Chapter Sixteen
Stephen
I was counting on the cool, buzzing atmosphere of the office the following morning to restore me. The whole weekend had left me cranky and off balance.
I’d heard no more from Elle after walking her to Bloomingdales on Broadway yesterday where she’d arranged to meet a friend to look for an outfit for her niece’s christening.
The same niece she’d used to divert my attention while she contemplated pick-pocketing me. What had I got myself into with her?
As we’d walked there, she’d talked the whole time about her “plans”, that over-sized hat making me feel like I was conversing with a flying saucer…
though it was preferable to being skewered in the loins by one of her smiles.
The one she’d had on her face as I came out the grocer’s had left me dizzier than a ride in a cable car.
So bright and brilliant. So obviously not meant for me.
She was intending to call around all the Italian restaurants once she’d researched how long they’d been established for; fill in the details of her profile and put together some kind of missing-persons poster to distribute around the neighbourhood.
I really hadn’t wanted to give Elle that photograph.
Particularly after the reaction of the woman outside the market.
I hadn’t thought the faded image would show his face clearly enough that it would be so obvious to a stranger we were related.
I’d always heard it, from Mum, her best friend, even Nan had commented on how much I took after him, despite only knowing him from around the area before Mum and David got married.
But for a stranger to make the connection from a small, out-of-focus picture to me with half my face beneath a beard… I’d been sure Elle would realise.
Luckily, it didn’t seem she had. Though, if the people we approached noticed the similarities between him and I every time, she was going to figure it out very quickly. She was too sharp not to.
Perhaps I should tell her and get it over with? Giving her all the facts, like she kept saying, would likely be the smartest and most time-efficient thing to do. She had such a poor opinion of me already; what difference would it make?
And yet, I hated to think of the look on her face when we finally tracked him down.
That was why I didn’t want Nick involved as well.
Seeing where a man like him had ended up would be like a window into the future for me.
I never wanted to promise a woman more than some short term fun because I didn’t want to risk hurting them, and the ease with which I kept things casual had only proved to me through adulthood that I was cut from the same cloth as my father.
But my knowing it was one thing; seeing other people’s antipathy was entirely another.
I’d leave it for now. Elle had her plans and was highly motivated.
I supposed I should have been happy too, but mainly I felt frustrated that I’d had to involve her in the first place.
And yes, it was annoying that I found her so attractive and she had zero interest in entertaining even flirting between us.
Work was exactly what I needed. It was a place where things ran as they should.
The crisp suits, the office banter, the permeating smell of coffee, made me feel like I was back where I belonged.
There were no long-lost relatives to uncover, no disappointingly predictable anecdotes to listen to – well none that were relevant to my family heritage.
And there was no red-headed time bomb strolling along beside me, ready to start interrogating random strangers and pushing all my buttons.
That wasn’t to say there weren’t other women making my life difficult, though.
After the morning meetings, Georgina called me into her office for a chat. Patrick eyed me curiously as I went, and I wasn’t surprised. It was hard to imagine what she wanted to talk to me about that he wouldn’t be involved in.
She shut the door over and motioned to the glass table in the corner of the office. The windows joined there, creating an amazing panoramic of the surrounding city – but I kept my eyes firmly on the table.
‘How are you getting along, Stephen?’ she asked, tucking her skirt under her and slipping onto the chair next to me.
‘I expect that’s really for you and Patrick to judge, isn’t it?’
‘No. I’d like to know how you’re feeling.
Performance-wise, you won’t be assessed until the accounts are fully in your control.
I want to know whether you’ve got everything you need at your disposal.
How is Patrick doing, handing over the reins?
’ She linked the fingers of her hands together and leaned over them towards me.
If I’d been looking down, no doubt the V-cut of her neckline would have given me quite the view.
But I was not looking down. ‘I’d like to know that you have everything you need.
’ She reached out and laid her hand very lightly, very softly, on top of my forearm for a moment.
Skin to skin, as I’d rolled my sleeves up to the elbow.
Brief enough that it could be dismissed as innocent but long enough that I noticed she’d lingered. Did she do this to everyone?
‘Patrick is being very thorough. I hope I’ll be a good fit to take over from him as I understand his logic. Ideally, I would have liked a face-to-face introduction to his top accounts.’
‘Have you mentioned it to him?’
‘I did the first week.’
‘Well, chase him on that and let me know what he says. If it’s a problem with the client’s availability while Patrick is still here, I can always introduce you myself at a later date.
’ She tossed her wavy black hair. ‘On that subject, we’re arranging a bon voyage party for him on his last Friday. You’ll come along?’
I gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Of course I’ll be there. Is it a surprise?’
‘Yes. I’m holding it on my yacht.’ She went over to her desk and plucked a business card from a marble dish and a sleek ballpoint pen, one high heel lifting in the air, as she balanced on the other leg to lean over for it.
I recalled how Elle had leaned over the back of her sofa when I arrived yesterday morning to get that character template. How her T-shirt had slid up her thigh…
Georgina was coming back over, but she didn’t return to her seat.
She stood beside me, close enough the smell of her perfume was overwhelming, and scribbled the details of her yacht’s location on the back of the card, sliding it in front of me, with one finger.
‘I’m there most weekends in the summer. I take it out and watch the sunset over a bottle of champagne. It’s a very relaxing experience.’
‘Sounds idyllic.’
‘Anytime you need to unwind, let me know. This job can be stressful.’ She put her hand on my shoulder and gave it what could have been seen as a reassuring squeeze but felt like the prelude to a massage. And then her breast brushed against me —
Oooo-k, no. I leaned forward to pick up the card, just to break the contact and slipped it in my pocket, while my brain scrambled with a diplomatic way to deal with this come-on.
Frame it like she’s just being friendly - no indication that you will or won’t.
‘That’s kind of you to offer.’ I stood up and moved towards the door at an enforced casual pace.
‘Stephen,’ she called, just as I was about to reach the door.
I paused and looked back. She was still facing away, but then she turned to look at me, perching on the edge of the table and crossing her legs.
‘Remember to let me know if there is anything I can help you with. My door is always open.’
Well, that was handy because - after a polite nod - I was heading straight out of it.