Chapter 21
Jemma
She’d thought it would feel good to swap her workout gear for the high-end attire that had been her trademark for a decade, but Jemma found herself tugging at the pleated waistband on her crepe de Chine pants and repeatedly adjusting the shoestring straps on the scoop neck of her silk camisole.
Even after she’d slid into her chiffon and charmeuse jacket and tightly belted the wide satin sash that matched the lapels, the clothes didn’t seem to provide the usual reassurance of perfect, Kevlar-thin armour.
Perhaps she was uncomfortable because she’d dressed back at the cottage and driven into the city?
She had assured herself that it was simply better time management than taking her suitcase to the apartment, changing there, then having to head out again.
Not that she was avoiding entering her apartment alone for the first time after several weeks’ absence.
The door, whisked open by a black-and-white-garbed attendant, gave her entrée to a room where the only thing sober was the attire.
She knew from experience that the occasional colourful standout in the sea of black suits would almost always be a plus-one.
Kain had blended so perfectly and, for the briefest moment, she missed the comfort of him being at her side.
Then an image of Hamish dressed in—what should she dress him in?
Beige moleskins, a classic linen shirt and RM Williams boots, maybe? —flashed into her mind.
‘You look like the cat that’s got the cream,’ Tien said, handing her a glass. ‘What is that odd expression?’ He touched a finger to his lips, pulling up at one corner, though he frowned. ‘A smile? Surely not.’
‘I was about to sneeze,’ she said, then sipped at the sugar-rimmed glass, resisting the temptation to lick her lips. ‘Gin and prosecco. I approve.’
‘And elderflower,’ Tien said.
‘Were you lurking here, waiting for me?’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank God for you, Tien.’ Her friend’s dependability was one of the touchstones in her life.
‘They don’t have alcohol out in the sticks?’
‘Quite the contrary, I’m sure, but I’m not hanging out at hoedowns, knocking back beers.’
Tien pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, looking dubious. ‘I’ll believe you, but it’d probably be a good idea if you managed to pull Gerard aside and reassure him of that.’
She frowned, the alcohol sitting sourly in her empty stomach. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that Rohan isn’t missing any opportunity to point out you’ve barely been in the office.’
She greeted a couple of colleagues and waved at another, forcing herself to appear unconcerned. Not that it mattered with Tien. ‘So? Gerard knows where I am. And it’s not like I’ve let my billable hours slip.’
Tien took her elbow, drawing her a little away from the steady influx of people. She lifted another glass from the tray of a passing waiter. She was going to need the fortification.
Although the crowd became denser, drunker and louder as they edged their way into the room, Tien dropped his voice so low she had to lean in to catch his words. He responded by placing a hand on her waist, locking them together.
‘You didn’t respond to Rohan’s news on the Wilkins case, though.’
‘What do you—’ she started, but was interrupted by greetings from colleagues. Swept up in the necessary handshaking, Jemma spent the next hour trying to circulate unobtrusively back to Tien, while at the same time keeping an eye out for—and avoiding—both Rohan and Gerard.
With Tien on the far side of the room, and three drinks already past her lips, Jemma took a moment to duck into the opulent bathroom.
She pulled out her phone and checked her emails.
There were no communications from Gerard, Rohan or Wilkins that she’d missed, yet still her heart pounded and her hands were clammy.
Damn, she should never have run away from her problem.
She’d given Rohan too much leverage, too much opportunity to undermine her.
This was going to cost her the partnership.
Maybe she should just have been upfront with Gerard about the threats, instead of trying to handle the issue herself.
She startled as a message from an unknown number flashed up on her phone screen.
Did you choose a handbag?
It took her a moment, then a reluctant smile lifted her lips. Hamish.
The door opened and she tucked her phone away. She had work to deal with. A career to save. No time to flirt with farmers.
She couldn’t bring herself to eat from the circulating trays of crab-stuffed cherry tomatoes, miniature arancini and the ubiquitous selections of fried finger food.
The music was irritatingly classical, the stench of vapes and cigarettes wafted in each time the door opened onto the street, and the conversations were artificially friendly, overly engaged and forcedly loud …
an entire world away from the last time she’d dined out, in the little Turkish restaurant in Settlers Bridge.
