Chapter Seven
Abbey
Another week, another awkward-as-fuck, good-cop-bad-cop exec meeting, with Nick grilling everyone and Oliver soothing. I somehow managed to restrain myself from rolling my eyes. From what I’d seen of Ollie in his first week, he didn’t need this kind of nannying.
I spent the rest of week two organising the itinerary for Oliver to tour all our hotels, which was pretty simple work, in that I was mostly just booking travel, drivers, meetings and accommodation for him.
Given that I had just got home from two weeks away from Ella, the timing wasn’t great for me, so I also arranged for various assistants to go with him to each state.
His first visit was scheduled for the end of next week, with him flying out to Brisbane on the Friday.
There were a bunch of projects from Hartwell Holdings, including the review of every wine we had in every single hotel.
I sat in on a phone call with Oliver and their head buyer, Louise Carlow, who wanted to utilise the local wine industry in a more boutique way.
Oliver wanted the same thing to happen regarding the restaurants using local seasonal produce.
Nick avoided me. There was no other way to put it.
While Oliver would spend the day calling me or utilising me in some capacity, Nick had moved himself into the boardroom and barely looked in my direction.
Occasionally, rebellion would overtake me, and I would very deliberately take him in tea, which he would pretend he did not want, before groaning over the cup as I left.
I was in complete denial about my feelings for him, and if I’d somehow imagined spending more time with Nick would cure me of them, I was sadly mistaken.
The man was a powerhouse. He would rock up every day in his bespoke suits, distractingly fitted to his body with a perfection that made me jealous of his tailor.
His workload was enormous and his passion for his business was unmistakable.
He vibrated with the culture and ethics he spoke about.
And yes, he was tough, but he was also approachable.
Mike had not had the benefit of a handover in his new role, and Nick carved out a whole day to work with him and the rest of the finance department. At lunch the next day, it was evident Mike’s crush had switched.
‘He’s just so … understated and down to earth. Much more so than you’d expect from a guy with that much money. And, honestly, he is way smarter than me. What is going on with his hair? Is it product? Can I get mine to be so fucking touchable? Also, Abbey, his arse …’
Jesus Christ.
I’d also had glimpses of the love and care he had for his brother, such as on the Wednesday night, when I might have been pacing outside Oliver’s office, waiting for a meeting of his to finish up.
Nick approached me, his hands stuffed into his pockets. ‘Who’s he on the phone to?’
Oh, hey! Hi, baby. You wanna come to my place for dinner and then spend the rest of your life with me? Thankfully, that did not escape my brain and I said, ‘Sydney City Council.’
Nick had suggested Oliver contact them over the no-standing zone directly out the front of the Delacqua Sydney. It meant guests had to be dropped off further back and walk to the entrance, and that was not good for business.
The discussions were in their second hour.
Nick opened the office door without knocking and held it back for me. I ducked under his arm, entering ahead of him, and took a seat across from Oliver. Nick sat beside me.
Oliver looked tired; he had all day. I was getting emails throughout the night from him and Nick was too.
Nick stayed quiet, listening to the discussions, which had turned from the parking to possible refurbishment of the interior of the hotel, to the mayor of Sydney worming his way into the launch party on Friday night.
Nick was itching to jump in. I could feel him virtually vibrating in his seat, but he managed to stay silent.
Oliver finally hung up.
‘You okay?’ I asked.
‘Politicians …’
‘How did it go?’ Nick said seriously.
‘They’re willing to discuss it, but also want to talk about subsidised accommodation when the mayor travels, as well as subsidies to surrounding businesses when we renovate and sponsorship of the mayor’s Staycation campaign.
Our discussions went in a fucking circle and got us nowhere.
’ He ran his fingers through his hair roughly.
‘That’s two hours of my life I’ll never get back. ’
‘It wasn’t pointless, Ollie. You’ve opened up a communication stream. You can continue it Friday night,’ Nick said.
‘I should have let you speak to him.’
There was something vulnerable in that. Nick was obviously Mr Fix It in his family.
I was about to interject, but Nick beat me to it. ‘You did everything I would have, though I may have ended it an hour earlier,’ he joked, a genuine smile lighting up his handsome face. ‘You’re doing a good job, Ollie.’
Oliver yawned. ‘Abbey, what are you still doing here? Go home.’
‘I didn’t want to leave in case you needed me.’
