Page 12 of The Surrender (Arlington Hall #2)

“Fucking hell,” I breathe. The cake stand!

I get up and start walking circles round my office, calling the hotel to speak to Martina.

She told me she’d found it. Was she lying, just to get me into a suite with Jude?

When someone finally answers, I’m told Martina isn’t in until later today, so I leave a message for her to call me back before texting my brother to let him know the cake stand is safe, even though I have no idea where it is.

“Shit,” I grumble, putting myself back at my desk and starting to clear my emails down.

I falter when a new one lands. From Jude.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Re: You’re staying the night

Don’t argue with me.

Sincerely,

Jude Harrison

Arlington Hall Luxury Hotel & Spa

I smile, despite myself, falling into a daydream, feeling every one of his touches from last night on my skin again, every kiss still lingering on my lips.

The way he looked at me as he made love to me.

Slowly. I pout to myself, silently admitting that I miss him.

I’m hooked. I can’t wait to see him later, squeeze him, eat him alive, smell him. Oh dear, Amelia.

A call comes through from Abbie on FaceTime, snapping me back to the present. “Hey,” I chirp, mentally ordering the heat in my cheeks to calm.

She frowns. “Why are your cheeks red?”

“It’s stupidly hot in this office.” I get up and walk to the window, opening it as far as I can. Which is about an inch.

“What are you up to?” she asks.

“Just worky things.”

“Gym after the worky things?”

Jesus, I can’t stop cringing today. “I’ve got to pass.”

“Why?”

“I have more worky stuff to sort.” I smile like an idiot, surely looking as guilty as I am.

“Amelia Gracie Lazenby,” Abbie says, her voice tired. “I have known you for how many years?”

“Twenty-three.” I know exactly where this is heading.

“And how many times in those years have you got away with lying to me?”

I flop back in my swivel chair, scowling. “Never. You’re like a real-life human lie detector.”

“Which is how I know you’re lying now. So why can’t you come to the gym?”

My jaw rolls from how hard I’m clenching my teeth, trying to stop myself from confessing and therefore enduring a lecture. I know it’s coming—I can’t keep this from them—but I can’t face it now. Plus, I don’t have time. “I told you. I have worky things to do.”

“Amelia!”

God damn it. “You know why,” I grate, throwing my arm up heavily and dropping my head back.

“You’re seeing him?”

“It’s complicated.” My injured hand balls and, as a result, hurts like hell. “Fuck,” I curse.

“It’s not complicated. He fucked you over, and you’re going to let him do it all over again?” There’s a rustle, a few beeps, and the next minute Charley’s face appears. “She is,” Abbie says, looking as outraged as she sounds. “She’s seeing him again.”

“Amelia!” Charley cries. “What the hell are you thinking?”

I feel a lump in my throat growing, my brain not helping me out. I have plenty of words, many reasons and justifications. I just can’t find them now as my best friends glare at me, waiting for an explanation to my apparent madness. Apparent? Am I mad?

“I can’t do this right now, girls,” I say, hanging up on them for the first time in our lives.

I drop my phone and cover my face with my palm, sucking back the emotion before it makes a fool of me at work.

I take a deep breath. And another. And a few more.

“Shit,” I whisper, looking up at the ceiling, ignoring my phone ringing on my desk.

I really can’t do this right now. I don’t want my best friends to hate Jude.

I can’t blame them, but I don’t want them to.

Sighing, I swivel my chair and face my screen, scrolling through the emails that need dealing with, happy to take the distraction.

At five, I look away from my screen, squinting.

All of my calls are done for the day and my inbox looks a lot prettier, but my mind is still playing back Abbie’s and Charley’s reactions to the news that Jude’s back in my life.

I have no idea how I’m going to navigate that situation.

Jude’s got wide shoulders, but I have not.

My friends’ opinions matter, and I hate they have such a negative perspective.

And yet, again, I can hardly blame them.

I look at the flowers on my desk and grimace. And then there’s Nick. Dad told him I’m not seeing anyone now. Is there anyone in my life who will be happy for me? I sweep up the flowers and pace to Shelley’s desk, popping them on the edge. She looks up over the blooms.

“Happy birthday,” I say, smiling.

“For me?”

“For you,” I confirm. “I hope you’ve had a wonderful day.” I hear a commotion going on in Gary’s office. “The hostile takeover at XYZ?” I ask, as various partners pass us, joining Gary.

