Chapter 21
“So you had the best time of your life and then ended it?” Abbie asks from the treadmill beside me. “I don’t get it. Well, I do; you’re falling for him. You’re scared. You should have just asked him about the message. What it said. Who she is. We’re all adults.”
“I don’t want him to think I’m some crazed, possessive, dramatic woman.”
“Well, that’s very gallant of you, considering his reaction when he saw you talking to another man.”
“And kissing another man,” I grumble.
Abbie chuckles. “I still can’t believe you did that. Look, we all know you’re not crazed, dramatic, and jealous.”
I felt jealous. God, I don’t want to be that woman. Of course a man like Jude Harrison has a history. We all do. But history doesn’t text you repeatedly. I grimace. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Like what? What’s more interesting than your current mindfuck over a disgustingly handsome millionaire?”
“How’s Mum getting on at the shop?”
“Oh, yay,” Abbie drones. “So interesting.”
I scowl and increase the pace on the machine. Hopefully I’ll soon be so out of breath, I physically won’t be able to talk.
“Charming,” Abbie grumbles, knowing my game. “Whatever. I have to get to the wholesalers.” Slamming her fist on the slow button, she works her way down as I work my way up. “Charley wants to go out this weekend. She has some I Owe Yous she wants to spend.”
I nod, unable to talk, already out of breath.
“I’ll call you later to see if you’ve pulled your head out of your arse.”
Another nod and another slight increase of the machine. I run fast, until my legs are numb, my heart is thrashing, and the sweat is pouring off me.
How will you make me sweaty and wet?
“Fuck!” I yell, wedging my hands into the bars and lifting my feet off the runner, setting them on the sides. I stare down at the belt spinning beneath me, Jude’s voice haunting me.
I’m in a lot more trouble now than I was an hour ago.
Last night felt pretty fucking serious.
I growl to myself and slam the stop button on the machine, giving up and going for a cold shower. Hopefully that will shock me back to real life.
“Morning,” Shelley calls as I pass her desk. “Good weekend?”
“Not bad.” I smile—it’s strained—and push my way into my office. Dumping my bag on the floor, I drop into my seat and stare at the computer screen, as if I’ve forgotten what it is. I haven’t worked all weekend. It’s unheard of. I tried last night and got precisely nowhere, the information I was reading not sinking in. God damn you, Jude Harrison.
I reach for my phone and check the screen. There are a ton of unopened emails, endless news bulletins notifying me of movements on the market, acquisitions, breaking news from floating companies. I sigh and push my phone away, standing and going to the kitchen. I need coffee.
I shove a cup under the machine and hit the button for a flat white, resting my hands on the counter as I watch it drip out.
“How’s my favourite colleague this morning?” Leighton’s voice has my skin instantly crawling.
“Raring to go.”
“Good weekend?”
“Not bad.”
“But not good?”
I cast him a blank sideways look, pulling my cup off the stand. “It was fine.”
“But could have been better?” He smiles, leaning back against the counter next to the machine.
“Always room for improvement.”
Nodding, he drags his leering gaze down my dress. “You look nice in black.”
“Thanks.” I pivot on my heels, shuddering.
“Amelia,” he calls, stopping me by the door. I look back. “We never got to finish our chat last week.”
“What chat?”
“The one at the conference.”
Oh, he means the one when he was laying it on thick? Offering to get a room? I face him. “Do you want to finish it now?”
The smile that stretches across his face makes me want to slap it off. He wanders over, all casual. “Free for lunch?”
“Yes, I’m free,” I say, moving toward him, watching as anticipation crawls through his body and has him standing up straight. I lean in. “Are you asking me to lunch?”
“Sure.”
“Why?”
The look on his face tells me he’s taken aback by my question, but he soon gets his surprise in check. “I love how you play hard to get.”
His arrogance is exhausting, and I do not have the energy for him today. “I’m busy.” Turning, I walk out, wondering if my Monday is going to improve anytime soon. I get behind my desk, push every thought of Jude Harrison out of my mind, and start working through the structure plans and clearing down my inbox.