Chapter 15
Emma
My levitation lasts until lunchtime. I float around the offices like a crazed butterfly. Louise has been trying to capture me in her net. But I’ve fluttered off around the office, talking and laughing, yet I can’t really remember what I’ve said to anyone.
“You haven’t agreed to any pay rises have you?” Louise grabs me, her net finally closing as she bumps me back to earth with the bribery of food. “Because we’re overdrafting until the Pickburn contract comes in.”
“I don’t think I did.” I genuinely can’t remember. I’m still in my trainers, and have my bag and shoes in my hands. I never even put them down. I never noticed.
“What is wrong with you?” She tuts at me. “Sit there and eat. Have you had a blow to the head?” I snort-laugh at the irony of that. She looks even more shocked. “You have? What happened?” Then she spins around to grab her laptop. “Here, get a load of him, and it might wake you up.”
Jude. Images and more images of Jude Greystone.
This is not helping my floating state at all.
I can still smell him. I sniff at my blouse.
Where is his scent coming from? I can almost feel his lips on mine.
My heart beating erratically in my chest even now, hours on.
His hands in my hair, how it pulled my scalp, my vagina clenching at every delightful sting.
Cupping my head, holding it as if it was the most precious thing he’d ever held.
Every lick, kiss, nip. I can feel it, taste it.
“Emma.” The sharpness of Louise’s voice brings me back to my office. He’s not here. His body is not pressing into mine. I’m in my chair. Louise is gearing up to slap my face. I can see it in her eyes.
“Sorry. It’s just… well… I’m not sure where to start.” I sound dazed.
“Well, don’t start til I get us a coffee. Then I want every detail of what has happened to do this to you. Or maybe if I’m lucky, it’s a who. God let it be a who. I love the details.”
She jumps up and sets off at a run for the coffee machine. My brain is floating off again, my eyes starting to take in the images on the screen.
You know the point when you see a car crash about to happen. When you know in your bones that the two cars are going to collide and no amount of steering wheel spinning, foot stamping on the brakes, handbrake clutching is going to cut it. Well, put that on steroids.
The man who has obliterated my mind and knocked off three things from my top ten romantithon checklist is sat in the pictures, having dinner with Lindy. A pop star. Twenty something, small, blonde, beautiful, red red lips. Yesterday, a late lunch apparently.
I’m turned to stone instantly. My car crash eyes can’t look away. I’m the ghoulish driver who slows down to look, thanking god it was not me.
But it is me. I’m the one stood alone and broken at the side of the road. Trying to pretend I don’t care that my car is smashed to hell and convince a paramedic I’m in one piece.
“Right, here you are.” Louise plonks the drink down at haste and turns her eyes to me, not reading the dazed look as horror.
“Oh, yeah, have you seen them?” She’s pointing to the screen.
“From yesterday, apparently. Get a load of that clinch. Can you imagine being in those arms?” She’s stroking the screen.
“I’m sure that’s the same Italian we went to.
Why they’re not in that same booth we were, or in a private dining room, I’ll never know.
He looks like he’s about to devour her.”
I make a gulping noise as I grab for my coffee, trying desperately to look away. But, no. Car crash ghoul. Shot after shot of him and her.
“She’s gone to LA now. I heard her on the radio this morning, going on and on about her sexy London man.
He’s going to meet her there, she told the radio host in confidence.
” Louise rolls her eyes. “Do you know he’s related in some weird way to Marcus Russell.
I haven’t had time to look into it, but if you type Marcus’s name into a search engine, Jude always comes up.
” She pulls a who knew face. “So, spill the coffee, sister.”
“It’s tea.”
“No, it’s coffee.” She taps my cup.
“No, it’s spill the tea, not coffee. Never mind. Nothing to tell. Some crazy bloke rocked up onto my lawn last night and knocked himself out. I had to have the paramedics. He was threatening lawsuits due to the scooter being left out. It was madness for about an hour.”
I take a sip of my coffee. I am not going to embarrass myself with what happened.
Clearly he’d been out to lunch—or looking for a tasty treat—and then come to mine.
