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“What happened with your brother and Jude Harrison?” he asks, settling in a chair opposite. I freeze, my smile faltering. Gary’s been working from home since the conference, so I’ve not caught up with him. Not that he’ll want to hear what I’ve got to share, and neither do I want to tell him.
“Nothing happened.”
“Someone mentioned an altercation.”
I shake my head, at a loss. “A misunderstanding.”
“About?”
“A parking space, I think. Trivial.” I wave a hand flippantly and pull a file over. “Bad news,” I say, knowing my ploy will work. No financial adviser wants to hearthatat work. It means losses. “Mr. Neilson will be cashing in all his ISAs.”
Gary’s eyes bug. “That’s twenty years’ worth of investments.”
“I know.” I deflate once more. “But I’ll make it up. I have a ton of leads, and I had a really interesting conversation with Tilda Spector.”
“Oh?” His interest is piqued. Gary won’t care who Tilda passes her clients on to. So long as it’s to someone in this company—like Leighton or me. Problem is, Tilda gave no indication as to who, or even which company, she’s swaying toward.
“I’ll keep you in the loop,” I say, forcing another smile.
He nods and stands. “Have a great weekend, Amelia.”
“You too,” I call, chirpy but not feeling it. I’ll spend my weekend carving out a plan, a backup plan, and a backup backup plan, because Mr. Neilson and his cash-in are proof that you can lose business as quickly as you can win it.
I read a message from Abbie in our WhatsApp group asking if I’ve heard anything. No comment. Charley wasn’t all too impressed when Abbie fed her the latest. Abbie, however, seems to think some fun would do me good. Problem is, this doesn’t feel like fun, waiting around to be called. And he just called. And I tried to claw back some control. Am I fighting a losing battle? Who even am I right now? I sigh loudly and drop my head back against the chair, exasperated by myself. The gym is calling. For the second time today.
But as I’m about to get up, my phone dings, and I hate that my heart leaps as a consequence. I drop my eyes but not my head, seeing a text message from his number. My heart rate accelerates. But can I reach out to get my phone and read the message?
I stare at it, just stare at it, while trying to make sure I don’t go into cardiac arrest.
Get a fucking grip, Amelia.
I blow out my cheeks and gingerly drag my mobile towards me. It takes another whole minute for me to find the courage to open the message.
Check your emails. Jude.
I chew the inside of my cheek, my stomach fluttering as I turn to my computer and refresh the screen, inhaling when I see an email from Reservations at Arlington Hall. I click it open and read, and my ability to breathe becomes more difficult with each word.
Dear Miss Lazenby,
We look forward to welcoming you to Arlington Hall. Your Luxury Spa Day is confirmed, and one of our dedicated chauffeurs will arrive promptly at 11:00 tomorrow morning at 10 Green Street SE1 to collect you. Your package includes three luxury treatments, which you can choose from the treatment menu when you arrive, as well as a champagne dinner in our renowned Michelin-starred restaurant, the Orangery. I have attached our standard terms and conditions, along with a brochure with information you may find useful. We hope you leave Arlington Hall feeling recharged, refreshed, and bursting with clarity. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to reply to this email. Otherwise, we look forward to seeing you tomorrow.
Best,
The Reservations Team
I sit back, staring at the screen, my skin prickling, wondering how he knows Abbie’s address. But of course—he’s checked the forms we completed on our spa day.Bursting with clarity.“Oh Jesus,” I whisper, grabbing my phone and FaceTiming the girls. Abbie answers first, followed quickly by Charley, and it doesn’t take me long to realise Abbie is in Charley’s kitchen. “What are you doing there?” I ask Abbie as Charley bounces Ena on her hip.
“I stopped in on the way home from work. Because, you know, it’s Elijah’s birthday.”
I try so hard to stop my eyes widening in horror. “Of course,” I squeak. “I’m just leaving the office, will be there soon!” I hang up, deciding my dilemma must wait, and shoot up from my desk, grabbing my bag and rushing out. “Fuck!” I hiss as I hit the call button for the elevator.
I’m the worst friend.
After an emergency stop off at Hamleys, I arrive at Charley’s bearing gifts and a smile. “Where’s the birthday boy?” I sing, pushing my way past Charley, the giant Hamleys bear in my arms hampering me as I hurry down the hall to the kitchen, practically getting wedged in the doorway. I can hear Abbie laughing. Can’t see her.
“Aunty Ammy!” Elijah sings, delighted.
“Hey, baby,” I coo, dropping the bear. He climbs straight on top of the gigantic thing, which cost me a small fortune and earned me many raised brows on the Tube. “Why didn’t you remind me?” I hiss at Abbie.