It was another thirty minutes and a fourth gin and prosecco before she worked her way back to Tien. There was no hope of dragging him through the throng to anywhere private, so she edged against the wall, gesturing him close as she glanced around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard.
‘Tien, for God’s sake, tell me what’s going on.’
He looked surprised. ‘It’s nothing bad, Jemma. Just that Wilkins’s wife has accepted more money from him. In fact, she asked for it.’
She sagged, tilting her head back so she could force more air deep into her lungs. ‘Bloody hell. Why didn’t you just say that upfront?’
‘It’s no secret. But Rohan’s making a big deal to anyone who will listen—so, basically to Gerard—about you not being around to reinforce the plan to get Wilkins to pay her off so that she backs out of the criminal case.’
‘I am around,’ she snapped. ‘But I didn’t even know about this development.’
‘What development is this, Jemma?’
She closed her eyes for a second, summoning her composure before turning.
‘Good evening, Gerard. Tien was bringing me up to date with some information that hasn’t yet made it into the briefing files.
’ She toasted her boss with her glass. ‘You know, no rest for the wicked.’ An empty glass.
Again. Not a good look, but also not one that would bother Gerard or most anyone else in the profession.
Gerard nodded. ‘Good to hear. I’ll see you Monday morning, then.’
‘Of course,’ she said, as though that had always been her intention.
‘Glass is empty,’ Gerard advised as he turned away. ‘Tickets for this thing are pricey, so make sure you get your money’s worth.’
She hated herself for simpering, but her knees were so wobbly, she couldn’t do much else. When had she gone so soft? She spun to Tien as Gerard was swallowed by the crowd.
‘I thought you meant he was on the warpath.’
Tien held up a placatory hand. ‘Rohan’s doing his best to incite him, but I don’t think that was a get-out-of-jail-free card, do you?’
Tien was right. Gerard chose his words very carefully, and hidden in his pleasantries was a summons.
‘Thing is, Jemma, if you’re not around, I can’t be watching your back all the time. Why don’t you come back into the office?’
‘I have to now, don’t I?’ She frowned as she realised that, for the first time, she was reluctant to head into her elegant office.
Somehow, sitting around Evie and Paul’s kitchen table, chatting as she delved into their legal issue, seemed more rounded, more balanced and fulfilling than anything she’d done in …
forever. Which made no sense. Their brief wasn’t just not high stakes, it was no stakes.
Although not for them, she realised, as she recalled one of the rare occasions Paul’s clownish facade had dropped, the instant he’d looked like an old man confronting—and trying so hard to deny—his mortality.
For them, what she could offer mattered deeply.
She could provide them security, reassurance.
The knowledge that everything they’d worked so hard for wouldn’t be wasted.
‘I mean permanently,’ Tien said, startling her from her introspection. ‘If you don’t, Rohan’s going to screw you over.’
‘I suspect he already has. But … you know. The notes.’ The threats that seemed so distant when she was in Settlers Bridge. Though she was reluctant to admit it, the quiet of the country held an odd magic. A lure that had no place in her obsessive, driven life.
Tien tutted sympathetically. ‘I keep telling you, the easy way out is to have someone live with you for a while. Your place is a two-bed, right?’
‘One.’
‘Lucky I don’t take up much space,’ he joked. ‘I’ll even chain my bike outside.’ He took her empty glass and swapped it for another drink from the waiter, who wound through the room, tray balanced on one hand despite the crush.
She took the drink, blew out a long breath and drew her shoulders back. ‘I’ll keep it in mind. This job—actually, this firm—would be borderline unbearable without you around, you know.’
Tien gave an oddly wistful smile. ‘Maybe we’ll have to run away together.’
She cocked an eyebrow.
‘To another law firm,’ he clarified.
‘Ah. Yes. Perhaps I should be actively looking before I get the arse from this one,’ she said. Gerard wouldn’t dismiss her, but could she stay with GB&A if there was no hope of progressing her career? She frowned. ‘I still don’t understand what Rohan’s endgame is with the Wilkins trial.’
‘He’s been clear about that—to get the criminal case dropped.’
‘Yes, but why?’
‘Maybe it escaped your attention, Jemma, but keeping the client happy is our main aim.’