Page 11 of The Surrender (Arlington Hall #2)

I managed to avoid bumping into Abbie outside her apartment by the skin of my teeth when I got back to her place last night, letting myself in just moments before she got home.

It was so close, I was certain she must have passed Jude as he drove off, but she didn’t mention it when she found me elbows deep in clothes, packing.

Instead, she got a bottle of wine and sat herself on my bed while I folded and packed, and we chatted about how wonderful Saturday had been.

I gave her a half-true version of how I cut my hand.

The whole time, a confession hung on the end of my tongue waiting to fall out, but I bottled it.

I know she and Charley won’t be impressed that I’m seeing Jude again, and I can’t face their judgments.

Or the fact that they might be right when they tell me I’m crazy for giving him another chance.

As soon as I get to the office, I go on the hunt for Gary to make sure he got my message about XYZ and find him hunched over his desk, looking weary. “Okay?” I ask.

He lifts his eyes but not his head. “Long weekend.”

“Did you get my voicemail?”

“What voicemail?”

“The one about XYZ?”

He sits up straight. “What about XYZ?”

Oh shit, he doesn’t know? “You didn’t check the Financial Times on Saturday?”

“No, I spent the weekend up a mountain or on a lake.” He scrambles for his phone and loads the app, scrolling through the endless articles that have been released since Saturday. “Oh fuck.” His fist comes down on his desk hard.

“I’ll leave you to it,” I say quietly, slipping out before he really goes off the deep end and I’m caught in the cross fire. I shut the door, cringing as a loud string of curses comes through the wood.

“What’s going on in there?” Leighton asks, craning his neck to see through the panel of glass next to Gary’s door.

“He didn’t see the article on XYZ over the weekend.”

“Oh holy hell.” Leighton’s eyes bug. “How did he miss that?”

“He was away with his wife.”

“Fuck me, I’ll be staying out of his way today,” he says, just as a ton more “Fucks” fly around Gary’s office. I tense, my face bunching.

“Hey, what happened to your hand?” Leighton helps himself to it and inspects the dressing.

I reclaim my limb as I peel my back away from the door and get on my way to the kitchen for coffee. “I cut it on a broken glass.”

“Ouch. Good weekend?” Leighton tracks me a few paces behind, and I look back to see he appears genuinely interested. “Your brother got married, right?”

“Right.” How does he know that? “And it was lovely, thank you.” I enter the kitchen and put a cup under the machine, spotting Sue bent over, reaching into the fridge.

I clock Leighton eyeing her backside and cock my head when he sees I’ve caught him being a sleazebag.

“Hi, Sue,” I say, eyes still on Leighton.

He clears his throat and gets his wandering eye under control, as Sue unbends her body and faces us, a smoothie carton in her hand. “Hey, kids,” she chirps. “Good weekend?”

“Excellent,” Leighton and I chime in unison, making both of us frown and glance at each other briefly before he clears his throat again and grabs a glass from the shelf, handing it to Sue. “You?” he asks.

“Well, I hammered my husband at golf, so yes. And we took our eldest back to university, so no.” She accepts the glass on a telling half-grin. “Thank you, Leighton.”

“Welcome.”

God, he’s such a suck-up. Sue toasts her empty glass at thin air. “Must get on.” She passes between us. “Don’t forget to keep an eye on that merger, Amelia. The whispers are rife,” she calls, looking back at me. “Gary said he mentioned it the night we were out for drinks.”

I try so hard to hide my smile, feeling Leighton’s equally poorly hidden scowl on my profile. “I will.”

Sue winks and leaves, and as expected, Leighton is on me like a rash. “What merger?”

I hit the button for a black Americano, pondering whether I should tell him.

Tilda’s words come back to me. You’re not a vulture, Amelia.

I’m also not a dickhead. And speaking of Tilda Spector, has she made any decisions yet on where and who she’s passing her clients to? Should I touch base with her? Check in?

I sigh—I honestly don’t know—and get back to the matter at hand. Leighton Sleazeball Steers. “There are whispers on the grapevine about two of the big investment banks merging.”

Leighton reaches for a spoon and hands it to me. How helpful of him. “Sugar?”

“I’m sweet enough,” I quip on a sickly-sweet smile.

“You are.”

God give me strength. “It’s Gleneagles and Hollenbeck,” I tell him before he’s forced to butter me up some more as I pull my cup off the stand and take that first glorious sip.

“I think one of them is secretly struggling, but who is yet to be determined. If the merger is handled well, it could skyrocket the shares.”

“And if it doesn’t—”

“Crash and burn,” I whisper, sounding menacing.

