Chapter 7
CHAPTER
SEVEN
AVA
There’s an eeriness to the office at night that you don’t feel during the daytime.
It’s not just that I’m the only person in here, though that’s not really helping.
It’s the creaks and sighs of the old construction, the occasional whirr of a printer as it decides it’s time to come back to life, along with the occasional clank of the elevator as the last people in the offices below leave for the night.
I’ve been working on the report for two hours, and my eyes are swimming, so I take a break to decorate Ryan’s desk and chair. His thirtieth birthday is tomorrow and he’s been bitching all week about having to work on his birthday, so at least he can be cheered up by a bunch of banners and balloons.
The elevator clanks again, and it makes me jump.
Then I jump even more when the door to our open plan office opens and Myles walks in.
Instead of his usual suit, he’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a navy hoodie.
His hair is freshly washed and brushed back from his face, which is covered by a shadow of beard growth.
He glances at the silver banner I’ve festooned across Ryan’s desk. “What are you doing?”
“Milking cows.”
His lips twitch. He looks so much younger in casual gear. Like a different person, really.
“Do you decorate for everybody’s birthday?” he asks me.
“Usually. Unless they don’t like celebrating. Gordon in accounting hates talking about birthdays because his wife died on his forty-second. So I just give him a hug and tell him it’ll be okay.”
Myles blinks. “Of course you do.”
“Don’t you celebrate birthdays in your New York office?” I ask him. Has he had a personality transplant to go with his new outfit? For once he’s not intimidating at all.
“If we did, we’d be celebrating about a hundred a day. By the time we’d sung ‘Happy Birthday’ to everyone the working day would be over,” he says, shrugging.
Is he making a joke? I’m not sure. I half smile just in case. “When’s your birthday?”
“Are you going to blow me some balloons and cover my seat with tinsel if I tell you?”
I tip my head to the side. “If you want me to.”
His lips part, but he says nothing. He’s looking at me like he can’t quite figure out what I am. Then he shakes his head. “A birthday and Fizzy Friday tomorrow,” he says. “Is anybody going to get any work done?”
“We’ll do our very best,” I reply solemnly. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”
He lifts a brow and turns, walking into his office, and I realize I didn’t mention his outfit. I’ll save that one for later, when he annoys me again. Because right now I need to finish decorating Ryan’s desk and get back to the report.
It turns out that working alone in the office with Myles only a few yards – and a wall – away is distracting. He’s been different these past few days. Almost nice. I’m not sure whether to worry about that or enjoy it.
I keep wondering when he’ll come out, so I try to look busy, which is actually harder than you’d think. Looking busy and being busy are two very different things, and trying to keep up appearances is actually hampering my productivity.
He walks out half an hour later. His hair has dried, and he’s taken off his hoodie, revealing a black t-shirt that clings to his chest. “You still here?” he asks.
“No.”
Both corners of his lips twitch this time. It’s not quite a smile but it’s not far off. He frowns as though it’s painful to show any humor. “Have you seen the Reynolds file? I can’t find it on the system.”
“It’s not on the system. I have the hard copy here.”
“We need to get every single damn file onto the system,” he tells me, grimacing as though the hard file is all my fault.
“Sure,” I say lightly, because I just want to finish this report and get out of here.
He walks over to my desk and holds out his hand, and I have to rifle through the different files on my desk to find the Reynolds one.
When I finally extract it, something flutters to the floor and Myles leans down to pick it up.
“New Dawn Fertility Clinic,” he murmurs, turning over the appointment card. “Is this where you were today?”
I snatch it back from him. “None of your business.”
“It is if you and your boyfriend are trying for a baby. I’m trying to work out how this office can be run in the future and you’re a big part of that.”
“Do you think being pregnant affects a woman’s brain cells or something?” I ask him.
“No, but I know that taking maternity leave affects the business. And I’m a big believer in maternity leave. I pushed Jean-Baptiste to change policy, if you looked in the employee handbook you’d know that.”
I have, and it’s true. Mediatech offer a very generous paid maternity leave. Not by European standards, but way better than most companies.
“It doesn’t matter anyway, I’m not pregnant yet.” I look up at him, feeling like a cornered animal. “And I don’t have a boyfriend.”
His eyes flicker for a second. “But you’re going through fertility treatment alone? Why would you do that?”
“Because I’m thirty-six years old and time is running out.”
He blanches. “Can’t you wait a while? Surely there must be guys knocking down your door.”
I try not to laugh. “No, they aren’t. Most good guys are taken at my age, and the ones that aren’t have suddenly discovered that they can age down and nobody batters an eyelid. You think they want to date someone in their mid thirties when twenty-somethings are swiping right?”
“Not every guy is like that,” he protests.
“How old was your last girlfriend?” I ask him.
