable warmth spread across my chest.

I reached forward and picked up my wine, casting a glance at the study door, ensuring it hadn’t swung shut behind me and that Oscar could still join me—should he deign to do so.

Giving the glass in my hand another gentle swirl, I brought it to my nose and breathed in the wine’s wooded scent that reminded me of winter and of stories told by the fireplace. I took a small sip and hummed in quiet satisfaction. Leaning back in the armchair, I folded my legs beneath me and took a deep breath, happy to be home.

I loved this apartment. The sense of peace I’d felt when I’d first walked through its front door had been unlike any I’d ever known, and I’d worked hard to maintain that sense of calm serenity even after I’d moved in. That was why I’d decided to keep the walls white, Wishbone White according to the tin.

The study was the only room in the house that I’d coloured. Looking at its forest green walls with fond amusement, I remembered how anxious I’d been the night before I was due to paint the first coat.

‘What if it looks awful? What if it looks nothing like what I’ve envisioned?’ I’d cried to my nan over the phone.

‘Well, then you’ll go out, buy some more paint in a different colour, and try again,’ Nan had replied in that brusque, no-nonsense tone of hers.

Unable to argue with that logic, I’d worked in a panicked frenzy of shallow breaths and jerky arm movements, finishing the first coat in record time. It was only with that first coat completed that I’d allowed myself to widen my gaze past the square-foot of wall in front of me, spinning in a slow circle and taking it all in, giggling in elation and doing a happy little jig in the middle of the room.

Nan had been insufferable when she’d visited. She may not have said it out loud, but when she’d turned from the walls to look at me, her eyes had twinkled with a poorly concealed “I told you so.”

Smiling at the memory, I took another sip of wine before setting the glass down beside my plate. All I’d had to accompany the cheese had been a few digestive biscuits, some paté, and some sort of whiskey chutney that I’d bought as a gift for a forgotten someone.

Spreading a small amount of the now softened brie onto a digestive and fighting the urge to “pinky up” it, I leaned back and took a bite.

‘Ugh,’ I grimaced, swallowing prematurely and taking a hasty gulp of wine to wash away the tangy aftertaste. Giving the brie a wide berth, I shoved a dry digestive into my mouth, cursing what could only be the misfiring of my synapses and spasmic behaviour of my prefrontal cortex—because what else could have possessed me to purchase a wedge of this abominable mush?

Oscar chose the moment I’d placed another biscuit—this one laden with paté and preserve—topping side down on my tongue to saunter into the room. Snout pinched with evident disdain, he padded over to the armchairs and, with an elegant leap, landed on the chair across from mine, where he sat down and started to groom himself.

‘Oh gee, thanks,’ I muttered, raising my glass to block out the now direct view of his nether regions. ‘Really appreciate you coming all the way over here so that I wouldn’t miss this.’ The cat continued, undeterred and uninhibited by things like modesty and decorum.

After a few more mouthfuls of food, I picked up the book that I’d left crammed between the cushion and the arm of the chair. Shifting sideways, I nestled deeper into the comfort of the armchair and I flipped through the pages of my book, looking for where I’d last left off.