Not sure why. Maybe Ollie is right. Why would he be there other than valuing our house?
Because who on earth would leave Lindy? It must be to do with a view to getting his mits on my building.
I’ve been played like a desperate violin. What a sucker.
And the day that started so well gets worse than the car crash. I receive a voicemail later that evening. What a slimy bastard. Rubbing my nose in it. I listen to it over and over. He’s lost his mind. If he thinks I would ever go anywhere with him after this stunt…
“Hi Emma, it’s Jude Greystone.” That deep voice hits every bullseye on its way down my body.
I need to up my resolve. “Err, I’m sorry, but something’s come up.
” Yeah, I bet it has. “I’ll not be able to go out for dinner.
” Ha. Really? No shit, Sherlock. Does he think I live under a rock?
He must think I’m a total idiot. “For personal reasons,” Personal.
PERSONAL. You mean because you have a girlfriend called Lindy who you forgot to mention when you were sticking your tongue down my throat.
But then his voice says quietly, almost apologetically, “Well, my sister actually. I’ve got to go to LA and see her.
” Yeah, I bet. His sister. He must think I was born yesterday.
Yep. Personal business. See right under the name of Lindy.
Why would he do that? Come over all nicey nice.
Charm me and my kids. Snog the face off me.
Because he wants your building. Idiot. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back, but it’ll be a few weeks.
” He’s gone. Obviously Lindy is on tour.
Maybe he’ll follow her around the States.
“So, yeah, I’ll ring you when I’m back. Sorry. ”
Well, don’t be. I’m not. Or at least trying not to be.
Oh, who the hell am I kidding. I’m so goddamn sorry.
Sorry that I won’t feel those strong hands play with my fingers.
Won’t get to ogle the veins on his arms. And as for that torso—it will haunt my dreams. But the worst, the absolute of all this, is that fantastic kiss.
The cry that escapes my lips brings Louise back into my room with whiskey as well as coffee. I break down and confess everything to her. Who, by the end of the tale, has produced more whiskey and we’re ordering dinner takeout and bingeing on Irish Coffee.
I’m a desperate drunk, and I have to get home. With my ex-husband's love child in tow. It’s all too much for a Friday. And then I realise it’s the first of February. I never even said white rabbits before twelve midday. I’m doomed.
I phone my dad. I need reinforcements for tonight. If I take to my bed dead in a drunken stupor, I’ll never hear the end of it from Nigel. If he wasn’t such a lazy bastard, he’d file for full custody of the kids. But he doesn’t want them full time. He can’t even cope with them every other weekend.
I’m a masochist. A glutton for punishment.
Every day I check social media. And sure enough, a week past his dreaded phone message, pictures emerge of Lindy and him at a nightclub.
He’s out with Carter Maywood, Kasey Becker, and I assume with the resemblance, a relation who is dating Carter Maywood.
I snap the laptop shut with a bang. What is it with the Greystone men?
Dark haired, dark eyes, sexy broody pout. Gah!
“Don’t break the equipment, we need it to take to Berlin,” Louise reminds me. “That’s the only laptop that didn’t have that virus on it. The computer company is due to send the others back tomorrow… they said, at least. I’m not holding my breath.”
We have another conference in two weeks in Berlin. Construction is big in Europe, and we’ve got a few connections there due to Louise dating a German engineer last year. Wonders never cease, they remained on good terms.
Work becomes my sole focus. I bury myself in it, working every hour I can.
Bringing home the bacon for my kids. Even if my social or dating life is nonexistent, work is going superbly well.
Three new contracts on the back of our presence at the London Conference.
Those cupcakes worked wonders. I’m following every lead like a bloodhound.
Chasing down any outlying stragglers like a hunting lioness. And it’s working.
But this European conference is huge, one of the biggest in floor space throughout the whole of Europe.
Top worldwide companies attend, the hype around it off the scale.
I’ve managed to wrangle a spot on stage as well.
Maybe Jude is right, I’m not above blackmailing the London Conference organisers to put in a good word for me, due to their blunder on my pitch last month.
