9. Catriona
Nine
Catriona
What’s wrong with the women in this office? Linda, the twenty-year-old intern who is joining Rian and me at the Alton meeting, has matched her bright red lipstick with her bra that can be seen when she bends a particular way. Which she does a lot while looking at Rian.
The boss himself is in some mood, not a remnant of the teasing man from last night in sight.
His jaw ticks above his silky sea-green tie as the talks don’t go the way we’d hoped, despite all the preparations we put in yesterday.
Rian has tried to impress the Alton House delegation – not only by wearing a tie – he only wears those when he has client meetings – but also by hosting the discussions in one of the most exclusive conference rooms. Maybe it’s Rian’s privileged background that makes him think dazzle will impress.
Joanna Alton, an old dragon of a woman, is a Dubliner through and through.
I wince as she wrinkles her nose while glancing down into her small espresso cup.
A properly brewed cup of tea would have more impact on her than plush leather seats and modern art.
“Pardon me for saying so, but it seems to me that upgrading the alarm system to more cameras is nothing but a way to save you money by having less people on the ground.”
“You’re quite right.”
“Oh.” Joanna’s eyebrows lift. It wasn’t the answer she’d expected from my boss.
Rian sips from his cup. Anyone but me would think he was in total ease.
“More digital surveillance will reduce the need for staff. Less staff will mean less overheads for us.” He nods and folds his hands on the table.
“However, those savings will be passed on to you. Yes, the upgrade of the alarm system will cause initial cost, but the annual service fee going forward will be substantially lower.”
His smooth answer doesn’t stop Joanna from firing one accusation after the other – all of which Rian answers with an openness and honesty that turns the conversation.
We reach an agreement.
All thanks to Rian.
His shoulders are square as he stands so tall while shaking Joanna’s hand goodbye at the lifts on our floor. I feel almost privileged to have witnessed his negotiation skills. I want to learn that from him.
As the doors slide closed on the Alton delegation, I glance up at Rian and whisper, “Well done.”
His gaze flicks down on me. The hint of green in his grey eyes is sparkling.
“It didn’t go too bad, now, did it?” he replies, the low timbre of his voice strumming something deep inside of me.
“You need to teach me what you did in there.”
His smile softens, and my heart skips a beat. “All part of business experience.”
“We, um. We should go to the reception at the National Gallery tonight to celebrate,” I add, still holding his gaze.
A shadow passes over his face and his features harden. Before me, his whole demeanour changes. A switch has been turned. There’s a snarl to his tone as he says, “That’s a great idea.” He shifts his focus to Linda with an arrogant tilt to his head. “Linda, do you have a date for tonight?”
My breath lodges in my throat. What the hell just happened?
“N-no I don’t.” Linda beams up at my arsehole boss with her blood-red lips. The hand pressed to her chest stretches the material of her top down.
“Leave your number with Orla. I’ll meet you in the Davenport Hotel at seven thirty.”
He winks at her and leaves. His woodsy aftershave and insult lingering.
“O-my-god! I’m going on a date with Rian sex-on-legs Kearney!” Linda whisper-squeals.
I blink away the sting in my eyes and straighten my back.
“Lucky you,” I say, with a strained smile, and walk back to my desk.
“Fuck this,” I mumble to myself and swallow the lump in my throat.
“Fuck fucking Rian.” Does he actually dislike me so much that he can’t accept a friendly comment?
Can’t even go to one event with me as part of a group?
“Do you have a date for tonight?” I hiss, mockingly, under my breath.
Last night he said he has no interest in girls like her.
I’m a fecking eejit – he was only playing with me last night. I let him string me along – let myself be wrapped up by his smooth voice, his words and fantasies. His tempting lips and the way his smouldering eyes lingered on me. God, I’m so stupid. My cheeks warm in embarrassment.
I’m no better than any other woman in this office.
Well, it will be the last time I compliment him on anything!
What’s eating him, anyway? I blink rapidly to clear my eyes and read through my to-do list. Oh, why did I mention the reception?
I shouldn’t care that he has no interest in spending time with me.
Shouldn’t care that he’d rather spend time with girls like Linda with their underwear on display.
That lump in my throat isn’t going away and there’s a knot of unease in my gut.
It takes me way longer than normal to go through my list. Listening to the constant giggles from Linda as she spreads the news of her date doesn’t help my concentration.
My only saving grace is that since most of my colleagues are going to the reception, the office clears out early.
It brings some pleasant silence. And a twitch of loneliness.
Trevor hasn’t asked again whether I’m joining them – not that I would now, a fecking pot of gold couldn’t lure me there, and Gemma has kept her distance since that awful moment yesterday.
A hollowness sits in my chest and I’m ready to call it a day.
A message pops up on my laptop. Rian.
Bring me the O’Toole contract. Now.
Fuck, he’s still here? I grit my teeth. He knows I’m logged on, that I’ve seen the message.
I can’t pretend I never got it. I want to scream at the laptop and tell him where he can stuff the file, but instead, I take a couple of deep breaths and get the O’Toole documents from the archives.
I hold my head high and put on a facade of cool collectedness, even if it’s only on the outside.
Then I knock on his door.