Chapter 5
‘Whoa, sorry! I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
Jackson rouses me from the comfort of Gregory’s tight embrace on the sofa as he stomps his crutch through the lounge. The sun hasn’t yet come up.
‘Don’t worry, I haven’t perfected my aim over distance,’ I grumble.
I can’t see the smirk on his face but I feel the chug of laughter in Gregory’s chest. He squeezes his arms more tightly around me and kisses my temple. I could fool myself into thinking this is a normal day.
‘Pasop Boet,’ he says playfully.
‘I’ll look out, brother. Control your woman,’ Jackson boyishly banters back.
Both men laugh when I sit up, pouting. ‘Check the date, guys; misogyny is out.’
‘Gym, kid. You don’t get a day off just because my leg doesn’t work. Let’s go.’
Gregory pushes me up with his palms under my arms and places me on my feet. He trails a finger up my arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake, and turns on his knowing half-smile as he slides the rogue strap of my nightdress back up to my collarbone. ‘Better.’
I can’t resist smiling back at him.
‘Aurora,’ he whispers, before planting a kiss on my brow.
‘Let’s go! Let’s go!’ Jackson shouts, making his way to the gym.
‘Ja, ja!’ Gregory shouts back in reply, darting up the staircase, three steps per stride. I watch the gym door close behind Jackson and shudder. Out of Gregory’s hold, the apartment feels dark and cold. Day two: one day closer to finding out whether Gregory will be charged.
As I fumble around, trying to fathom the coffee machine, a knock on the apartment door makes me jump. The lock clinks and the door begins to open.
I slide open a drawer and reach for the first knife I see, my knuckles white around the handle.
A middle-aged woman steps into the lounge wearing a silver bubble coat and carrying two large bags for life.
‘Good morning!’ Her voice almost sings from her petite body.
I loosen my grip on the knife and quickly push the drawer closed as she bumps the door shut with her hip, her mousey-blonde hair swinging from her high ponytail as she moves.
‘Hi,’ I manage, suddenly very aware of the inappropriateness of my skimpy nightdress.
‘You must be Scarlett,’ she says through a smile. ‘Oh my, and as pretty as I imagined.’
My cheeks flush as I fold my arms around my body. ‘Erm, thank you, ah… Amy?’
‘Oh, silly me!’ She lifts her bags with an umph and plants them on the granite worktop. ‘Yes, I’m Amy. I cook, clean, whatever.’ She waves a hand flippantly through the air.
She’s Gregory’s Sandy… kind of.
‘It’s nice to meet you,’ I offer.
‘Here, let me help you with that.’ Like a pro who’s very familiar with the kitchen, Amy opens the front of the coffee machine, takes small pouches of coffee from a cupboard, fills a jug with water which in turn fills the machine, then pushes a button, springing the filter process to life. ‘How do you take it?’
‘Just a drop of milk. I can do it,’ I say, feeling completely inept.
Amy jumps into action, locating a mug and milk then pouring in coffee. ‘Nonsense, that’s why I’m here. Now, what would you like for breakfast?’
She takes two cartons of eggs and a huge pack of smoked salmon from one of her bags, then herbs and a fresh carton of milk and places everything in the fridge.
‘Gregory likes eggs on a Monday once he’s done with the gym and his run but I had a sneaky feeling he might have company for breakfast so I bought bacon, granola, yoghurt and fresh fruit. Oh, and bagels.’
Holding my coffee in two hands, I glance at the items on the bench and to the open fridge. ‘I, erm—’
‘Listen to me. When I talk too much, just say, “Amy, you’re talking too much.” You might not want breakfast yet. Do you get ready first? However which way is fine. You just tell me your routine and I’ll work around you.’ She stands in front of me, smiling expectantly.
‘Okay. Coffee is good for now. I’ll get dressed then maybe I’ll eat with Gregory.’
‘Oh, no, not on a Monday, he likes to get started early on a Monday.’
‘Right. Okay. So maybe I’ll have strawberries and yoghurt when I’m dressed, is that all right?’
Amy chuckles, a sweet sound that makes her nose scrunch and her cheeks widen. ‘Yes, yes, yes. Off you pop. It’ll be ready when you come back down. If you need anything doing, washing, whatever, just let me know. I’m here every day during the week and sometimes on a weekend if Gregory needs me.’
‘How come we haven’t met?’
‘Well, I’ve had some time off. I was ready for a break and Gregory was keen for me to take some time off, too.’
He was keeping you safe.
‘My kids had holidays from school. He’s good like that, lets me have time off when I need it for the kids. Then any time I have been here, I’m told you’ve always been at work.’
‘Sounds about right. Thanks for the coffee.’
