Page 31 of The Surrender (Arlington Hall #2)

Leighton appears from his office as I’m wandering down the corridor. I bite my tongue, mentally repeating to myself to keep my mouth shut. “How’d your meeting with Mr. Harrison go?” Fuck it.

He sneers at me, an eye narrowing. He can’t possibly know it was me who stuck a spanner in his works, but still.

I feel like he’s looking at me accusingly.

“Momentarily deferred.” His pace slows, indicating he’s about to stop and try to chat.

So I keep mine up, passing him. Postponed? Idiot. “Lunch?”

“Busy,” I say, smiling sarcastically over my shoulder.

As soon as I’m in my office, I roll my eyes.

“Creep.” Going to my desk, I drop to my chair, dump my files down, and work my way through some client approvals so I can start actioning the movement of some funds.

I must carve out time to make notes for my meeting with Tilda Spector too.

I smile to myself. Leighton will have a hernia.

“Amelia,” Gary says, breezing in. “How’s it going?” He lowers to a chair and reaches for my glass paperweight, tweaking it.

“Great.”

“A little birdie told me you have a certain lunch meeting with a certain semi-retiring adviser that goes by the name of Spector.”

“How do you know?” I ask, taken aback. I’ve not mentioned it. I don’t want to jump the gun; nothing may come of it, and I certainly don’t want Steers knowing.

“A certain birdie was Spector.” Gary jiggles his eyebrows.

“Wednesday,” I confirm.

“Interesting.”

“I know,” I agree. “Any tips?”

“She likes you. I think she sees herself in you when she was starting out. You know, if you secure that agreement, you’re going to smash your year target by quarter two.”

“No pressure, eh?”

“And what about Harrison?”

I freeze in my seat, coming over excruciatingly hot. “Mr. Harrison?” I more or less squeak. “What about him?” I clear my throat, trying to tamp down the blood rising to my cheeks.

“He’s changed his mind on Steers.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. “I didn’t know he had a meeting with Steers.”

“Leighton didn’t brag?” Gary laughs, and I become increasingly uncomfortable. “Well, he had a meeting scheduled with Harrison, but he cancelled.”

“Shame.”

“And requested you.”

My jaw drops. “What?”

He smiles and stands. “Why’d you look so surprised?”

Because I am. God damn you, Jude. “I’ve never really spoken to him.” What the hell am I saying? I need to be up front. Except I can’t. Not now. If I tell my boss I’m involved with Jude, God knows what he’ll think. I glance at my phone, dying to grab it and call my unruly boyfriend. Yell at him.

“Well, you’re making a name for yourself, Amelia. And if you have the likes of Tilda Spector championing you, people listen.” He stands, and my dazed gaze rises with him. My face must be spelling out a whole lot of panic.

“I’ll call Mr. Harrison,” I murmur, at a loss.

“No need.” Gary heads for the door, glancing at his watch. “He’s here.”

I push back into my chair, my stomach bottoming out. “Here?” I whisper. “Mr. Harrison is here?”

“I’ll tell them to let him up.” The door closes, and I sit in my chair, staring at the wood, my brain short-circuiting.

Cognitive thought finds me way too late.

I grab my phone and dial Jude, going to the door and peeking out.

Jesus, where the fuck is Leighton? Jude’s phone goes straight to voicemail.

“Shit.” I hurry to the elevators, walking fast, one gear off breaking into a run, constantly checking around me. The lift dings, just as I land in front of the doors, and I brace myself to push Jude back in. The fucker. What’s he playing at? Except when the doors open, the cart’s empty.

“Amelia.” Shelley’s voice has me turning around, finding her walking down the corridor towards me with a shit-eating grin on her face.

And Jude’s behind her.

“Look who’s here,” she practically sings, her eyes wide and delighted.

“Yes, look,” I murmur, annoyingly dizzy at the sight of my newly acquired boyfriend. Suited. Booted. Stubbly. Eyes dancing, his hair sexed up. “God help me,” I whisper, slapping a smile on my face, peeking around for any signs of Leighton.

“Miss Lazenby.” Jude stops, his stance wide, his hands in his pockets.

“Mr. Harrison.” I’m going to fucking kill him. “Step into my office.” I sweep an arm out to the door behind him, and he looks back.

“Now there’s an offer a man could never refuse.” He smirks. I’m going to kill him twice .

Slowly.

Shelley chuckles, flustered, and I give Jude a glare I know he’ll read well. Yes, you’re in trouble. I pass him, and he falls in line behind me. Close. “This morning was fun,” he says quietly. “I think reverse cowgirl is a new favourite.”

“Pack it in,” I hiss, pushing my way into my office and holding the door open for him.

He steps in, takes in my workspace. “You didn’t enjoy riding me?”

“Jude,” I breathe, closing the door. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m here on business.” He helps himself to a seat in front of my desk. “And I was missing you.”

My eyes are daggers on him as I lower to my chair.

“I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.”

“Are you insane?” My gaze constantly flicks from him to my door, praying I can get him out of the building before Steers finds out he’s here.

“This is a really great desk.” He leans forward and strokes his hand across the glossy wood, a small smirk tickling the corner of his lips. “We should christen it.”

