Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
SOPHIE
I’m in the office bright and early on Monday, even though I had to work on Saturday. There’s not enough of us for me to take a day off. Something is going to have to give because at this rate we’re all going to collapse of overwork.
I open my laptop and sigh. Maybe I’m just grumpy because I haven’t heard from Liam since he emailed me last night with his itinerary for the week. He didn’t add anything cute to the email, didn’t mention watching anything together either. Just a simple email and that was it.
I should be happy, shouldn’t I? I told him this couldn’t work. And yet I’m not. I’m annoyed because maybe I wanted him to fight for me.
And yes, I know that’s game playing and I don’t like playing games. I’ll have a severe word with myself later.
From checking his itinerary I know he’s going to New York this morning. I sent him his daily forecast an hour ago but he hasn’t replied to that either.
Before I can brood on it anymore, Michael rushes in, a triumphant smile on his face. “You know what this is?” he asks, holding a sheaf of papers in his hand.
“Your next bestseller,” I say, lifting a brow.
“You know I don’t like books.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, it’s a request for bids from the network. They want regional weather hubs and they’re asking us to submit a proposal.” He lifts a brow. “I told you it would be worth me going to that golf course.”
“They want what?” I ask.
“The network wants eight weather hubs across the country. Then when there’s a weather event they’ll call on one of the hubs to take lead and cover it for all the stations in the local area as well as nationally.
” He slaps the report on my desk. “It’s a great opportunity.
I’d like you to write up our submission. ”
I look at the thickness of the sheaf in front of me and try to not sigh. “I’m not sure I’ll have time,” I tell him. “I’m already covering two jobs.” And sometimes three when you can’t be bothered to call off your golf games.
He says nothing, just stands there. I keep my gaze stubbornly on the papers because I don’t want to look him in the eye.
Ugh, I hate him.
Finally, he clears his throat. “I’m trying to help us all here. You know how easy it would be for the station to buy in the weather forecast. If we get awarded the regional hub contract we’ll have additional funding. Which means we can have extra staff. So please get this done.” He lifts a brow.
I grudgingly nod. Part of me knows he’s right. We have to prove we’re adding value to the station. And having regional hubs makes great sense. No point in every station in the local area sending a meteorologist out to report on a tornado or hurricane when one can do it for everybody.
And as I read the report I find myself getting excited. This is a real chance for change in the department. And if we get the contract I’ll be the person who won it for us. Michael won’t be able to hide that. It might even mean a promotion.
But it also means I’ll have to work on it in the evenings, because my days are already overly full with running forecasts, updating the website, and appearing on air. But maybe that’s a good thing because I won’t have time to brood about my conversation with Liam yesterday.
Or about how he made me feel when he touched me all over.
There’s a part of me that wants to feel that again, if only for one night. He made me feel safe and yet in complete danger. It’s an intoxicating combination.
But my heart tells me that one night would only make me feel worse. Because once he was gone I’d feel more alone than I’ve ever felt. And I’m old enough to know that sometimes the things you want are bad for you.
It doesn’t mean I didn’t touch myself last night as I thought about him. Or that I keep checking my phone to see if he’s replied to my forecast yet.
He hasn’t, by the way.
I’d brood on it more, but the morning runs away with me. By the time I’ve updated the website with current forecasts, I have to run for the lunchtime news, getting a dirty look from the producer because I’ve just managed to put my mic pack on before the intro music begins.
And once I finished that, I had to stay behind to record some spots for the website and our social media accounts. So by the time I get back to the office I’m desperate for lunch, or at least a coffee to keep me going.
But there’s a crowd of people around my desk.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Did you order lunch?” Lisa asks. She doesn’t even work in this office, the sports team has a room a few doors down the hallway.
It’s full of merchandise for the local teams and when you walk in there you take your life in your hands because the odds are good you’ll get hit in the head by a flying baseball or basketball or occasionally a hockey puck.
“No, are you guys planning to order some?” I ask. It’s not often we all pool together and get lunch delivered, but maybe it’s somebody’s birthday and I’ve forgotten.
“I don’t think we need to,” Ray, an ex-baseball player, says. Is there anybody in the sports office or are they all here? “I was hoping you might plan on sharing.”
He steps back and that’s when I see the platters covering my desk. There are five of them, all silver with those domed lids, though I notice a couple of them are askew and I suspect the sports team of looking to see what’s inside.
They’re literally ruled by their stomachs.
“I didn’t order this,” I say, frowning because it looks expensive. And then I see the napkins with The Ambassador Hotel emblazoned in gold lettering against a backdrop of white and a cold wave of fear washes over me.
