Chapter 14
I take the spare bagel that Amy has wrapped in tinfoil for me and pop it into my tote, then tie my coat over my red dress and slip my feet into heels.
Gregory’s in full business mode, his manner brash as he speaks into his phone.
Laid-back Gregory may be gone but the plus side is that I get to see him in my favourite blue suit.
I watch his lean frame move down the stairs, everything about him refined, from his perfectly moulded hair to his polished shoes.
‘Update me at ten and not a minute later.’ He disconnects and drops the device into his inside pocket. ‘Ready?’
I follow him to the lift, calling goodbye to Amy, trying not to think about tearing that suit off him.
He folds one arm across his chest and moves his opposite hand to his chin.
The lift suddenly feels small and I’m hot.
I exhale and tap my foot. Then I’m flung back against the wall, my hands above my head, and attacked by his mouth as he grinds his hips against my stomach. He’s hard.
When the lift pings, we both dart upright. I step onto the marble floor with a wobble and Gregory turns back to adjust himself in his trousers. I smirk as he strides to my side. We dip our heads to the concierge and step onto the street.
‘Jackson!’ I call excitedly. He’s out of the car and holding open the door to the back of the Mercedes. Gregory’s lips curl slightly as he walks around to the other side of the car and climbs into the back seat. Jackson knows just how Gregory likes things to be done.
‘Good morning, Scarlett.’ Jackson beams at me as I climb into the car with him holding his hand on the rim of the doorframe in case I should bump my head.
‘Nice to have you back.’
‘It’s nice to see you’ve finally accepted being chauffeured.’
Gregory is back on his phone but rests one hand on top of mine in the middle of the seat as we cross to the north side of the Thames. I could fool myself into thinking this is a normal day.
I deposit the still-warm, spare bagel with Paul on my way into the office. He looks grey and cold this morning but he’s as polite as ever.
My phone rings as I’m walking the corridor towards my office and as I’m midway through taking off my coat. Fumbling to do two things at once, I manage to answer.
‘Mr Ryans, what can I do for you?’
‘Are you stealing food from me to feed the homeless?’
‘Erm, it was only a bagel. I thought—’
‘Two things. First, you need to be careful. Do you know that man?’
‘It’s, he’s Paul. He’s sweet. He’s always outside the office block.’
‘Regardless, you need to be careful, Scarlett. He has nothing.’
‘I don’t—’
‘Second, do you want to help him?’
‘Yes. Of course. He was kicked out by his parents, he’s young and he’s… polite.’
‘Where does he go at night?’
‘There’s a shelter he goes to: a soup kitchen near Liverpool Street Station.’
‘And his name is Paul what?’
‘Erm, I don’t know.’
‘All right. Have a good day. And stop stealing my food.’
Just like that, he hangs up the phone.
Before my computer even beeps to life, Amanda bounds into my office.
‘Who are you and where’s Scarlett Heath?’
I look around as if something in the office will clear my confusion.
‘Since when does the Scarlett Heath I know take a day off?’
‘I’d gladly have taken another too.’
‘Seriously, where is my Scarlett?’ She plonks herself onto the edge of my desk and pushes the latte Margaret has left towards me. ‘What did you get up to?’
‘Walked. Talked. Ate.’
‘You’re literally beaming. Your hair looks pretty like that.’
I instinctively touch my roughly pinned-up hair. ‘I call it the I-didn’t-want-to-come-to-work style.’
‘This really is a whole new you. So, how are things? Have you heard any more from the police?’
She catches me off guard. The ballistics report says someone other than Gregory took that shot. It implicates me; that’s why Gregory is demanding another. We’re back to an excruciating countdown.
‘Nothing concrete yet.’ It’s not a lie, yet I feel guilty.
‘Soooo I called Williams on Saturday night.’
‘You did?’
‘I had a godawful date with a mind-numbing prick and it made me think that maybe fun isn’t so much fun after all. We’re going out for dinner on Friday.’
‘Am I allowed to say I told you so?’
‘Really rather you didn’t.’
I snortle unattractively. ‘Fair enough.’
‘I have a proposition for you.’ There’s a glint in her eye. ‘How about we ditch yoga and go out for lunch.’
‘You’ve twisted my arm. One o’clock?’
‘Amaze! And we’re still on for drinks Saturday?’
‘Oh, I forgot.’
‘Scarlett, it’s been in the diary for an age. We haven’t seen Luke properly in forever.’
Luke Davenport, my university ex and now a good friend.
‘Erm, yep, we’re still on.’
She practically skips back to her own office as it dawns on me that the ballistics report could be back before our night out.