He winces. “Thirty-one. But that was a while ago.”
“And you’re… forty something?”
“If I tell you she was mature for her age you’re going to laugh at me, aren’t you?” He looks almost embarrassed. It’s a good look on him.
“No. But you just proved my point.” I shrug.
“Anyway, even if I found the right guy, the odds are that I’ll still end up a single mom in the end.
Statistics prove that most relationships don’t last. But I’d have to share weekends and argue over holidays and child support and the poor kid will end up paying the price. ”
“You’ve thought all this through haven’t you?” he says.
“Yes I have,” I tell him. “I don’t have a choice. It’s okay for guys, you have longevity. I need to make a decision and quickly.”
He looks at me for a moment, and it feels like he’s burrowing himself into my brain. I expect him to say something pithy, but he doesn’t.
He does something much worse.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “That sucks.”
The way he says it touches me. It sounds genuine. And it makes tears sting at my eyes. I blink them away, because there’s no way I’m crying in front of Myles Salinger.
Oh yeah? My eyes say. May want to rethink that.
A single tear escapes and burns a trail down my cheek. Myles’ eyes widen at my sudden change in emotion.
And I am mortified.
There’s only one thing worse than crying at work, not that I’d know because in all of the years of working for Richard, I haven’t cried once. That one thing is crying in front of somebody who dislikes you. When you’re alone together in the office and there’s no escape route.
I wait for him to walk away, but he doesn’t. Just stares and frowns, then does something completely unexpected.
He wipes my tears with his thumbs.
The touch of his skin against mine sends a bolt of surprise right to my toes. He’s warm and gentle as he pulls me against him, so I’m sniffling against his t-shirt as he holds me tight.
Myles Salinger is hugging me.
He can hug?
Yes, he can. His chest is firm against my cheek, his arms circled around my back, and all I can do is breathe him in.
There’s a whiff of shower gel in there – something deep and woodsy and very masculine. But there’s something else. Something all him.
Something that makes my body ache for all the things I can’t have.
He shifts slightly away from me, and that’s all it takes to wake me up from my torpor and pull away from him, my face burning.
What the hell just happened? I’ve no idea, but I can’t be here anymore.
The embarrassment is overwhelming, making my head pound.
I don’t bother to turn off my laptop or lock away any files.
Instead, I grab my purse and hightail it out of here, only turning once to look at him, before I enter the elevator.
“This never happened,” I tell him, my voice gritty.
He’s regained control of his expression. It’s smooth and neutral and everything mine isn’t. He nods as I make a grab for the handle. “Agreed.”
MYLES
I made her cry. And I got a hard-on from hugging her. Those are the only two things that register as I watch the door swing behind her then hear the whirr of the elevator as it slowly makes its descent.
What the hell was I thinking even touching her? It’s been way too long since I’ve touched a woman. And she’d been soft and fragrant and my body responded in exactly the way I hadn’t wanted it to.
I should never have come out of my office.
Damn it, I never should have come to Charleston.
I’m just lucky she didn’t notice. At least I hope she didn’t.
When I’m sure she’s not coming back, I sit down in her office chair and make sure everything’s saved before I power down her laptop. Then I collect all the files on her desk – and the fertility clinic card – and slide them into her top drawer, locking it, but leaving the key there.
I’m getting to know Ava Quinn, and I’m almost certain she’ll be here at some ungodly hour first thing in the morning to finish her report and have it to me on time.
It’s a matter of pride for her. She’s punchy and gritty, but masks it with a veneer of respectability I’m not sure she even understands herself.
She’s nice and she’s kind but she’ll fight for those she cares about.
The way she fought me over Fizzy goddamned Friday.
And my body wants her.
Yeah, well my body can take a hike.
I turn back to my work, waking up my laptop and opening the Reynolds file to find the contract we signed three years ago. From the corner of my eye, I see a notification flash up on the screen.
Meeting Request from Mrs. Linda Salinger.
My mother is sending me meeting requests. This is where I am in life. On the plus side, any lingering remnants of desire vanish completely when I see my mom’s name.
I click on it and groan when I see it’s a lunch request for tomorrow. Here in Charleston. She’s tracked me down and is trying to corner me.
I consider telling her I’m busy – which I am – but this is my mother. I love her, and despite my age, I still have this natural desire to make her happy. Lunch with me will almost certainly make her ecstatic, though I’ve no idea why.
Unconditional love, that’s why.
For a moment, a fraction of a millisecond, I have a little insight into Ava’s wish to have a child. But then I remember that along with that unconditional love comes sleepless nights, financial pain, emotional anguish, and the hijacking of your entire life.
I accept the meeting request and send a message to Emma to book a restaurant for us.
And then I open up the document I’ve been working on because I don’t want to think about any of this anymore.