Page 33 of Love Spell (Witches of London #3)

“Congratulations.” Chandler met Noah with a leer on Tuesday morning. “Allow me to be the first to shake your hand?” He did so, while Noah simply blinked at him.

Chandler went past to his own terminal.

How did he know? Shaken, Noah hurried to the kitchen, where Spencer was setting out initialled coffees, a couple of the guys already in there collecting theirs.

“Good morning.” Even Haoyu looked supercilious, which wasn’t like him. “You had a busy birthday.”

“Congratulations, Noah,” Spencer said happily, sounding like he meant it.

Maksim took his coffee and walked right past Noah, as usual. Maksim ignored everyone unless he had a good reason. Congratulations on impending nuptials would not be considered a good reason by someone like Maksim.

Noah stared after them and accepted his own drink from Spencer.

“How does everyone know?” he asked under his breath. “This is brand new.”

Spencer was clearly startled. “The business page.”

“What?”

“Our page? The feed was updated last night.” Now confused, Spencer took a step back. “Was it not supposed to be? You are engaged?”

“That just happened. I didn’t know it was common knowledge in real time.”

“Oh, well … sorry about that.”

Timo didn’t need a website for the prop shop but he had a public Facebook page and group chat for the Wolf Pack.

All the big news, market shifts, conferences, trading gossip, and more went onto both.

It had never crossed Noah’s mind that his engagement to his boss, which was, after all, for legal reasons, and not something he was comfortable with, and only just happened, would appear on that page overnight — to use Spencer’s delicately passive-voice phrasing.

A wave of fury rose in Noah’s chest the like of which he’d not felt since the morning he’d kicked Dave.

Noah whipped around to follow Spencer and find Timo, who’d also just arrived but would be in his office checking emails and industry gossip for the day before the market opened.

Voices were rapidly approaching; not Spencer returning, but Dave and Arthur.

“I thought I was on the wrong page.”

“It’s a bloody soap around here, isn’t it?”

Noah half wanted to confront them, but none of this was their doing. He’d rather avoid everyone, punch Timo, and get the hell out of here than face one more leer. They would only be popping in here for their coffee.

He could avoid them if he dodged into the cupboard that contained the office cleaning supplies and vacuum cleaner — Hoover as they called it over here, even though it wasn’t a Hoover.

Classic dumb move, being caught in the broom closet, but there was no chance either of them would have a look in there and it was the work of seconds for Noah to vanish inside.

He’d just silently pulled the door shut, closing himself in darkness, when they walked in, still talking.

They kept their voices so low, Noah could hardly hear and resorted to cracking open the door.

Not enough to see out, but enough to put his ear to.

He could also detect the sweet, greasy scent of pastries.

Dave was a fan of doughnuts and occasionally brought a box.

“So they must have been up to something all along, you reckon?” Dave asked.

They moved to the counter to set down the box and take up their coffees.

“You think it was a plot?” Arthur murmured. “Make it look like a real romance when all they wanted was a legit way to get Red to stay here?”

Red? Noah’s surname meant red, but why would they call him that? This was a new one — or new to Noah since he’d been unable to overhear any gossip lately with all the dropped conversations and fake smiles.

“What else could it be?” Dave asked. “No one gets engaged that fast.”

“Then why didn’t they do a better job?”

“Eh?”

“That bike ride on Saturday was the first time I’ve even seen Red act as if he likes Timmy’s company. Usually looks scared — hey.”

“Morning,” Chandler answered, his voice also drifting closer. “I suppose you’ve seen the news?” He, too, spoke in an undertone.

“Seen it, don’t believe it,” Arthur said.

“Why not? Marriages of convenience go back millennia.”

“So you think the whole thing was rigged?” Dave asked. “That’s all this is about?”

“All?” Chandler drawled. “I don’t see how it could be. Why would Timo humour some American toddler? It can’t have started that way. That just explains the rush.”

“But why did Timo give him the time of day in the first place?” Arthur asked.

