Chapter 8 December 8th #3
Ringing from inside my purse makes it vibrate on the counter, and I snap out of my thoughts, pulling it out and answering. “Thomas.” I pop the lid on my lipstick and stuff it back into my purse.
“Just checking you’re still coming.” I hear the caution in his voice as well as I see the stranger in the mirror before me.
“I’m just walking in.” I hang up, collect my things, and drag my game face from deep down.
My shoulders are back, my spine straight as I hoof the door open.
Three strides in toward the ballroom, Thomas appears at the doors, his green velvet tuxedo beyond the realms of extravagant.
He’s walking proof that money doesn’t buy you taste. He looks like an elf gone wrong.
His eyes fall down my black dress when he finds me.
“Problem?” I ask.
“Not at all.”
“Good.” I pass him, and he quickly catches up, falling into stride beside me. “One hour,” I remind him.
“Yes, yes.”
“I might hang around longer so you can explain why your accounts look like a CFO’s nightmare.”
He skids to a stop on his black patent dress shoes that wouldn’t look out of place on the Child Catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. “You’ve seen the draft accounts?”
Realising he’s fallen behind, I stop too, assessing his disposition. I can’t fathom whether he’s annoyed or embarrassed. Perhaps annoyed with Jeff. The embarrassment must be for me. Did he tell Jeff not to share the accounts with me? “Something tells me you’re aware of the mess they’re in.”
“Let’s chat on Monday.” He makes to walk on, but halts obediently when I deliver his name on a sharp hiss, and his green velvet shoulders drop as he braves facing me. “It’s in hand.”
“Thomas, can I remind you of the position you gave me?”
He rolls his eyes. “You don’t need to remind me, Camryn.”
“I think I do, Thomas, because since you’ve hired me, you’ve persistently broken my budgets, made financial decisions behind my back, let your wife and son go off on spending tangents, and obliterated my financial forecasts, which would have had your company ready for the team to move in and get to work well before now. ”
“It’s not so bad.”
“You’ve paid yourself and your board members, aka your wife and son, over ten million this year. What do you think that looks like to potential investors? And that’s before we take into consideration all of the transactions I’m finding on the business credit cards that aren’t business related.”
“Can we discuss this on Monday?”
“What am I doing here?”
“What?”
“Why am I here, Thomas? I’m the CFO of your company, a role your wife begrudgingly stepped away from, and I have absolutely no control of the company’s finances. Am I expected to paint a glorious picture of your profitability? Lead the industry to believe you’re smashing it out of the park?”
“A little support wouldn’t go a miss.”
“For what purpose?”
His head drops back, his mouth open. It’s the most insulting display of exasperation. “Is this eating into my one hour?”
“Yes.”
“Thought so. Look, I just want people to see we’re making strides. I’ve got Camryn Moore on the payroll, for Christ’s sake. Everyone knows what you do and why you do it.”
“Yes, they do, and I’ve got a clean sheet of victories.
That doesn’t stop now.” I can’t threaten him that I’ll quit, and it’s not because quitting would tarnish that clean sheet.
I simply can’t go back to endless, long days of nothing, when I had all the time in the world for my regrets and fuck-ups to torment me.
Suffocate me. Thomas’s frivolousness has extended my initial contract term, which was a welcomed gift, but failing is not an option.
Failing will mean no other company will be interested in hiring me in the future, and no work means no reprieve.
“All duly noted,” Thomas says, stepping closer and dropping his voice. “Like I said, we’ll talk on Monday.” His smile is half-baked and nervous as shit.
“Fine.”
“Okay, let’s go mingle.” He cocks his arm out for me to hook. “Let’s start with Holcot.”
I disregard his offer and throw myself into the den. “The Holcot? The Holcot from Atlantic Sea Global?”
“Who else? They’re out to tender.”
I raise my brows as we pass through various groups, my eyes forced into a wince to ease the glare of the sequin epidemic. “And you want me to rain glory all over TF Shipping.”
“They listen to CFOs, especially ones of your calibre.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“Oh, I know that, Camryn. Especially with you. I’m stating facts, is all.”
“I’d be lying if I told anyone you’re a safe bet right now.”
“I have the ships.”
“You need more than ships to take on a business like Atlantic Sea Global. A company like yours would require no other business if you got Holcot’s signature on the bottom line.”
“Exactly.”
“But that’s dangerous.”
“Eggs in one basket and all that?”
“Clever boy.” I find Holcot at the end of the bar, a harem of women surrounding him. It’s no surprise; he’s famously handsome and notoriously charming. He’s also a ball-breaker of a businessman. “You’ve got competition,” I muse, nodding to all of the women.