“No, actually. It’s a bad day.” Shelley twiddles her pen, looking over her shoulder to Gary’s door. I can only imagine the abuse Shelley’s poor ears have endured today. “The Gleneagles and Hollenbeck merger was announced an hour ago, and the shares have absolutely tanked.”

“What?” I stare at Shelley, hoping she corrects herself and tells me there’s another reason for Gary’s nonstop expletives. An hour ago? And I missed it?

“The Gleneagles and Hollenbeck mer—”

“Fuck!” I rush past her and fall into Gary’s office.

“What’s happened?” I ask, looking around at the partners, noting they all appear a little pale.

I can feel the blood draining from my own face rather fast too.

God, no, I have endless recommendation letters drafted advising my clients to authorise me to reinvest their kickout plans into Hollenbeck.

Please don’t tell me I’ve missed something critical!

Gary throws his pen down and pulls his glasses off, rubbing his eyes.

“The merger. It was announced at four. The board lost confidence, PR fucked up, and an anonymous source has taken to social media and blown the whistle on Hollenbeck’s dire financial situation, and the fat bonuses the board has taken this past year. ”

“Shit,” I curse.

“You saw the reports that started coming in at lunchtime, didn’t you?” Gary asks.

“Yes,” I squeak.

“So you’ve spent the afternoon reworking any proposals involving Hollenbeck, right?”

“Of course!” I smile. “It’s all in hand.”

“Oh, good, because those letters are going out—”

“First thing in the morning.” I dash back to my office, swearing all the way, checking the time on my phone. “Oh Jesus.” Keep an ear to the ground, Gary said. I haven’t. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Leighton is strolling down the corridor with a coffee in his hand, apparently unperturbed by the shitty news. He stops. Notes my fluster. “Oh, you didn’t?”

I growl at him as I hurry past. I haven’t got time for his ego right now.

“You did!” He laughs. “After everything you told me this morning, you missed the news?”

“Fuck off, Leighton. I didn’t miss the news.” I want to punch my own face in. I’ve been so lost in emails, calls, and other outside lingering thoughts, I’ve not watched my notifications.

“Sure. You should have come to me, babe,” Leighton sings. “I would have shared my inside information.”

I stop, facing him. “What inside information?”

He smiles, smug, and gets on his way.

“Fuck it.” I grab my phone and call Jude. “Hey.”

“Hey, baby, how’s your day been?”

I push my way into my office and try to breathe.

Can’t. All I can think about are the dozens of drafted letters on my computer waiting to be sent in the morning.

I’m also considering the merits of calling the fuckhead at Hollenbeck who convinced me the plan was a no-brainer and threatening physical pain.

It was a no-brainer, God damn it. Unless, of course, the bank’s on the brink of ruin.

Which it was. That fucker must have known.

“I’ve had better.” What the hell am I going to do?

It’s the end of the financial year, and I have precisely .

.. I look at my mobile and breathe in. I have sixteen hours before the letters are sent and only another few days to get my clients’ approval to reinvest their money before the year-end deadline.

“Let me fix that. I’m just pulling up outside,” Jude says, and I cringe.

“I can’t come.” I switch my phone to my left hand so I can take my mouse, hissing and switching it straight back to my right hand.

“What?”

I look down at the dressing and see a few spots of blood seeping through. I need to change the dressing. “Can we do tomorrow night?”

“No,” he says, flat-out refusing. “We negotiated, and you agreed I got tonight.”

“Something’s gone wrong, Jude, and I need to fix it,” I explain, trying to give him some context.

“I have a pile of letters in my email waiting to go out to clients tomorrow morning, and I just heard a merger has gone horribly wrong, so the shares have dropped like a rock. I have to stay late and rewrite my recommendations.” I place my hand over my head and breathe in deeply. This is a fucking disaster.

“Pack your laptop,” he says. “Bring your files.”

“What? And work at Arlington Hall?”

“Yes,” he says simply, as if it’s that simple.

“Jude, I have to work.” He’ll never let me concentrate, and neither will my mind if I know he’s nearby.

“I promise I will let you work. I’ve got to see you, Amelia. Today’s dragged unbearably. You can do what you have to do, and I won’t disturb you, I promise. I just want you close.”

He wants me close. Oh my heart.

“You’ve not missed me?” he asks.

“I’ve missed you.” Terribly. It hurts.

“Then pack your files and get that gorgeous arse down here.”

“Okay.” I can’t argue. I’m going to need a cuddle after this mammoth mission. “I’ll be downstairs in five.” I literally sweep my arm across my desk and shove everything into my bag, before gathering the files I need and rushing out, hurrying to the elevator.