Page 34 of Falling for Raine
I swallowed angry tears, wiping gelato from my ruined suit coat. With as much grace as I could muster under the circumstances, I sashayed to the exit, head held high.
“Raine! Stop.”
No chance.
I turned left on the cobblestoned alley and was about to merge with the sea of umbrellas dodging the heavy rain on Regent Street, but a strong hand grabbed my elbow and pointed at a Range Rover idling under a lamplight.
“No, I’m done with today. I’m done with yesterday and the day before too. I’m just fucking done. Now if you’ll excuse me, sir, I have to figure out where the fuck I live. Good-bye.”
“You have pistachio gelato on your coat, tea in your hair, and it’s raining. Come with me,” Graham commanded.
I glanced from the family of four next to me at the crosswalk, gaping with unabashed curiosity at the SUV clogging traffic on the busy road in a panic. When lightning cracked the sky open a moment later, I gave up.
My shoulders slumped in defeat as I followed Graham and climbed into his waiting vehicle, where a privacy screen was drawn between Collins and us. I shrugged my coat off and settled against the fancy upholstery, warily eyeing the towel Graham pushed at me.
“Thanks,” I grumbled.
“You don’t do anything by half, do you?”
“Hmph.” I wiped drippy ice cream and frosting from my shirt and coat, willing my heart rate to slow down a notch or ten.
“Where do you live?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere near Kensington Palace. If you drop me off at the nearest Tube station, I’ll be fine.”
“We’ll head in that direction.” Graham leaned forward and gave his driver instructions, then shifted in his seat to face me. “What happened back there? What set you off?”
I barked a humorless laugh. “You. And…me. And fuck, all of this sets me off. Yes, I need a job, but I obviously had no idea what I was getting myself into. I can’t work for you, though…anywhere. I can’t afford the wardrobe, I don’t know your language, I?—”
“Clothes are the easy part,” he interrupted calmly. “And every profession has a unique language. I’m sure you know that.”
“Yes, but this is different.” I closed my eyes briefly. “I’m losing my last shred of self-respect here. Only a real dumbshit pushes replay on the same damn nightmare. I won’t work for someone I’ve seen naked again. And before you say anything, don’t. I don’t want your pity. This is all…bad juju.”
“Juju?”
“Karma, luck, kismet.” I tapped the window. “You just passed a subway station.”
“Tube,” he corrected. “What will you do for employment?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll find something.”
“Mmm. You have frosting”—Graham gestured at my hair—“just there, stuck in your eyebrow.”
I brushed at my eyes and winced. “Gross.”
“By the way, I don’t pity you. On the contrary, I admire you. No matter your slightly unethical means, it takes courage and a certain evil genius to con your way into The Horsham Group,” he commented with a laugh.
“Yeah, well…”
“You should stay.”
“Huh?”
“You heard me. You’re here now. What you don’t know can be learned.”
“Is there a Horsham handbook for executive protocol and decorum?” I snarked.
“Not that I know of. I’ll ask Bernadette in the morning.”