Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
I woke up the next morning with a dull headache and a fuzzy memory of a strange dream. In the dream, Neil had walked me up to my apartment, and when we reached my door, I had hugged him.
I had hugged my boss.
No. I buried my face in my pillow. No, no, no. I must be confused. Why would I have a romantic dream about Neil? That’s crazy. Maybe I’m still drunk.
I turned onto my cheek with a sigh. My half-open eyes fell upon a sweater sprawled in the middle of the floor. A man’s sweater.
Neil’s sweater.
It wasn’t a dream. I did see Neil last night. He rescued me from Leon and pulled me out of the way of getting splashed. He lent me his sweater, drove me home, and walked me to my apartment.
And I hugged him.
I threw my arms around him like a madwoman and clung to him. Neil’s reaction was to peel me off, tell me to get some rest, then hurry away before I could do any further damage. The correct response.
I groaned. What did Neil think of me now? Getting drunk, calling him from a bar, hugging him, telling him he’s sweet … I wouldn’t blame him if he fired me for inappropriate behaviour.
My head throbbed, and my throat was dry. I needed a glass of water. I dragged myself out of bed, pulled on a dressing gown, shoved my feet into a pair of slippers, and shuffled to the kitchen. The water rushed from the tap into my glass. I gulped it down. More details from the previous night came back to me. Nicole forgetting my name, ignoring me all night, and abandoning me at the bar. I wondered if she had replied to the text message I sent her. Maybe she had realised her mistake and apologised. I grabbed my phone off the bedside table and checked my messages. One new text. Not from Nicole—from Gwen, Nicole’s sister.
Hope you all had a wonderful night. Total each person owes: $243.
I bristled. That amount had to include activities or food and drinks consumed without me. Whatever. I didn’t have the energy to cause a fuss.
Meanwhile, no word from Nicole. Not even a missed call. My heart sank.
Our friendship is over.
It was over a long time ago. She only kept in touch with me because of Hannah. She had invited me to her wedding out of pity, not friendship. And the hen party… God! I was such an idiot. She felt obligated to invite me after Gemma ran her mouth. That was obvious to me now.
I punched my pillow, not knowing whether to feel angry, sad, or both. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down.
I’ll get over this.
My eyes fell upon Neil’s sweater again. I had been careless, tossing it on the floor like it was nothing. I’d never treat my clothes that way, and it was probably more expensive than anything I owned. I got up and pulled the sweater off the floor. The fabric was light and soft. Without thinking about what I was doing, I lifted the sweater to my face, buried my nose in it, and inhaled. It smelled like a mixture of Neil’s dark scent, my perfume, and a faint mustiness. I realised it must have got damp from when I wore it last night. It needed to be washed. Returning it to Neil clean and fresh was the least I could do.
I marched to the washing machine and turned the settings dial. A cold wash on the delicate cycle had never failed me before. I put a little detergent in the compartment and placed the sweater in the steel drum, closed the door, and turned it on.
As soon as I took Neil’s sweater out of the washing machine, I knew I had made a huge mistake.
So much for returning his sweater in perfect condition. Instead, I’d be bringing it back shrunk and strewn out of shape.
Crap.
What had gone wrong? I inspected the settings on the washing machine. The answer became clear. It wasn’t set to delicate; it was one notch over on heavy duty. I winced.
I knew little about menswear, but the brand name on the label was Italian and sounded expensive. I should never have even attempted to wash the sweater. Now I had ruined it. Argh!
The thought of facing Neil on Monday filled me with trepidation. Having to confess to ruining his expensive sweater was daunting enough, but the fear he might mention the hug made me even more nervous.
The hug.
I cringed. What on earth was I thinking? Being drunk was no excuse for throwing myself at him like that. I could only imagine what Neil must think of me now. I had visions of him calling me to his office and giving me a stern talking to. Could he fire me over a hug? Was it sexual harassment? If it was the other way around, it certainly would be.
On my commute to work, I played with the idea of pretending I had no memory of the hug. It would be the perfect solution—if I pulled it off. But something told me I wouldn’t be able to fool Neil. He was too perceptive. He’d see right through my act. No. I’d just have to hope he wouldn’t bring it up.
I clung to this hope as I arrived at work and made my way up to the twentieth floor. I clutched a plastic bag containing the sweater in my clammy hand as I approached Neil’s office. The door was open a crack, and I took that as a green light to enter without knocking.
What I saw made me freeze in shock.
Neil stood by his desk, shirtless, his back to me. I couldn’t help but stare at his physique. He was lean, and he had wide, pronounced shoulder blades. My gaze followed the trail of his spine down to where it disappeared below his belt. I swallowed hard.
He must have heard me. He turned around as he pulled on a shirt. Now I could see his front between the undone buttons. His long, toned torso, a scattering of dark hair on his chest and stomach.
Holy moly.
I had always been vaguely aware that Neil was in good shape, but I never imagined just how gorgeous he was.
He quickly pulled his gaping shirt closed. “Amelia,” he snapped.
I jolted from my trance with a wince. “Sorry! I only just came in.” I gestured behind me. “The door was open.”
“I thought I closed it. There was a stain on my shirt,” he angled himself away from me, hastily doing up his buttons, “so I had to change. Do you need something?”
“I’ll just?—”
Come back later.
Before I could finish what I was saying, Neil had fully dressed and turned to face me. His eyes flicked to the plastic bag in my hands, and I remembered why I had gone into his office in the first place. “Neil, I…” Okay. Here goes. I pulled out the sweater, grimacing. “I ruined it. I’m sorry.”
His eyes narrowed. “You washed it?”
“Yeah.”
He gave a small, exasperated sigh, his shoulders drooping. “I appreciate what you tried to do, but it was unnecessary. And now it’s ruined.”
“I can replace it.”
“No. You can’t. It would cost you far too much.”
“Then what should I do?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Keep it. Looks like it would be small enough to fit you now.”
I flashed back to his words the other night in his car. The way he looked at me.
“It suits you.”
My cheeks burst into a fierce blaze. Meanwhile, Neil was suddenly unable to meet my eyes. An awkward silence weighed down on us.
I didn’t intend to bring up Saturday night, but it was the only way I could think to change the subject. “About the other night—I’m sorry for getting you involved in my personal issues outside of work.”
Neil shook his head. “I’m glad you called me.”
“I don’t normally get drunk like that.”
“It happens.”
“Even to you?”
He scoffed. “No. I don’t drink.”
“Oh, that’s right. Respectable.”
Just like everything else about you.
He started putting on his tie. “I hope you didn’t feel too unwell yesterday.”
“Just a little. I’m okay now, though.”
“Good.” He lifted his chin and knotted the tie.
I noticed his other shirt hanging over the back of his chair.
“Do you want me to take your shirt to the dry cleaner?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I’ll get someone else to do it. You’re coming with me to the nine o’clock meeting.”
“I am? I wasn’t on the invite.”
“I want you involved because the meeting will cover how I aim to raise staff morale. Your perspective will be valuable to management.”
“I’d love to help.”
“And from now on, I want you to attend every meeting with me unless it falls outside your normal hours or I specify otherwise.”
His request caught me off guard. I had expected him to make me keep my distance after what I did. Instead, he was inviting me to work closer with him—closer than ever before. It didn’t make sense.
Or did it?
“Okay. Every meeting. Got it.”