The Last Autograph (A Reluctant Kiss #3)

Chapter 11

11

Molly looked up as her boss, Winston Rewi, strode toward her desk, coffee in one hand and a Danish in the other.

“Parker, be in my office in five.” Despite his booming voice and gruff manner, Winston was a nice enough guy but also a relentless driver of his staff, so much so that he considered social lives and family time an inconvenient distraction from working life. As for lunch breaks, if you weren’t capable of eating at your desk, he believed your skill set was sadly lacking.

Molly locked her computer, then picked up her tablet and made her way to Winston’s office, a slight unease stirring in her gut. She knocked.

“Come in and take a seat.”

She took the chair opposite his desk, the aroma of freshly roasted coffee taunting her, and cast an eye over the chaos of files, magazines, and family photos on display.

“How are you enjoying it here?” As if asking only to be polite, Winston didn’t bother looking up from his to-go cup.

Molly hesitated. She liked the job okay, but as a business, it seemed slightly disorganized and understaffed. “It’s going great, thank you. I appreciate you giving me the position.”

Winston finally met her gaze. “Yeah, well, we’ve hit a bit of a roadblock, and I need you to step up.”

She clutched her tablet tighter. He’d never questioned her ability to get the job done before. “Is there a problem with my work?”

“Not at all, but you’ve heard Lara’s pregnant, right?”

Molly visualized tall, elegant Lara. If she was pregnant, it must still be early days. “No, I hadn’t heard that.”

“Yep. I tell ya, there’s something in the damn water around here. First Sonita, now Lara. And unfortunately, she’s been confined to bed rest for the next few weeks, but that’s strictly confidential. So I need you to pick up a couple of her clients while we sort things out. Are you up for it?”

“Um, sure.”

“Good, good. The first one’s a new kid on the block. The account’s small, just some social media and feel-good community stuff, but we’re a bespoke firm, and Jake wants bespoke, so keep that in mind.”

Molly’s heart sank as she registered the name. “Jake?”

“Yeah. Jake Sinclair from that new bakery on Seaview Road. Do you know the one I mean?”

“Petrie Patisserie?”

Winston nodded and leaned back in his chair. “Nice guy, by all accounts. A tad pedantic, according to Lara, but that’s how we succeed in the world of business, by insisting on quality. Isn’t that right?”

Molly nodded and inhaled deeply. Lara would be a tough act to follow, if Jake even agreed to it. Somehow, she doubted he would after their disastrous meeting the other day. And frankly, despite his delicious éclairs and her sympathy for his circumstances, the thought of working with him didn’t appeal in the slightest. She’d dealt with enough grumpy men in her life and had no interest in adding another one to the list.

“I’ll flick him an email outlining the changes,” Winston continued. “Then you guys can tee up a meeting when it suits Jake.”

Molly longed to utter a mild obscenity under her breath but instead stuck with the generic “Okay.”

“Great. That’s all.”

She stood and walked toward the door but turned with a reconsidered thought. “Actually, I’ve already met Jake.”

“Yeah? And is that a problem?” Winston narrowed his eyes. “You’re not sleeping with him, are you?”

Molly had to stop her mouth from falling open at the inappropriateness of his question. “What? Of course not!”

“Well, no harm, no foul then.”

No harm, no foul. Molly hadn’t heard that expression since living in the States. Now, linking it to her working on Jake’s account seemed an understatement.

As she left her boss’s office, Molly checked her watch, and from that moment on—ten forty-five—her day reminded her of working in New York when she had impossible deadlines and uber-pedantic clients.

Finishing work thirty minutes late, Molly took the waterfront route home, listening to Sia and Kylie sing about dancing alone and mulling Jake Sinclair over in her mind. In an ideal world, they could have been friends, brought together by their mutual respect for Jesse and the tragedy of his shortened life.

But when is the world ever ideal?

Molly had almost loved Jesse once. If things had been different, if they’d had more time, perhaps that “almost” would have left the equation, and as she turned into Gloria’s driveway and parked alongside a row of spent lavender, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Looking back, she clearly recalled him returning to Clifton Falls just after New Year for a doctor’s appointment. When she questioned him about it, he’d mentioned a sore throat and tiredness but dismissed her concerns.

Now, as she’d told Luka, Molly had one all-consuming thought: was his diagnosis the reason he’d ended their relationship so abruptly? After finding out he was unwell, had he cut her off to save himself the hassle of having to deal with a girlfriend when his life was in turmoil?

Or to protect her?

With the engine off, Molly sat for a moment and tried to see Jesse’s decision from his perspective. Perhaps he understood her more than he’d let on.

Who made that choice for her and Jesse? Her, by accepting his indifference at face value and not making more of an effort to force contact between them? Or Jesse, by assuming she’d walk if he told her the truth?

But what did it matter now? No amount of reflection would change the path either of them took that January eight years ago.

Besides, she now had Jake to contend with, and even those delicious éclairs of his couldn’t sweeten the deal they were about to make.

Molly removed the keys from the ignition, shouldered her bag, and headed inside her tiny house. With the TV news playing in the background, she cooked a chicken-and-mushroom risotto, then ate her meal slowly while continuing her soul-searching.

After dinner, the heavy subject matter of her thoughts having run its course, Molly called her mum for their weekly chat over a relaxing cup of tea, then settled on the sofa to watch an episode of MasterChef .

When Molly’s text alert chimed, dinner was long over; she’d inhaled half a block of coconut chocolate while chatting with her mum and was now busy compiling a mental list of all the reasons she’d failed to make it to the gym that day.