And it worked, even if it is the last slot of the day, in one of the conference rooms further away.
I’ve been brushing up on my presentation skills to wow any would be attendees.
Maybe even keep them entertained and not running for the door, as it’s only me that’s keeping them from the bar in the very posh hotel next door.
Trying to be professional, funny, and informative to a European audience might be a big ask.
But I'm going for it. I’ve done the presentation to Louise and the whole team three times now.
I know the script by heart. I have muscle memory going on for my arm positions, looks and smiles. I am so here for this.
The day before the off, Louise accosts me on the main office floor. “Right, we need a pamper session.” Louise has a leaflet for a nearby day spa in her hands, and a determined look in her eye.
I shake my head at her. “Louise, no. It’s not my thing.
” I’m all on shaving under my armpits. And this time of year, with opaque tights, I don’t bother with my legs until the hair is poking through the eighty denier.
Easter is usually when leg shaving starts again.
So to be heading into a spa in February seems wrong to me.
“You need your nails to pop at the audience. Your hair to be on point. You could also do with some new work wear, and you’ll need a dress or two for going out to dinner.
Everyone goes out. I've been checking up. I’ve been packed for a week already.
Ben and Holly are going for clothes this afternoon.
I’ve given them a list. I know we have the pink outfits for the last day, but we need to be suited and booted for the first one. ”
I look over at Ben and Holly. They’ve got German flags pinned to their desks. Yep, they're excited, and so they should be. It’s the biggest event in the conferencing calendar in Europe, thousands of attendees, hundreds of companies. Everyone needs to play their part.
Louise has her coat in one hand and mine in the other. “C’mon. We shop, we spa, we do hair. In that order. And if you’re really good, I’ll take you to a champagne bar.”
She’s hit maximum bribery. I do love a good champagne bar. It’s such a treat, and she knows it.
I’m sitting cross-legged in a champagne bar, feeling decadent and pretty gorgeous.
My clothes are the business. My tresses have been layered and tousled within an inch of their life.
I keep flicking my hair like I’m auditioning for a shampoo advert.
And my body has been stripped of every single hair from everywhere below my brows. Skin moisturised and polished.
Louise giggled like a schoolgirl when the Femfresh wipes were advised, along with disposable knickers.
I stood trying to work out why I needed them for my legs when the words intimate waxing were whispered by Louise going out the door.
I only stayed as the lady was so knowledgeable about the wax, and I was fascinated as the wax was black.
It was far less painful than my legs. Who knew?
“You look fab. And regardless of any men—who shall not be named—you’re glowing.” Louise is eyeing me up speculatively. “You never know who you’ll meet there. Your perfect German prince could be roving the halls, just waiting for you to appear.”
“Well, he could spot you and love curls.” I nod at her gorgeous freshly dried locks, all natural and bouncing every time she nods her head.
“Well, I’ll be ready if he does.” She rubs her hands together.
“Bring it on. I’ve heard the clubs in Berlin are amazing,” she states excitedly.
“Shall we go? I know clubbing might be for the younger guys, but we’re not dead yet.
We are two carefree—for two days anyway—youngish single females.
We could kill it. But you need to wear black.
” She points excitedly at me and takes a swig of her champagne.
“You could wear that amazing dress you bought today.”
“I thought we were going out for dinner, not clubbing.” I give her an incredulous look.
“Well I’m not ruling anything out, and neither should you.” She points her newly manicured nails at me. “We’re ready. And you are certainly ready. No kids, no ex-husband. Two days to wow Europe. We can do this.” She’s cheerleading us, her hands waving excitedly.
I grin at her. She is so fabulously positive, all the time. I need her positivity, as mine ebbs and flows. Normally coinciding with contact from Nigel.
“Yep, I’m rehearsed and about half a stone lighter with no hair on my body. I’ll slink across that stage like a shimmering mirage. All the presentations are on my computer. We’re all set, and I’m actually looking forward to it. Selling our little company to the world.”
Grinning like a lunatic, I make a rainbow symbol with my hands going over my head. She’s right, bring it on.