Dave gasped dramatically. “What if Red’s got something on Timmy?”

“Huh?”

“Well, Timmy just got his own citizenship, didn’t he? Worked like a bloody ant for it. And we know he’s got black marks in his past that could have jeopardised that. The drugs and shit? What if it’s blackmail?”

Chandler snorted a laugh. “You think Timo’s that easy a mark? Give him some credit.”

“Alright, alright. You know him so well? What do you think’s going on?”

“I think the wolf really did fall for Red,” Chandler said and Noah understood in a fresh flash of rage: Volkov equalled Wolf; Cerveny equalled Little Red.

“No accounting for taste, right? You think you’re a cat person and next thing you know you’ve gone for the Bambi eyes of some mud-smart spaniel puppy. It happens.”

“Bloody hell …”

“Noah’s figured out how to play the game. That’s all.”

“The pup grows up and starts climbing on the furniture,” Arthur said.

“You think he’s twisted Timmy’s arm?” Dave asked.

“Not that he had to very much. ‘If you want a piece of this, you get it by room, board, and a free pass into the country.’ What could be simpler? It’s work for hire.”

“I once paid a whore two hundred pounds and thought that was highway robbery,” Dave scoffed.

“It is since you’re going by the minute.” Chandler’s voice was silky.

“Shut up.”

“And it’s sex worker, Dave,” Arthur said.

“Eh?”

“Sex worker,” Arthur repeated. “Not whore.”

“What’s the difference?”

“One is a job title. One is offensive slang.”

“And a job title.”

Chandler chipped in, “What he’s trying to say is the difference between calling me a gay man and calling me a twinkle-toed poofter.”

“Everything’s so fucking difficult to get right these days,” Dave huffed. “It’s like having a bloody muzzle on. Can’t open your mouth without someone taking offence and calling you racist or homophobic or … or …”

“Womanising?” Arthur suggested.

“You got it. Can’t even give a lady a compliment without ‘crossing a line.’ It’s fucked up is what it is.”

“Where’s Spencer?” Timo burst into the kitchen, his tone making it unclear if he was angry or only excited.

“Front desk?” Arthur said.

“I checked. Did anyone send him out for anything?”

“He’s around,” Chandler said coolly. “Check the terminals.”

“What the fuck are you eating?” Timo demanded.

“They were on sale, two for one deal.” Dave was defensive. “And the sprinkles are the best ones. Makes a crispy —”

“Are you five years old?” But Timo again shifted attention. “Chandler, why the hell are you backing out of the conference? It’s too late for that.”

“I explained in my note, something came up —”

“You will be at that fucking conference like everyone else. We’ve known about this for months. It’s paid for.”

“I told you, I can’t —”

Timo was already gone, steps gliding down the hall to find the PA.

“Back to work,” Arthur muttered and Dave followed, sounding like he snatched up the paper doughnut box to take with him.

Noah waited a minute, only to find Chandler still there when he stole a glance out. Chandler’s back was to Noah, rolling his neck on his shoulders and flexing his bony fingers. It took him another minute before he strode out.

* * *

Hands shaking, abandoning his coffee cup, Noah stalked to Timo’s office while Timo was down the hall talking to Spencer in someone else’s office.

The UK market was opening. Timo should be at his trading terminal. So should Noah. Obviously, whatever Timo had to discuss with Spencer was important. What Noah had to discuss with Timo was more important.

Those extra minutes gave Noah a chance to see through the anger haze to what he was going to say.

The market was already open, Noah sitting in the office chair below a dozen glowing screens of rapidly shifting numbers and flickering red and green lights, when Timo burst in. His rush to get to his terminal collapsed into smiles on sight of his visitor.

“Noah, I’m glad you’re —”

“We’re calling it off,” Noah said calmly and clearly, fighting with his own tongue while his heart pounded as if he’d run across London.

“ — here.” Talking through him, Timo crossed the office. “No question of our authenticity now.”