Assuming it was too late for a work-related text, Molly picked up her phone.

Jake: I received an interesting email today.

She took a sip from her water bottle and sighed. Would it be rude to switch off her phone and pretend she hadn’t seen his text? She decided to at least reply. After all, he might be more than happy to have her on board.

Molly: Let me guess… Winston?

Jake: What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

Or not. Rude bastard!

Molly: My job.

Jake: Well will you tell him or should I?

Molly: If you have something to say to Winston, go right ahead. I’m the new girl. On a fixed-term contract. I’m not about to throw a tantrum just because the client is…

Jake: What?

Molly: Never mind. I’m not a fan of texting with clients before I’ve started work on their contract. It’s unprofessional. And don’t you EVER use an angry FUCK in a text to me again!!!

With her phone and the chocolate in hand, Molly opened the sliding door into the garden, slipped off her Ugg boots, and stepped out onto the cool grass. Amber streetlights reflected across the goldfish pond, and the faint sound of a TV drifted from the back neighbor’s window. She looked to the heavens, but sadly, clouds obscured the stars.

Her phone’s ringtone startled her, and when Jake’s name appeared on the screen, Molly contemplated letting it go to answer. But…

She sat on the swing chair and tucked her feet beneath her. “Yes?”

“My apologies for the fuck. It’s just… I don’t believe we’ll be a good fit working together, even for a short time. Not when there’s a conflict of interest.”

A conflict of interest? Molly smiled through gritted teeth. She’d been taught to smile when on a call with a client; apparently, it altered your tone to one of congeniality. “Whatever you say.”

“I’m glad you agree.”

Why did he assume she agreed? “But you can tell Winston. We’re short-staffed at the moment, and I don’t want to add to that pressure.”

“What happened to Lara?”

“She’s on extended leave. That’s all I know.” She paused. “Is there anything else?”

“Look, Molly, a few weeks ago, you were just an obscure name in my brother’s will. Then you turn up out of the blue, and suddenly, we seem to be bumping into each other all over the place.”

She broke off another row of chocolate, her smile fading as she imagined bumping into him. “Not by choice, believe me.”

Jake sighed deeply. “Tell me, what would you do if you were in my position? Just grin and bear it?”

With her thoughts in overdrive, Molly remained silent for a moment. The obvious solution was to move Jake and his petits gateaux to another consultant, but that would be too easy. “Wear a helmet, ice some éclairs with old-school chocolate icing so your customers have a choice, stop being such an asshole, and post on your own damn social accounts, then you won’t have to grin at all. Goodnight.”

Molly ended the call. The arrogance of the guy. She knew SpinWeb might well lose Jake as a client over her outburst, but right at that moment, with an uneaten row of chocolate melting in one hand, she really didn’t care. The guy could go fondle himself. She’d deal with the fallout in the morning.

As she leaned back on the cushions, the funny side of their conversation surfaced, and she chuckled. The world was an amazing, magnificent place, but some days, certain people in it just pissed her off.

Jake Sinclair being one of them.

My apologies for the fuck. As if.

It was wet and windy when she arrived at the office the following day to find two people away on sick leave and Winston nowhere in sight.

Molly took a seat at her desk, ideas flooding her mind. If Jake was still on board after her outburst, perhaps she could persuade Gloria to do an interview about how much she loved his chocolate éclairs.

Just as her imagination took flight, Winston poked his head around the communal office door. “Jake Sinclair called earlier. Apparently, you two spoke yesterday?”

“We did, yes.”

Her boss sank into the chair in front of her desk. “Yeah, well he’s tied up for the next few weeks, so he wants to put his campaign on the back burner. He’d been looking forward to working with Lara… They’d already established a rapport, so…”

Of course he’d say that. Plus, not only was Lara excellent at her job, but she was also one of the nicest people Molly had ever met, so Jake’s high opinion of her was warranted. “Well, Lara is your head of marketing. And, you never know, she may be fine by her second trimester.”

Winston eyed her with suspicion. “What are you not telling me?”

Molly fiddled with her pen. “Nothing. Thanks for letting me know.”

“If I find out that you and Chef Sinclair are enjoying a little soirée on the side and you’re keeping me in the dark, I will not be happy, do you hear me?”

As if. “Jake and I are nothing more than casual acquaintances, I assure you.”

“Good.” Winston handed her the file he’d been holding. “Here.”

She opened it and frowned. “What’s this?”

“Since you won’t be handling Jake’s patisserie, your new client’s that steakhouse on Marina Terrace.”

Horrified, Molly stared at him and pulled a face. It appeared Winston had a sense of humor after all. She’d been to Clifton Steakhouse one night with Gloria, and they’d vowed never to return. “But their food’s terrible, the service is worse, and, as for the desserts, they’re way overpriced.”

He grinned. “Yeah, it’s a shame Jake wasn’t keen, but business is business. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

“Not exactly, but?—”

“Great. Do me proud, kid. I love a good steak.”

Kid?

As Winston strode from the office, Molly leaned forward and banged her head on the desk three times, punctuating each one with a muttered “ shit.”

She glanced at her phone when it pinged.

Winston: I heard that Parker. Get back to work.

CeCe: Hey, M. Got any chocolate?

Molly: Nope. All gone. And I should be asleep by now.

CeCe: I really feel like some.

Molly: Same. Guess what? Jake Sinclair’s a client of SpinWeb.

CeCe: And you have to work with him?

Molly: No. He relegated me to the back of the line.

CeCe: Interesting. Something’s happening here. I can feel it in my bones.

Molly: Stop it and go to sleep.

CeCe: Just saying.