Chapter 22
Three months later
“ R emind me again why I let you drag me here?” I quirk my eyebrow at Donna as she weaves us through the busy streets of London with a single-minded determination that has people jumping out of her way.
“Because you know there’s no point fighting me.
I’d beat you in a heartbeat, never mind with the backing of my girls.
Now come. We’re running closer to being late versus fashionably late.
” Looking at me over her shoulder, she winks before linking arms with me and leading the way to O’Neill’s.
Hardly what I would call a casual work lunch location, and if I had known this was where she was bringing me, I’d have at least attempted to tame my curls and touch up my makeup.
You’d think that after close to a year working with her, I’d know better than to take her offers at face value.
Waving off the hostess, she leads me to a set of doors to a separate, more intimate dining area.
When Donna proposed I join her for lunch, I’d assumed she meant nipping out to the sandwich shop across the road, not coming halfway across town to Jonathan’s Michelin star restaurant.
I certainly hadn’t expected to be blindsided into meeting more people tied up in the Four Points.
Taking a deep breath, I push my shoulders back and follow Donna’s lead.
Pushing the door open reveals a darker, more private section of the restaurant.
Peering around the empty room, I clock the two women waiting for us.
Looking at them is like night and day. Where one is polished to perfection, the other has a slight dusting of flour across her cheeks and arms. Both are absolutely stunning in an old money kind of way, the same way Donna is, and as someone who grew up in mafia circles, it’s clear to me that these women aren’t just dating mafia men—they’ve been raised in the life.
“Donna, how lovely of you to deign to join us,” the elegant one drawls with a smirk on her face.
“Why, Una, you know you can never rush a good thing. And honey, I am the best damn thing,” Donna retorts, making her way over to the table and giving Una an air kiss on each cheek before turning to the other woman and placing a kiss on her flour-dusted cheeks.
Interesting. The dynamics between these three have my guard up even higher than usual, and that’s saying something.
“Is your little friend planning on joining us, or is she just going to lurk in the doorway?” Una turns her eyes to me. The ice cold look in them reminds me too much of my mother for me to do anything more than fire a snarky response back.
“I’m used to a much grander welcome, but I suppose I’ll humour Donna.” Feeling three sets of eyes on me as I prowl forward has me repeating my teenage mantra in my head.
Shoulders back, chin up, tits out.
Smile pretty but don’t show them your teeth before you attack.
As I reach the table, Donna reaches out to link arms with me again before taking over mediator duties.
“Una, Fiona, meet Helen. Helen, meet Una and Fiona. Una’s all bark no bite. Don’t mind her.” Una’s scoff and eye roll would indicate otherwise but, wisely, I let that subject drop .
Shifting my gaze to Fiona, I ask her, “You don’t happen to bake, do you?”
That seems to break the tension a fraction as stilted laughter breaks out, and soon enough, we’re all taking a seat and placing our drink orders when the young waitress comes to take them.
Given the knots of anxiety that have been making me sick more often than not lately, I was planning to stick to water, but my plans are soon thwarted as Una switches my water glass for a wine glass, and Donna fills it with a healthy pour.
The movement is so slick, it makes my head spin.
Choosing my battles, I let the movement slide with little more than a raised brow.
“So, Helen, tell us. How awful is it being Jonathan’s assistant?” Una drawls, that haughty tone in her voice like nails on a chalkboard.
“She runs that place like a well-oiled machine these days, like she’s been there for years,” Donna chimes in, pride shining in her green eyes.
“He’s pretty much all bark, no bite. Or should I say, all grumble under his breath.
Once I nailed down his routine, it was simple enough, and now I can step out for a lunch with Donna with no fear about what I’m going back to.
It truly is a gift of a job.” I shrug, letting my quiet confidence shine through.
I conveniently leave out the decidedly unprofessional nature of our relationship these days and how that no doubt influences things. What we have is ours and ours alone.
“Jonathan? Our Jonathan is all bark, no bite?” The disbelief in Fiona’s tone, coupled with her calling him theirs, has my hackles rising with the urge to claim him as mine then and there. Before I can out us, Donna swiftly inserts herself.
“Office Jonathan is a whole different beast. It’s true.” Donna’s slight slip of the tongue would have her facing all kinds of consequences if we were back on the compound, but as the food and wine flows, it’s clear these three have never once felt the fear that clings to everyone back home.
Thoughts of the differences between there and here follow me throughout the rest of my day.
It’s only as I’m slipping off my shoes and locking the door do I spy the letter waiting for me.
I’ve almost become numb to the newspaper cut outs, with their varying degrees of threats.
But when the photo in front of me is instead a zoomed in snap of me entering Jonathan’s dad’s house, the nauseous feeling I’ve been fighting only gets worse as dread curls in my gut.
Flicking it over, I see a message waiting for me: Tik, tok. You can’t run forever.
At once, the bile I’ve been pushing down comes rushing forward, and it’s by pure luck I manage to make my way to the bathroom.
I’m still clutching the cool porcelain when my phone chimes.
With a groan, I drag myself back out to the hall and fish it from my bag.
Less than five people have this number, and anyone who would be calling me on it immediately gets bumped up the priority list. I flip it open with a muttered greeting.
“Hello?”
“Helen? Is now a bad time? I can call you back…” Jonathan trails off, and immediately, all thoughts of self-pity and worry get placed on the back burner as I focus on him.
“No, of course not. I just got home.” I drag myself over so I can lean against the wall as I search my bag for my water bottle. Taking a drink, I listen as Jonathan lets out a ragged breath.
“I was just ringing to see if you could come over tonight. Or I can come to you, if that’s easier?
” The uncertainty clinging to his words is so foreign to the man I was getting to know that every time I hear it, it breaks me a little bit more.
Weighing my options, I tell him I’ll pack a bag.
With the promise that he’s on his way, he hangs up, and I bang my head against the wall with a curse before heading to the bathroom and erasing all evidence of my vomiting.
Spying the little pink and blue box that’s been taunting me for days, I pick it up with shaking hands.
Between his dad’s death and the sudden power shift, Jonathan more than has his hands full right now without my shit adding to that.
But it’s becoming clear the time to control the narrative is running out, and if my suspicions are true…
I’m either going to have to confess ev erything or vanish.
The problem is, I can’t work out which is going to hurt less, and my growing feelings don’t help matters.
I can admit I’m falling for him, but that doesn’t change things.
Love doesn’t equal safety or reassurances of understanding or happy endings.
Sometimes, love means walking away, but the thought of leaving him when he needs me the most threatens to send me to my knees.