It might never happen. Shrugging off the thought, I bury my head in documents for Mr Ghurair.
It’s been a week since our brunch and I know I have to give Neil my decision about Dubai.
I am, without question, avoiding him. I wouldn’t leave Gregory with the case looming over us and I won’t leave him whilst there’s any chance he’s falling for me as deeply as I’ve fallen for him.
But telling Neil that I’m willing to disappoint a potentially huge client on a whim…
Well, best-case scenario is he’s unhappy but understanding.
The worst-case scenario is he’s really pissed.
Either option is likely to be career-limiting.
I’ve done half of what I intended to do by the time Amanda grabs me for lunch and my newfound reluctance to work, coupled with Amanda’s never-present desire to work, means we talk our way through two hours before making it back to the office.
I open my office door, unbuttoning my coat, and jump back when I raise my head to see Gregory standing in the window, tall and broad, his hands in the pockets of his perfectly cut trousers.
‘What’re you doing here? How did you get into my office?’
His expression gives nothing away. ‘Your secretary let me in.’
‘You can’t be here, Gregory; I have confidential files everywhere.’
‘I told her it was an emergency.’ His tone is flat.
My stomach sinks and my heart stops beating in my chest. I can hear my own heavy breaths in my ears. ‘What is it?’
‘Sit down.’
I close my office door. ‘Just tell me, Gregory. What’s happened?’
‘I wanted to tell you so you didn’t hear it from someone else, that’s all.’
‘Tell me what?’ My voice is louder than intended.
‘My mother and Sandy have been taken in for questioning. Well, asked to go to the station.’
‘Sandy! Why? What do they want with Sandy? Oh God, she’ll be beside herself. It’s me, isn’t it? They suspect the truth.’
He moves towards my frozen body and encourages me to sit on my desk.
‘It’s routine. That’s why I wanted to come here.
I knew you’d panic. You heard John Harrison.
Going against the ballistics report was going to lead to another dig by forensics and more questioning.
Barnes has to investigate, that’s all. Sandy knows all of us and it’s obvious why they’d want to question my mother. It means nothing.’
I slap his hands away. ‘How can you say that? Pulling Sandy in is not routine. She doesn’t know you, not really, and you’re the suspect. She knows me and she knows Jackson.’ I lift my hand to my mouth, shaking my head. ‘I’ve got to get to the station. I need to see her.’
‘Jackson’s with her. He took her down there and he’s waiting to bring her back.
She’ll be fine, Scarlett.’ He rests against the edge of the desk beside me.
‘They know. They know or they suspect.’ He inhales deeply, his broad chest expanding.
‘They found a partial print on the gun. John Harrison called to tell me. He told me about Sandy and my mother too. They’re struggling to identify the print but they will. ’
‘Okay.’ I feel sick but eerily resolute. This is going to force his hand. They’ll identify my print and Gregory won’t be able to protect me any longer. We’ll have to tell the truth.
I’ll be charged and they’ll find out. I didn’t just kill for love; I killed for vengeful love. Me, my dad’s daughter and the unrequited love of the little boy who haunts my sleep.
‘I think you should go.’
He rears, frown lines wrinkling his face.
‘I’ve got work to do, Gregory, and you can’t be in my office with all these files.’ I gesture to the rows of shelves lined with ring binders and correspondence files.
Standing, I walk with confidence to my desk chair. He eventually rises from his perch, watching me. I slide on my glasses as if they might hide the feelings I’m so desperately trying not to show, then click New and feign typing an email, conscious as I do that he’s scrutinising my every move.
‘Let’s go home. Together. I don’t want to leave you alone.’
I bite down on the inside of my gums and take off my glasses, dangling one tortoiseshell arm between my fingers. ‘I’m fine, Gregory. Like you say, it’s routine. Jackson’s waiting for Sandy. It’s all just… dandy.’
‘Dandy?’
‘Yes. Dandy. I’ll see you later.’ I pop my glasses back on and make up a sentence as I type, focusing intently on my screen. ‘The longer you stand there staring at me, the later I’ll be.’
‘Fine. Have it your way.’
‘I will.’ My words fall on his back as he storms out, slamming the door behind him, making me jump and the thin walls rattle.
Alone, the enormity of what’s happening takes hold.
I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling, begging the dams in my eyes to hold back the ensuing river.
This can’t be happening. Seven weeks ago, if someone had told me I’d be sitting in my chair now, distraught because the only mother I’ve ever known is being questioned by the police in connection with the murder of a man I killed, I’d have laughed.
Then I would’ve told that person they have a very vivid imagination.