Gregory holds his mug part way between the breakfast bar and his lips and stares at me as I make my way down the stairs towards him, my hair hanging across one shoulder as I fasten pearl earrings in place.
He’s already dressed in a navy suit with a white shirt and crisp, powder-blue tie, his hair damp with product.
Casual weekend Gregory is hot but Gregory in a suit… I could take him right here and now.
‘Scarlett, hop up here and get your breakfast,’ Amy chimes.
I slip onto the stool beside Gregory, adjusting my black skirt to make sure the lace tops of my stockings are covered.
The ringtone of a mobile breaks the peace of the room.
‘Ryans!’
I eat my strawberries whilst Gregory takes his call and I’m wrapping myself into my knee-length black coat when he returns.
‘Are you sure you’re ready for work?’ he asks me, dropping his phone into his inside pocket.
‘Yes. I’m fine.’
‘By that, do you mean you’re burying your head in the water?’
I laugh, genuinely, grateful for the short relief, and take a step towards him. ‘I think you mean burying my head in the sand,’ I say, cheekily biting my bottom lip. He moves closer to me until I’m wilting under his scrutiny and the feel of his breath on my skin.
‘In South Africa, we might say putting your head in the Great White’s jaws.’
‘I’d love to.’
He turns his scowl into a beautiful smile, the kind my sexy CEO rarely shares. ‘Let’s go.’
‘We’re going together?’ I ask.
He cocks his head to one side.
‘I guess so,’ I mumble, following him to the lift.
We walk out into the biting air, where Kenneth is waiting on the street in the Mercedes.
Gregory glares at the driver window and I know he’s thinking Jackson would be out of the car and holding the door open by now.
Kenneth continues to tap his fingers on the steering wheel in time to whatever he’s listening to inside and jumps when Gregory flings open the back door.
Lucky for Kenneth, Gregory’s phone is screaming for his attention again.
‘Ryans!’ he snaps into the handset whilst inclining his head to tell me to get into the car. Playful Gregory is lost to the white-collar world. ‘Sydney, has Williams briefed you?’
Taking my seat next to him, I scroll through my own emails.
‘Right. Yes. I know. Yes. I’ll give you the rest when I get to the office.
Twenty minutes. No, that’s absolutely not acceptable.
Sydney, calm down, you’ll handle this in the same way you deal with all other PR, negative or otherwise.
Okay, I’ll have Anya clear my calendar for this morning; make sure you’re in my office.
My what? The Times? Okay, what time? My office?
Well, can’t they do it in my office? It’s an interview; why does it matter where we are?
Christ, what kind of photographs? Right, here’s what you’re going to do.
Call them, tell them they come to me or we rearrange.
The shots can be taken at my desk. It’s not open for discussion.
’ He hangs up the phone and presses two buttons, then returns the phone to his ear.
‘Four rings, Anya. Explain to me why you’d answer my call after four rings.
Please tell me your job title. Mmhmm, personal assistant to whom?
That’s right, which means when I call, you stop talking to Melanie from IT and you answer the phone.
Stop, I don’t want to hear it. I need you to clear my diary this morning and my interview for The Times Magazine will be in my office this afternoon.
’ He hangs up again and repeats the same process of pressing two buttons and putting the phone to his ear. ‘Two rings. Better.’
‘Wow, taking no prisoners this morning are you, Mr Ryans?’
The look he casts in my direction tells me he’s not in the mood to play. He rests his elbow on the window frame and holds his bent knuckles to his lips, looking out at the flurry of suits and briefcases we pass on the street.
‘It’s the glass high-rise building just there, Kenneth,’ I say, pointing unhelpfully out my window.
I rummage through my tote for my security pass and take two pound coins from my purse.
It occurs to me that I don’t know what to do next.
Do I just get out of the car? Do I lean in and give him a peck on the cheek?
Do we kiss? I’ve never driven to work with a man before, let alone a man who’s also my client, and I’ve certainly never driven to work with a man as complex as Gregory Ryans.
The car stops and I decide that just climbing out and saying goodbye is perhaps the best approach. I open the door myself, Kenneth really not getting how this works, and shuffle my feet to the pavement.
‘Where are you going?’ Gregory asks.
‘To work,’ I say, twisting to look at him over my shoulder.
He leans his head to one side and raises a brow. ‘Not without giving me a kiss you’re not.’
I sigh as if to turn and kiss him is the biggest chore of my life but little men in my stomach are dancing in delight. Lifting my feet back into the car, I press my lips to his. ‘Have a good day, Mr Ryans.’
‘And you, Miss Heath.’
I’m still smiling when Kenneth pulls away from the kerbside and honks his horn as he weaves into rush-hour traffic.