“Timo, listen to me.” His voice quavered and Noah had to bite down on his tongue after catching at the S and T sounds, trying to trip him up. He was handling this very well. He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t making a scene. He would clearly state his position and that would be that.

“I thought after hours, but she said she can come right now.” Timo rested his hands momentarily on Noah’s shoulders before being distracted by one of his screens and glancing up.

“Spencer will look after her and we just need to put in a quick word. It won’t take long.

Did you see that?” He pointed out something on the screen.

Noah didn’t shift his gaze from Timo’s eyes. “I’m getting a hotel room.”

“Where?” Timo grinned, attention darting to another screen. “We’ve the conference this weekend. Can Rome wait until November?” He turned his glowing expression on Noah. “Ever been to European Christmas markets? Austria, Germany, France, Belgium, Netherlands — you’ll love them.”

Noah tried again but this time the S and T for a stop choked him, the sound coming out as “Sssst” risking a lock, which hadn’t happened to him since his teen years, Noah clamped his teeth before the stutter took over.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” He looked past Noah to his main screen. “Let me get in a few numbers before Spencer needs us.”

Noah shut his eyes, braced for another attempt, but why? He had, in fact, said absolutely everything that needed to be said.

He stood abruptly, surrendering the seat to Timo, who kissed him and dropped into it. Beside the desk, he watched Timo open trades.

His key was in his pocket. He’d been spending next to nothing for the past two weeks. He even had Anjali Mahal’s card. He could call her, say never mind, book his flight, and look after himself. No one else was going to do it for him.

Even when you stumbled into someone who would gift-wrap the world for you, at the end of the day, people were self-serving. Timo wanted what Timo wanted. Just because Noah made that list didn’t turn Timo into a genuinely caring person or healthy partner.

Noah shouldn’t blame him. He, Noah, was the one who’d made a mistake.

Timo had been put under a spell, then acted out his obsession in the only way that fit his personality.

Noah was the one who’d allowed himself to be swept along in the heat of the moment and should have known better when their styles and ambitions were so impossible to square.

Noah had momentarily fallen for the fantasy, not the reality. The only trouble with that was waking up the morning after.

Heart still pounding, breathing hard, Noah walked out.

In the doorway he ran into Spencer.

“Hi, Noah. This is Jeong Nari.” He hesitated on the name, glancing apologetically around at his companion.

“It’s Nari.” Smiling, the Korean-English woman in slacks and a forest-green jacket reached past to shake Noah’s hand, which he did while realising dully that he couldn’t feel his hands. She had a messenger bag on one shoulder.

“Noah,” he mumbled automatically. “Excuse me.”

“Noah?” Spencer turned with him as Noah walked past. “Nari is here to see you and Timo.”

“For what?”

“Uh…” Spencer and Nari glanced at one another. “Timo didn’t tell you she was coming by?”

“My fault,” Nari said quickly. “I messaged him this morning and he said come over. It was all so sudden I’m not surprised he hasn’t had a chance to tell you. Congratulations on your engagement, by the way.”

“Tell me what?”

“I’m a journalist from Global Voices . We’re an online publication and podcast — you might have seen us on social media?

I’ve been writing a series focusing on the positive impact immigration has on adopted countries — growing economy and infrastructure, building community, increasing diversity in the lives of our children with greater cultural exposure, and so on.

As an immigrant millionaire who founded his own company in his adopted country, boosting the British economy, you can see why news of Mr Volkov’s engagement to another expat caught my interest.”

Noah simply stared throughout her explanation, looked at Spencer, looked back through the office doorway where Timo was working, oblivious of them, looked at Nari.

“You’re ssss-” Noah bit his tongue, shut his eyes for two seconds. “You are writing a press release about our engagement?”

“Well …” She laughed a little. “I wouldn’t call it that. But I would love to interview you about your experiences. Anything you’d like to share. It won’t take any time.”

“Sure. I can s-sum up the whole st-t-ory for you: It’s over. We’re not get-t — going to be married.” Noah marched to his desk, put everything he wanted, including his lucky cactus and laptop, into a discarded box, and left.