Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
Antonia
My headlights glow against the dark paintwork. The familiar perfectly polished sports car sits out of place amongst the mud.
He’s here.
I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here—not at midnight on a Wednesday—only the security staff patrolling the site. But even then, I hoped to get in and out without speaking to anyone.
Leaving the office early today hadn’t quietened my mind the way I hoped it would; the day of board meetings and budget constraints stalking me to bed. I couldn’t sleep.
Sure, our reputation has improved since Ben’s interview. Protesters have ebbed, only a few remain on daily stakeout. Media coverage has improved. Articles have run on what we actually do. Journalists have sought out the people we’ve helped, not only the ones who fell through the cracks.
It’s helped. It’s not fixed it.
Our shareholders are still nervous. Income is down.
And comments are being made about how much of my focus is on the retreat.
Tonight, I planned to visit the site. I wanted to open my laptop where it mattered, and reassess the figures because spending is inflating, plans expanding.
I need to pinpoint the funding gap so I know what I’m dealing with.
But Ben’s here. Late at night. Maybe he was unable to sleep too.
For a moment, I consider turning around. He may not have even seen the car. As I hit the brake, his silhouette appears in the site office window, and the decision is made for me.
I cut the engine. Rain taps at the windshield, streaking down the glass. The site spotlight blares, throwing long shadows over scaffolding and half-laid stone. It looks nothing like the artistic impressions from the brochure.
It looks unkempt.
Like me.
I glance down at myself.
Pink fleece pajamas—my comfort blanket on cold winter nights—teamed with my coordinating wellies. My long wool business coat won’t hide the truth underneath.
I was ready for bed, but I came here. The fresh air and space were a need. I hadn’t taken the time to change. I’ve done this before, snuck in and out like a thief in the night. No one saw. No one knew.
Now, he will.
Ben steps away from the window. Heat creeps up my neck.
He’s going to see me in my rawest state, more Friday night collapse than boardroom steel.
I consider staying in my car, messaging and telling him that I’d been alerted to someone on site.
He won’t believe that. Security knows who he is.
I stop pretending and push open the door.
The cold bites my cheeks and mud sucks at my boots as I make my way across the yard. My coat flaps open, exposing my nightwear and vulnerability. I pull it around me tight. Again, I think about turning to run.
But I’m human.
A woman can’t stay all styled hair and lipstick at all hours.
Let him see who I am after the office closes. Human, but still working. And hopefully not repulsive.
The office door opens before I reach it.
He stands framed in yellow light. Still in his suit. Collar loosened. Inappropriate shoes for mud. Hair slightly disheveled as if he’s run his hands through it too many times. The ruggedness suits him.
He looks as surprised as I feel.
“If you’re here to judge my attire, Doctor, I suggest you look at your shoes,” I say before he can speak first.
He laughs. Low, but genuine.
“Touche.” His lips curl a little higher. He’s attractive, I can’t deny it. “So, what brings you here in the dead of night?”
“I could ask you the same.”
The gas fire burns at full capacity in the corner. My body temperature skyrockets within minutes, and I abandon my coat over a chair, exposing the sheep detail on my pajamas.
Ben doesn’t comment. He just moves to a chair at the desk. Plans and spreadsheets are spread out across the surface. I pull a chair to the opposite side.
Upside down, it’s clear he’s revisiting the medical equipment required for the retreat. His finger slides over each page, pausing on specific words as if cataloging a list in his head. His face twists.
“Something wrong?” I ask. He glances up.
“Not wrong. Missing.”
He pulls out a sheet from the depths of a pile. An invoice, by the looks of it. His fingers don’t immediately release the page. Something shifts. All of me warms. For a second, we’re both holding an order for medical equipment, standard for any facility. Monitors. Respirators. IV stands.
At the bottom—canceled—is stamped in bold red.
“Any idea why?” he asks. “There’s a waiting time for most of this; if we don’t order early, we may miss our window.”
“Money’s a little tight.” I don’t meet his eye. “It’s probably been the finance department.”
Part of our agreement was that Opengate would pay directly for its contribution toward the retreat. It ensured our money went exactly where it was agreed to and took any dispute over the use of funds off the table.
“How tight?”
Now, my eyes snap up to his, where he’s staring at me. I open my mouth to tell him it’s none of his business, then stop. An invoice agreed to be our responsibility hasn’t been paid. That affects his plans. I can’t truthfully say he has no right to know.
The heat from moments ago chills to room temperature.
“Tight enough that I’m here to work out the shortfall because I can’t sleep.” I open my laptop. “I’ll find it.”
“I know you will.”
My eyes move from the screen to him. He nods. I can’t hide my smile. I like that he believes in me. We stare at one another for a few seconds.
“Haven’t you got a shortfall to find?” he prompts, his gaze never leaving mine.
My breath catches. “Well, stop distracting me.”
It’s his turn to smile now. Then we get to work.
Time passes unchecked. We don’t speak; each of us working on our individual task. Every so often, I glance up when I think he’s looking, but I only see the top of his head. Maybe I’m imagining it.
Outside, the weather turns worse, and rain pelts off the thin windows. Ben’s phone rings, and he answers within the first one.
“Still working,” he says. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
He listens to whoever is on the other end of the line. I wonder if it’s a woman I don’t know about. Then scold myself for even being interested.
