Chapter 5
London
I storm into the kitchen, completely agitated, and have to collect myself first. My heart pounds so hard it makes it difficult to breathe.
Exhausted, I lean against the counter and take a deep breath.
Then I grab my handbag, that I’ve left next to one of the coffee makers.
I wanted to get the appetizers and sandwiches to the meeting room as quickly as possible in case my boss arrived earlier, and I would have wasted too much time to take my bag to my desk.
Now I hurry with it to my place, sit down, switch on the computer, and nearly break a fingernail pressing the button.
Hands shaking, I dig through my bag until I finally pull out my phone and turn it on.
I immediately text my best friend, careful not to get caught.
Even though I’m technically allowed to use my phone—and have to stay reachable for my boss—I still feel like I’m doing something forbidden.
Nobody can see inside my head. Nobody knows I’m texting Vanessa right now. But it feels that way, all the same.
Me: He's here!
Nessa: What? Who's there with you?
Me: HIM! HE is here! That guy!
Nessa: What's going on? Who are you talking about?
Me: The guy from the wedding. The one who chased me to my car! He showed up at my company!
Nessa: Oh shit! Did you call security?
Me: Yes, but they let him in!
Nessa: What? Why? What happened? Tell me!
Me: He must be one of my boss’s clients.
Nessa: Oh no...
Me: He’s about to meet with my boss. He even asked me to bring something up for his guest. They’re using the good room. The luxury room—that means he’s a very important guest!
Nessa: Oh, London...
Me: I'm done for!
Nessa: Stay calm. I'm sure this can be cleared up!
Me: No, he already looked so angry and even brought it up. He's looking for trouble and wants revenge. He even said he wants to get me fired! What if he really convinces my boss to fire me?
Nessa: Yes, but how? They don't have any legal grounds. It happened in private.
Me: They could force me out, or he could offer me a severance package. I don't want to leave. I love this job!
Nessa: Can you talk to him again? If you apologize and explain the situation, I'm sure he'll understand and won't be angry with you anymore.
Me: I guess I have to try.
Nessa: You can do it. Just be sweet and friendly.
Me: But he was completely awful to me!
Nessa: Please don't snap at him.
Me: I'll try.
Nessa: Let me know how it goes, okay? Tell me right away, okay?
I heart her last message and take a deep breath before putting away my handbag and making my way to the kitchen. There I fill a coffee pot and arrange milk, sugar, sweetener, little spoons, and cups on a tray. I even remember the crispy cookies my boss likes so much.
With the well-stocked tray, I head back to the room. The door is closed, so I knock timidly.
“Come in.”
Maybe my boss is already there? I open the door and see that only that guy is inside. Maybe this is my lucky break.
“That took quite a while. Do you always need this much time?” he asks arrogantly, eyes scrutinizing me.
“I’ll be quicker next time,” I promise pleasantly. I start to pour him some coffee, but he declines, raising his hand to stop me.
“I’ll do that myself.”
I step back and watch him. His movements are deliberate, calm, elegant. My eyes drift to his hands—well-groomed, with slightly pronounced knuckles.
Wow, that looks good.
When I look at him, our eyes meet again.
Now he's caught me staring!
"Is there anything else I can do for you?" I ask politely.
"No. You may leave." He stirs a small spoonful of sugar and a generous splash of milk into his cup. I’ll have to remember that.
“I’d like to personally apologize to you again, Mr.…?” I still don’t know his name.
“It wasn’t me who was supposed to get married, but my best friend,” he says, taking a sip of coffee before setting the cup down. “The wedding was canceled. The bride fled. His future is ruined. And it’s all because of you.”
Oh damn!
I gasp in shock completely at a loss on what to say.
“If you’d just let me speak to the bride, I’d clear up the misunderstanding immediately! I went to the wrong church and—”
“As I said, you may leave.” He cuts me off with a dismissive wave. No interest whatsoever in hearing me out.
“My best friend was cheated on. She was in a relationship with a man and didn’t know she was the other woman. When she found out he was getting married, she wanted to warn the bride. We ended up at the wrong church. It was a mistake.”
Maybe that helps?
He just looks at me silently and takes another sip. No, he’s deliberately ignoring me.
“So, if you’d give me the opportunity to explain everything to the bride, then—”
I break off as my boss suddenly enters the room.
“Ah, Miss Waverley,” he says, beaming at me. In high spirits, Mr. Blackthorn comes over, then notices his guest. “Good to see everything worked out. I see you’ve already met my son.”
Yeah, that’s it. Game over.