“Did somebody order this on the station’s account?” I ask. I know how much a buffet like this from the Ambassador costs. We only order from them when we have important people visiting. And I know for a fact that I’ll end up in trouble if my name is against this order.
Of course my thoughts immediately turn to Michael. Is he trying to get me in trouble with the station bosses?
“Who knows, but it’s here so we might as well dig in,” Ray says, lifting a dome up. Crushed ice covers the platter, and nestled between the shards is the most expensive array of shellfish you’d ever want to see.
“Fuck. I love lobster,” Lisa breathes.
“Don’t touch anything,” I tell them, batting Ray’s hand away. “There’s been a mistake.”
He looks like he’s on the verge of tears.
“I need to send this back before we get billed,” I say.
Ray’s lip wobbles as he traces the point of a lobster claw. “But it’s so pretty…”
“This isn’t on the company tab,” Lisa announces. As I turn to look at her, I spot Ray steal a shrimp from the corner of my eye.
“Seriously?” I ask him, my eyes narrowing. “You thought I wouldn’t notice?”
“If they take it back they’re just going to throw it away,” he points out, not unreasonably. “That would be an unheavenly waste.”
“Who’s L?” Lisa asks.
I keep my eyes on Ray. “I’ve no idea.”
“The invoice says, ‘I wasn’t sure what you wanted for lunch so I ordered you a bit of everything’. Then there’s an L.”
Ray’s hand creeps out again. I don’t bother to stop him this time. “It’s from a friend,” I manage to rasp out, knowing exactly who L is. What the hell is Liam thinking, sending me all this food?
It’s like a dam has burst. Once everybody realizes I’m not going to be fired for the food order, they’re grabbing at the lids, oohing and aahing at the food laid out on them.
I don’t have time for this. But I’m also confused. Why is Liam sending me lunch?
“Leave me something,” I tell the sports team. “I just need to make a call.” I grab my phone and walk out of the office, the sound of chewing and gobbling filling my ears. When I get out into the hallway it’s thankfully empty so I bring up Liam’s number.
He answers after the first ring.
“Sophie,” he says, and just hearing his voice sends a thrill through me. This isn’t healthy. I’m not a lovesick teenager. I shouldn’t respond like this, I’m in my late thirties.
“You sent me lunch.”
“Was it okay?” he asks. “I need to find out what you like. I thought about ordering pasta but it can be messy to eat in the office.”
“You could have sent me a sandwich like any normal person,” I tell him. “Or not sent me anything at all.” I rub my brow with my fingertips. I think I’m getting a headache.
“But I want to get on your right side,” he says smoothly.
“Why?” I’m genuinely confused.
“Because I need to watch that episode of Grey’s tonight. And I want to watch it with you,” he tells me.
Oh. “Don’t you have a hot date to go to while you’re in New York?” I ask, because I’m a masochist that way.
Liam’s silent for a minute. Then I hear some muffled tones as though he’s talking to somebody. “I’ll be there in a moment,” I hear him say. Then there’s a sound like a door closing.
“Sorry,” he says, “I was supposed to be in a meeting five minutes ago.”
“You’re a busy man,” I say softly. “I’ll let you go.” But I don’t hang up. Yet.
My office door opens and Ray walks out carrying a platter.
Yep, a platter. He must have moved all the food around because this one has a variety on it.
Shellfish and pastries and some of those vegetables with dips.
He winks at me and pops a carrot stick into his mouth before he disappears into the sports office.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Liam says. “We need to get one thing straight. I’m not going on any dates. I’m not seeing anybody else. The only woman I’m interested in is you.” His voice is low and gritty.
My throat constricts. “I thought we talked about this.”
“Yes, we did. And you let me know that you don’t believe in me. So I have some work to do. And I know that some lobster and fruit doesn’t prove anything. But I wanted to let you know I was thinking of you. And make sure you’re thinking of me, too.”
“Liam…”
“You don’t need to say or do anything right now,” he says, as though he can read my mind. Which is good because I’m literally stumped for what to say. “This is about me. I need to prove to you that I’m not the guy you think I am. I need to show you that I want more.”
“More?”
“Of you,” he breathes. “So much more.”
There’s some more muffled voices. He lets out a soft ‘fuck’. “Baby, I need to go.”
Somewhere deep inside, my feminist self raises its head. I should tell him I’m not his baby. It’s shameful but I’m too full of excitement to actually listen to the sensible voice in my brain.
He called me baby. I kind of want to shout it out.
“Grey’s tonight. Please,” he says hurriedly.
“Okay,” I breathe.
“Thank you. I’ll talk to you later. Have a good afternoon.”
“I will, and you. Oh and Liam?”
“Yes?”
I’m kind of disappointed he doesn’t call me baby again. “Thank you for lunch.”