“You have school tomorrow.”
Not a woman. His son. I know he has two boys, teenagers still in school. The relief makes me uneasy. But I can’t ignore the fact, I’m relieved it’s not a woman. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does.
“Good night, Liam.” He cuts the call, then shakes his head. Chuckling to himself. “Sometimes I wonder who the father is.”
I don’t comment. Him being a father is a side of him I’ve never seen in real life. I’ve witnessed him protect his children in the interview. In board meetings. But never interact with them in real life.
“Julian is keen for you to appear on a morning television show,” I say.
“Not a chance.” He places down the pen he’s been twirling between his fingers. “That was a one-time thing.”
“You handled Charles well.”
He cocks his head to one side. “Do you want me to appear on TV, Antonia?”
“No.” My cheeks heat. He looks solid. “It was an observation.”
He nods, then returns to his paperwork. A few more minutes pass. The air is charged. Me in my nightwear. Him in his suit. Both of us fighting fires.
“Anna Collins is responding well to Lunavax,” he says. It’s my turn to glance up. “She’s had more time than she would have otherwise. You did that.”
I blink. The simple comment is a surprise. His smile widens from professional to pride. “I only fixed the system,” I mutter, looking anywhere but at him.
“Take the compliment, Antonia. Then return to looking for the gap.”
Two in the morning flashes up on my phone. I set an alarm before leaving home to remind me I still need to sleep, and since I have no sofa to crash on here, I need to go home.
I push myself up to stand as Ben emerges from whatever paperwork he’s scouring. There is a list of numbers scribbled on the notepad next to him. He twirls the pen again, and my focus lands on the wedding ring on his right hand, still in the position he moved it to for the interview.
He follows my line of sight but doesn’t comment.
“Where’s the gap?” he says.
“Huh?” The unrelated topic to where we’re both looking catches me off guard. “The funding gap.”
I tap the screen of my still open laptop lightly with my index finger. He rises and comes around the desk to stand beside me as we both stare at the screen.
“Increased contractor costs due to change of supplier.”
I expect him to blame me. It was at my insistence that we changed. Back then, I was more concerned about timescales than budgets. Assuming Opengate wouldn’t fall on hard times, that any inflation we could cover without issue. Today, the situation is different.
“What’s the shortfall?” he asks, his voice as level as it was in the interview. No hint of panic that I’ve just admitted we can’t afford what I promised him.
“Six figures. Mid-six figures.”
In my world, that’s not catastrophic. But it’s enough to cause a pause in forward motion.
“And Opengate can’t absorb it?”
I shake my head. “Not without sacrificing something else. I need to prioritize business before—”
“Of course,” he says, cutting in before I get as far as an apology. “We’ll just have to find it elsewhere.”
Everything stills. He’s close, closer than we’ve been all night. He leans toward the screen, and our shoulders brush. His sleeve grazes my fleece, and static skitters over my skin. I’ve not had a man so close in years. Not one that makes my stomach flip.
I clear my throat. The excitement of the physical touch wanes as I try to recenter myself.
“We can’t just conjure six figures of cash flow,” I half-mutter.
He turns fully then, dark eyes sweeping over my face. I bite my lip unconsciously, then immediately release it. My breath catches. He’s far too close.
“I didn’t suggest casting a spell,” he says, almost under his breath.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. I take a step back just as his fingers skim my arm.
I freeze.
“All I’m saying is,” his words come slowly, bordering on enchanting, “people often remember who stood beside them in a crisis. Tell me how much we need, and I’ll make a few calls.”
He’s touching my elbow, but his hand moves lower until our fingers brush. Neither of us moves away.
“You’re…” he murmurs. “Natural tonight. Less like you’re wearing armor.”
“I wasn’t expecting company.”
“Observation, not criticism,” he says. “I like it.”
Silence falls again. The rain our only soundtrack.
My chin tilts upward. Shocking blue eyes hold mine. His lips part just a little, and I’m rising on tiptoe before I realize what I’m doing. His warm breath hits first, our mouths millimeters apart.
His lips brush mine. Not quite a kiss. But enough for my eyes to close for a beat.
“I don’t mix business and pleasure,” I whisper. My internal defenses react immediately to my slip. “I don’t sleep with people I share boardrooms with.”
I pull my hand from his, while my other one lands on his chest, stopping us before we’ve even begun.
“I’m not asking to sleep with you,” he says, voice soft, eyes open. His pupils dilate. “I’m asking if I can kiss you.”
I break eye contact first, consciously stepping back. “No, I don’t mix—”
“Business with pleasure,” he repeats. “But do you allow yourself any?”
I stiffen. He’s called out the part of me I hate most. The part with fingers clutching the steady areas of my life. The things I can control. None of them give me simple pleasure for the sake of it.
Ben moves away. All I feel is loss. Loss of his warmth. Loss of safety. Loss of a possibility. He walks around the desk and collects his coat.
“It would be a mistake,” I say.
He nods once. “Maybe.”
His fingers swipe his car key from the desktop. “Goodnight Antonia,” he says, then disappears into the rain.
I’m left standing in the middle of the now cold site office. My fleece offers no warmth. The wind blows. The rain continues to sing.
But none of it is louder than the beat of my heart.