While Mr. Blackthorn Junior fixes me with an ice-cold look, I’m just dying inside. Damn it.
“Son?” I freeze. I knew Mr. Blackthorn has a son, but isn't he supposed to live in America? Mr. Blackthorn Senior has hardly ever mentioned him. I knew nothing about his son—appearance or name.
"Yes, my son Alexander. Have I never told you about him? I seem to recall mentioning that he lives in New York." Just barely. I hadn’t even known it was New York. My boss, a bit taller than me with thick white hair, a bushy mustache, and dark eyes, pauses to think.
"It must have slipped my mind," I answer, not wanting to embarrass him. "So he’s your special guest today?"
"We haven’t seen each other in ages. But he’s been back from America for a week now and will be living here in London." He walks over to his son, who doesn’t even bother to stand up. Mr. Blackthorn looks back at me and says, "It’s good you’re already here. You two should get acquainted."
An uncertain glance from me, is followed by a longer one at Alexander, who’s also staring at me. "What do you mean?"
"Well, I’ll discuss this with my son first. Then I’ll call you back in, Miss Waverley."
That’s my cue to leave. But I already have a sinking suspicion about what this meeting is about, and it would be the end of me.
My boss might as well tie a heavy iron chain with an anchor around my neck and throw me into the sea.
I can picture it vividly. He stands there smiling, waving at me and calling out: "Bon voyage. " Or something like that.
When I close the door behind me, I strain to catch anything through it. Nothing. Not a single word. Great. What a mess.
I retreat to the kitchen, load up on tea, juice, and cookies, then haul my stash back to my desk. It’s just outside Mr. Blackthorn’s office, usually a peaceful little corner where I can work undisturbed. Well, at least I could, if my thoughts weren't completely elsewhere.
Me: I tried. He was still ice cold. No chance. But the absolute worst part: He's my boss's son!
Nessa: WHAT?
Me: Yes! He only mentioned once that he has a son who lives in America, but I didn't know anything else about him.
Nessa: Oh God...
Me: Yeah, start praying. Maybe the old man up there will actually listen for once and help me out of this mess!
Nessa: And it's all my fault. I deliberately had you drive to the wrong church. I'm so sorry, London. Please, I need to do something. Can I come over? Maybe this guy will talk to me?
Me: This Alexander is an arrogant jerk. Self-absorbed and annoyingly good-looking. The type who always gets what he wants. That’s just how these rich men are. We can forget about it. Completely.
Nessa: Do you think he'll tell his father what happened?
Me: Probably. But here’s what scares me more: my boss is old and starting to get a bit forgetful, and I think he might hand the company down to his son.
Nessa: Then he would become your new boss!
Me: Yes, and that's absolutely not okay! I like my boss, he's great. But I could never get along with his son.
Nessa: When will you find out?
Me: Probably soon. I’ll just have to hold back and act like I think it’s the best idea ever… while secretly checking job listings.
Nessa: I'm going to stay single from now on, so this doesn't happen again.
Me: Nonsense. There are good guys out there. You just have to find them.
Nessa: Or let them find you.
I send her a picture of two stick figures hugging. Then I get to work. There’s too much to do and the phone won’t stop ringing. This day is officially going on my top 5 list of “days I’d rather forget.”
Two hours later, Mr. Arthur Blackthorn sends a message asking me to come to his lounge. I jump up immediately and lock my computer. Then I forward the phone to the central office and walk down the hallway. I tug at my blouse and skirt, fix my hair, and finally knock on the door.
"Come in." I can barely hear it. As I open the door, I swallow one last time. If I stay composed, surely I won't burst into tears. I've never handled being yelled at well.
"How may I help you, Mr. Blackthorn?" I ask. He’s sitting comfortably in one of the armchairs, looking straight at me. His son Alexander, however, still has his back to me, staring out the window.
This is my end.
The short story of London Waverley.
Unfortunately, we've already reached the end. Game over.
I close my eyes and imagine the play that will someday be written and premiered about me. Will it receive good reviews? The curtains close and the audience applauds enthusiastically.
I take a deep breath, open my eyes again, and close the door behind me.
"Please have a seat," he says, pointing to the armchair next to him.
Oh, I don't like this.
My stomach turns. I’ve only had cookies, tea, and juice all day, and I feel like I might throw up.
With trembling knees, I reach the armchair and sit down, while Alexander still gazes out the window.
This is what I get.
I just wanted to warn a stranger and show my friend that she's not alone.
It's my fault. I've sealed my fate and ruined my professional future.