Oliver smiled and closed his eyes, rubbing them with his hand. ‘I’m exhausted.’
‘Let’s go get a beer and some dinner,’ Nick said. ‘You’ve been killing yourself for a month. Phones and laptops down, okay? Abbey, you are all done here. Thank you. Head home,’ Nick said, turning his dazzling smile on me.
Inwardly, I sighed and basked in it.
‘Unless you want to join us, Abs?’ Ollie stood, putting on his jacket.
I looked at Nick, who raised an eyebrow, wrinkling his forehead. I read this as: you can if you want to. But I had other commitments.
‘I’m all good. Ella has cooked, which is vaguely alarming. Still, I’m curious.’
‘Good luck with that,’ Nick mumbled.
‘I suspect I might need it,’ I returned.
After that, we were slightly more comfortable with each other.
Oliver worked from home and Nick did not come in on Thursday, which I confess I was a little disappointed about because I had definitely felt the ice thaw and I had wanted to see him.
Either way, I had a pretty chilled day, which one can never complain about.
I was in a good mood when I got home, but it quickly turned to rage when Kate presented me with a dress. A dress bought by Nick.
The designer bag hanging in the kitchen prompted me to interrogate her, and she confessed to gin and tonics with my boss/ex-lover or whatever – the flare of irritation I felt in my gut had nothing to do with jealousy, of course – and that she had agreed she would ‘get me to the ball’ on Friday night.
Naturally, I stamped my foot, telling her in no uncertain terms that that was completely and utterly unacceptable. I refused to even look at the dress or even think about discussing it with him. The gall of that man.
I would return the dress over the weekend – an absolute pain in the arse, by the way – and give him back his bloody money the next week.
I avoided him at work on Friday by spending the entire day at the hotel.
The Delacqua Sydney had been rebuilt two years ago, and it was big, glassy and shiny.
I found it vaguely depressing and lacking personality and, apparently, so did the Northbys, because I had taken notes on Monday in a meeting with their architect where Nick had called it cold, unwelcoming and lacking in character.
But the ballroom had the benefit of a large balcony and views overlooking the city and harbour.
I headed home just after four and walked in the door, dumping my bag on the floor of my newly renovated room, which looked like just the slice of heaven I needed this Friday night.
Sliding my shoes off my tired feet, I padded into the lounge room, only to be confronted by all three of the Cavendish women.
My daughter sat next to my sister, who had pulled in her trump card, my grandmother.
It was an aggressive move and could only have been my sister’s idea of an intervention.
Iris looked as if she had just climbed down from the deck of a yacht. She had on a thick cream jumper over navy culottes and canvas sneakers, definitely channelling Lauren Bacall.
‘Abigail.’
I walked over to her, kissing her and wrapping her into me. She was warm, smelled like Chanel and she made my heart ache with love and devotion.
‘Hi, Gran.’ There was a warning in my tone, but I could not hide the warmth and affection I felt for her.
‘Mum, Aunt Kate says you’re not going to a party tonight because you don’t want to wear a fancy, expensive dress someone bought you.’
‘Ella, dear, will you please go pop the kettle on and make tea for Granny?’
‘Of course, Gran.’
‘Thank you, child.’
We all watched Ella leave the room and waited until we heard the kettle start.
‘Kate, this is completely unacceptable,’ I hissed.
Kate lifted her chin and looked at the ceiling.
‘Abigail, darling,’ Gran said, dropping her voice. ‘You have been holding out. Kate says your new boss is also your Maldivian lover. How very serendipitous.’
I looked at Kate, horrified. ‘He’s English. I’m not sleeping with him … anymore.’ I was mortified as I realised how sad I sounded.
‘And, Gran, there is this fancy-arse party tonight that Abbey is refusing to go to. She claimed she had nothing to wear and then a dress appeared for her, and she won’t even look at it.’
Kate was dobbing me in as if she was eight, making me want to pinch her. I threw what I hoped was a dignified, daggered stare at her instead, and she folded her arms and huffed.
‘Abigail, when a man buys you expensive presents …’ Gran said, shaking her head.
‘He is being manipulative. He accused me of taking money from the company and almost fired me over it. And now he is trying to pay off his guilt. He has already doubled my salary, and now this.’ I pointed accusingly to the bag.
Gran and Kate shared a look.
‘Open the bag, Kate,’ Gran ordered.
Kate gave me a wide berth as she moved to the dress.