“Fuck, I have both in some of my clients’ portfolios,” Leighton muses, looking off into the distance.

“Me too, hence I’m keeping my ears open.” I walk off, feeling Leighton’s eyes on my arse. I glance back. I wasn’t wrong.

He smiles, folding his arms over his chest. “You’re a fair player, Amelia. Just let me know how I can repay you.”

He can repay me by keeping his slimy eyes off me. “Have a good day, Leighton.” I shudder, bumping into Shelley in the doorway. “Hey.”

“Morning,” she chimes.

“Here’s the birthday girl!” Leighton sings.

“Wait, it’s your birthday?”

“Thirty-five today,” Shelley says, giving Leighton pursed lips as she passes him on her way to the fridge. “I don’t need a birthday kiss.”

I laugh.

“You sure?” he asks, puckering.

“I’d rather burn in the deepest depths of hell.”

“Be careful, sweetheart—a PA is written in my stars, and I’ll choose you,” he declares, getting himself a coffee.

I widen my eyes, and Shelley looks like she could throw up all over the kitchen. “I’d quit first, Steers.”

He sounds sure he’s going to make partner and therefore get a PA thrown in with the role.

Does he know something I don’t? I eye his back as he waits for his coffee but force the question down my throat—I don’t want him to think I’m worried—and walk back to my office, thoughtful, entering and coming to a startled stop when I find a bouquet of flowers on my desk.

I already know they’re not Jude’s doing.

He doesn’t do small when it comes to flowers.

“Shit,” I breathe, approaching with caution.

I spot a card nestled amid the carnations and pluck it out, cringing all over the words from Nick.

You looked beautiful on Saturday. It was so good to see you. Nick. xxx

I groan and drop to my chair, tossing the card onto my desk. Did he forget I ignored him hammering on my hotel room door?

“I’ve never seen someone so pissed off after receiving flowers,” Sue says, her head popped around the door.

“It’s my ex,” I explain, moving them to the side.

“Oh, I see.” She slinks in and looks out to the corridor before shutting the door.

“Are you okay?” I ask. She’s acting shifty.

“I’m great.” She puts herself in the chair opposite me. “I didn’t want to mention it in front of Steers.”

“Mention what?” I ask as she slips a card towards me. I pick it up, scanning the bold silver writing. “Leo Lombardy? Who’s Leo Lombardy?” I flip the card over and find a telephone number.

“He’s a potential high-wealth client,” Sue says, getting my attention. “He’s in the yacht industry. As in, he builds them.”

“Oh?”

“He’s recently parted ways with his adviser, and I thought you’d do great with him.”

“Parted ways with his adviser?”

“Lost him in his divorce.”

“Ohhh,” I breathe. “And you?” Why isn’t Sue advising him?

“He’s a friend. I don’t mix friendships with business—it can be messy. Amelia, he’s worth a lot of money. Strike up a good rapport with him, he could push you way ahead, if you know what I mean.”

I scrunch my nose, flicking the card over in my hand. Steers has got those Liverpudlian twins on his radar, and that, I admit, is a concern. “I appreciate this, Sue.”

“I know you do.” She smiles and stands. “If anyone asks, I didn’t facilitate this, okay?”

“Understood.” I nod. I wouldn’t throw her under the bus and give Steers the opportunity to squeal favouritism. “My lips are sealed.”

She nods and leaves, and I waste no time calling Leo Lombardy before my scheduled calls start at ten.

It rings and rings, and just as I’m about to ready myself for the voicemail to kick in, he answers.

I sit up straight. Italian? “Hi, Mr. Lombardy, my name is Amelia Lazenby. Sue Prescott passed on your details to me.”

“Ah, Amelia, yes, yes. Very good to hear from you. Let’s do a dinner meeting. Say tomorrow? What do you eat?”

I blink. Wow, this is moving fast. “I’m easy.” I wince. “I mean, I like everything.”

He laughs. “Do you like Italian? I know a special little place in Shoreditch. Nonna’s. Bellissimo !”

“I love Italian food, and I’ve always wanted to try Nonna’s, but it’s like a three-month waiting list,” I say, making him laugh again.

“Leave it to me. I’ll have my assistant make the reservation. Seven thirty tomorrow. Ciao, ciao.” He hangs up before I can say bye in return, and my phone immediately dings. Smiling, I open the message from Clark. There’s a picture of him and Rachel on a beach. I quickly reply.

Looks gorgeous. Have fun, and please please please let me be there when you tell Mum and Dad you got Rach up the duff out of wedlock

I get a rolling-eye emoji in reply, then a question.

Have you dropped the cake stand off with the cake maker? xxx