Chapter 42
ALEX
“Brooke,” I say again.
Hollow eyes stare up at me, but I’m not even sure she’s hearing me.
“Brooke,” I say more sharply.
This time her eyes focus.
“Sorry,” she says, appearing to give herself a mental shake.
“Are you okay? I’ve called your name five times.”
The elevator dings in the distance, announcing someone’s arrival.
Fuck!
She straightens her spine and gives me a dazzling smile, one that fails to reach her eyes.
Bloodshot eyes!
“I’m fine. Sorry, I was miles away. Did you want something?”
Want something?
I do, but I can’t remember for the life of me what it is. Seeing her like this, I’m struck by how lost and broken she looks.
“Brooke, are you sure you’re okay?”
She nods. “I had a late night. I got caught up watching an old movie. I woke up on the sofa at three. Stupid of me…”
I can tell she’s lying. I just don’t understand why, but I don’t press her. There isn’t time, and besides, it’s none of my business.
Boundaries.
In half an hour I’ll be facing a group of St Clair’s major international department store buyers.
“Do you have the packs ready for the meeting?”
“I’ve already laid them out in the boardroom,” she says. “Drinks and breakfast pastries have been arranged. I’ve spoken to Monty. They’ll be delivered as soon as everyone arrives.”
“Great.”
I incline my head, and she smiles. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
Our conversation is clearly over when she drops her gaze back to whatever document she’s reviewing.
I return to my desk and sit down, the urge to call Mother pressing hard.
I’ve never been one who ignores my instinct, and it’s screaming that something has happened, that Brooke needs someone in her corner…
that she’s alone in a strange city. But doing so without her permission will destroy the trust we’ve built.
Despite everything, I keep telling myself she’s a grown woman.
* * *
We make our way to the boardroom. The haunted woman from earlier is gone, replaced by flawless Brooke. Walking beside me is once again the consummate professional I’ve come to recognise and admire over the past couple of months. It’s as though I imagined that earlier version of her.
“You ready?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” she says, although it’s impossible to miss her white knuckles as they grip the client packs.
“Let’s do this,” I say, leading us into the main boardroom, where some of our high-profile contacts and clients are already waiting alongside several of the St Clair board members and Mother.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome.”
It’s then that I look down and spot it.
Italian.
“Brooke,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm.
She looks up, her eyes questioning. I glance down at the pack she handed me, her gaze following mine. She freezes, the colour draining from her face.
“Sorry, everyone, it looks like I grabbed the wrong packs from my desk. Brooke, can you get the English packs?” I say, smiling calmly at those seated around the table. “Jumping ahead of myself, I should have left it to the professional.”
There are a few chuckles from around the table.
She moves swiftly, collecting them up and apologising as she goes. Her hands are shaking by the time she reaches me.
Her eyes meet mine. The hollow look is back.
“Excuse us.”
I manoeuvre us to the door.
“Brooke, are you sure you’re okay?” I ask as soon as we’re out of earshot.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says. “It was my mistake.”
“Let’s not worry about that now. Can you collect the other packs from my desk?” I ask gently, not wanting to startle her.
She nods, hesitating for a split second before turning and leaving.
I return to our room full of guests.
“Sorry, everyone, I received a call from the UK as I was heading out. As you can imagine, with fashion week fast approaching there are many plates to juggle.”
“No need to apologise,” Trevor says, one of our longest-standing contacts. “I don’t know how you juggle it all.”
“Practice, but as you can see, things happen. Coffee and pastries, anyone, while we wait?”
Brooke reappears a couple of minutes later, slightly breathless, handing me the correct packs.
“Thank you,” I say, nodding as she hands them out.
She goes to take a seat.
“That’s all. I know you have a mountain of tasks to complete. Sasha can take the notes for today’s meeting,” I say, shooting Dominic’s PA a look that has her sitting upright and smiling brightly.
Our eyes meet, her shoulders dropping as she nods at me, and I can’t miss the quiver in her hand as she reaches for the door handle.
Whatever is going on with her today has knocked her completely off-kilter, and because of that, I can’t have her here. I need to concentrate on the job at hand.
When she disappears, I turn my attention to the men and women in front of me. Since when have I cared so much about a member of staff that I struggle to focus on a meeting? I haven’t, at least not before a young British woman invaded my world.
The meeting drags on for two hours. By the time we’re done, my patience is frayed, and I want to lock myself away in a darkened room. I hate this time of year, yet love it in equal measure.
When I return, Brooke is nowhere in sight. An internal message from HR flashes on my computer screen.
“Brooke has gone home sick.”
My office door opens without warning.
“Want to tell me what all that was about?” Mother asks, throwing her bag down on the couch in the corner of my room.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t take me for a fool, Sandro. It doesn’t suit you.”
“And you need to remember who runs this company. You were only at the meeting out of courtesy and because those very important clients of ours like the gossip you provide.”
She ignores me, which I knew she would. “Where is she?”
“Where’s who?”
“Are we really playing this game?”
“It’s no game, Mother, and if you’re asking about my PA, she’s gone home sick. Should never have come in this morning.”
“She nearly messed up an important meeting.”
“No, I nearly messed up an important meeting,” I fire back, not sure why I’m protecting Brooke from my mother of all people. She introduced us.
“Still going with that story?”
“It’s the truth.”
Not a complete lie. I knew Brooke was out of sorts this morning. I should have sent her home. Instead, I let her stay. Therefore, the mistake is mine to bear.
“Fine,” she says. “But don’t let yourself get derailed or be made to look like a fool by a pretty face.”
I freeze, my blood sizzling in my veins.
“You think? Oh, Mother, you need to stop worrying about me. Brooke is my PA and happens to be incredibly adept at her job. For the record, I don’t give a flying hoot what you and others think.
I run this company and believe it or not, I can and will make mistakes like any human being, the same way you did when you were in charge. ”
She stares me down, but I refuse to bend. It was a low blow, but she needs to be brought back into line.
“And I paid a heavy price,” she says, her gaze dropping to the floor.
I rub the back of my neck. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”
“It was, but it’s true. I just don’t want you making the same mistakes I did.”
She sniffs and turns to the couch, picking up her bag and sliding it onto her forearm.
“I’m no longer married. I think it’s safe to say I already made that mistake.”
She steps forward and pats my cheek.
“We were always similar. It’s just that people aren’t always what they seem. I just want you to be careful.”
“Are we talking about Brooke?”
“She’s a young woman, at a very different stage in her life,” she says. “There’s a lot you don’t know about her.”
“I’m very aware of that, and there’s nothing going on between Brooke and me,” I say, which is technically true, though not the whole truth.
“I’d suggest you keep it that way.”
When she leaves, I drop into my chair.
There’s a lot you don’t know about her.
How bad can it be? She brought Brooke into our lives and even invited her to spend Christmas with our family.
My muscles tighten, an unfamiliar pressure building in my chest.
My mother is right. I’ve never covered for someone before. I’m meticulous and have high expectations, but we’re all human, and something was definitely wrong with Brooke this morning. Every bone in my body told me as much.
I pick up my phone, tempted to call, but drop it back in its cradle.
Stop, you’re overstepping. She hasn’t asked for your help. She told you she’s fine. You need to let it go.
Letting it go is potentially one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.