“I’ve also got you.”
“Excuse me?” I jerk to a stop, so abruptly, my drink spills over the side of my glass, splashing both of us. “Is that why you brought me? As a piece of arse to bat my lashes for you?”
“Fucking hell, Camryn,” he mutters. “You see the best in everyone, don’t you?” He licks the back of his hand, lapping up my spilled drink. “Elderflower?”
“What of it?”
Hands up, he backs off. “I’ve brought you because you’re brilliant at what you do.”
“Sure,” I mutter. I should be flattered. It’s been a while seen I’ve felt seen. Until Dec. “And I’m not exactly being brilliant at the moment because you’re undoing everything I’m doing.”
“Let’s keep it casual,” Thomas says, ignoring my jab. “I’ll crack a few jokes, you’ll laugh.”
“When have you ever heard me laugh?”
“You’ve never heard my jokes.”
I snort as Thomas leads the way. “And for the record, it’s hard to see the best in everyone when humans are such wankers all the time. Phillip West case in point.”
“I don’t think he’ll go quietly.”
“He will if he knows what’s good for him.”
“You terrify me.” Thomas slaps on an embarrassingly big smile and holds my elbow.
“What are you doing?” I ask, looking down his hold on me.
He frowns and quickly removes it. “Showing an alliance.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“God, you’re in a pleasant mood.” He waves a hand out in an over-the-top gesture to lead on, and I do, eyeing a tray of champagne as I pass, resisting the urge to switch to alcohol.
“As always,” he adds on a whisper I’m sure I’m not supposed to hear.
“Holcot!” Thomas’s velvet-green arms spread wide, his face lighting up like the Blackpool Illuminations, courtesy of the fairy-light-encrusted angel hanging over the bar behind Holcot.
My gaze travels the full length of it, taking in every one of the lights that look like little drops of pure melted gold ready to drip onto us mere mortals below. And I wonder . . .
Do they exist?
Angels?
Are they unsullied and serene? Do they float above us in a place where only the kind and unspoiled are welcome? Do they watch over us? Silently guide us?
“Camryn?”
I blink back the black dots in my vision, finding Thomas before me next to Holcot.
He’s even more handsome up close and in the flesh.
And considerably younger. Mid-forties, perhaps?
I had him as mid-fifties. I notice his hand is extended.
“Pleasure,” I say, taking it and shaking firmly. “Sorry, I was just admiring the angel.”
He cranes his head back, stretching his throat to look up at it. “Stunning, isn’t it?” His eyes drop. “I would say it’s not the only stunning thing around here, but I fear I’m on the edge of being politically incorrect.”
“You must be talking about the endless middle-aged women that look like sugar plum fairies gone wrong.”
A sharp bark of laughter erupts, his hand still holding mine. I can feel Thomas’s stupid grin on me. For God’s sake. “Very good,” Holcot says. “I’m Edward.”
“Camryn. And for the record, it is most definitely politically incorrect.”
“And such a shame too, don’t you think? That a man can’t tell a lady that she’s beautiful.”
I haven’t been called beautiful in a very long time. Until Dec. Tonight, I’m putting it down to the dress. But when I encountered Dec in the bar at The Royal Constantine, I wasn’t glammed up. So what drew him to me? “It’s deemed leery these days, Edward.”
“Tell me about it. I have to think before I say anything for fear of being sued to high heaven.”
I smile. “I won’t sue you.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” He chinks my glass with his, and Thomas laughs loudly, in his fucking element.
We chat casually for a while, and if Thomas cracked his jokes, they went way over my head.
But I’m running out of steam, my social battery draining fast after being redundant for so long.
“Would you excuse me?” I say, moving away from the men, set to go and recharge in the ladies’ and assess just how much longer I have to be here.
Edward Holcot smiles. “I’d say it’s been an absolute, unexpected pleasure but, again . . .”
“Charming,” I say, leaving after forcing one more smile, but as I lift my eyes, something across the room stops me dead in my tracks and has me forgetting where I am, why I’m here, and that I’m running out of steam.
And, Jesus, he looks spectacular in a tuxedo. His eyes find mine, and though there’s nothing there to tell me what he’s thinking—classic Dec—I know he’s spotted me before now.
I tilt my head in question.
He tilts his.
And after a few moments of sizzling eye contact, he makes his way over, coming to a stop before me, a glass held lightly between his fingertips. He’s such a sight for sore eyes. “Evening.” The deep, husky timbre gets beneath the material of my dress and rests on my skin.
“Evening.”
“Fancy seeing you here.”