“You’re assuming it hasn’t already been christened.”

The smirk drops like a rock, his expression darkening. “That’s not funny.”

“Neither is you being here, Jude.” I slap my palm down and lean forward. “Explain.”

“I want you to take over my financial affairs.”

He’s crazy. Confirmed. My God, someone find me some patience. I pick up my new pen and start clicking the end, apprehensive, eyes still bouncing back and forth from Jude to the door.

“Nice pen.”

I drop it immediately. “Do you want to be my boyfriend or a client?”

“That’s a ridiculous question.”

“You can’t be both. It’s one or the other.”

“I’m trying to help.”

“This isn’t helping me; it’s stressing me the hell out.”

“Why? If I give you my money to invest, it guarantees you’ll smash your numbers, and then you’ll make partner. You won’t have to depend on winning Tilda Spector’s business or on Leighton Steers failing.”

I groan, dropping back in my chair and looking at the ceiling. “That’s not how I do things.”

“What, easily?” He scoffs. “I guess I should have known that. You made it really fucking hard to nail you.” I stare at him, flummoxed, and he gives me a boyish grin. “I love you,” he murmurs.

“Well, I don’t like you at this particular moment of time, Jude.” I get up, needing to walk off some of this annoyance. “I want to earn my way, not have my rich-as-sin boyfriend buy it for me.” I walk a few laps of my desk, Jude’s eyes following me.

“You’re making me dizzy,” he grumbles, reaching for my wrist as I pass him and pulling me onto his lap.

“Jude!”

“Stop complaining.” His mouth is on mine before I can protest, and I momentarily loosen, reciprocating, kissing him back. Until I manage to seize the small scrap of sense I still have.

Wriggling out of his hold, I escape him and fix my hair, ignoring his sigh of exasperation as I go back to my chair, making sure the desk stays between us.

“You said I couldn’t meet with Steers,” Jude drones. “So I thought I’d meet with you.”

“You didn’t want to meet with Steers. You wanted to be an ape and subtly mark your territory.” I won’t tell Jude that Steers is still being suggestive, maybe a little touchy-feely too. It would be fatal. “Look”—I lean over my desk—“do you want to go public?”

He waves a finger between us. “What, like me and you?”

“Yes.”

“We’re not public?”

“Not at my workplace, no.” Nor with my ex, but, surprisingly, we’re both in agreement on that.

“Well, that’s becoming obvious,” he mutters. “Why haven’t you shared our relationship with anyone here?”

“My private life is my private life. No one here needs to know about it. Or they didn’t need to know. I can’t take your portfolio on, Jude. It’s a conflict and would be frowned upon.”

“That’s stupid.”

“It’s just how it is.”

“Well, I’m here now.”

“Yes, you are,” I say shortly. “And now I have to figure out how to handle this so no one thinks I’m sleeping with you for your money.” I flash him a sarcastic smile. “Ironic, huh?”

He gives me a tired expression. “Quite.”

“Why can’t you stay with your current adviser?”

“He’s moving abroad and has passed me off to one of his replacements. We don’t jell.”

“Then I’ll recommend to Gary that one of the senior partners takes you on.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“Can I have a kiss?”

“No. Leave.”

He blinks, injured. “This isn’t going how I expected.”

“What do you want me to do, Jude? You’ve put me in a really difficult situation, and now I have to figure out how I’m going to get out of it with my integrity intact.”

“Are you saying no one can ever know about us?”

“Did you hear me say that? Until you stormed my workplace, people knowing about us wouldn’t have been an issue, but then you went and arranged a meeting with me to discuss your financial affairs, and suddenly I find myself in a situation where my integrity and business practice could be put under the microscope.

” I lean closer, getting more and more worked up.

“I’m on the cusp of making partner, Jude.

I’ve worked my arse off for this, and you’ve just swooped in and potentially shat all over my progress because you had a large dose of possessiveness. ”

He’s silent, clearly thinking of what he should say to that. There’s nothing he can say.

“Just go,” I breathe, motioning to the door. I’m surprised when he slowly rises, no question.

“I’ll see you after work.” It’s not a statement, more a question. I don’t like this uncertainty on him, but I need him to know that any interference with my career is a hard no.

“I have things to do.”

He withdraws, stung. “Like . . . ?”

“Apartment stuff.” Translated: I need some breathing space from you. And I know Jude’s concluded that too.

“Right,” he says, nodding mildly, chewing the corner of his lip in contemplation as I look at him with an unwavering, steely gaze. He reads that well too. “So when am I seeing you next?”

“I’ll call you.”

“Right.” He walks slowly to the door, looking heavy, as I pick up my phone and dial Leighton, hoping to keep him at his desk while Jude makes his exit.

“Lazenby,” Steers drawls. “Changed your mind on lunch?”

Jude looks back, disgusted, his sheepish demeanour disappearing in a heartbeat.

I tilt my head at him. “No lunch for you, Steers. Ever. But your thoughts on the midday drop on the FTSE would be welcomed.” I point to the door where Jude’s hovering, silently ordering him to go.

This is a problem of his own making. He can deal with it.

Yanking the door open aggressively, he stalks out, pissy, and I sigh, falling back in my chair, not listening to Steers bang on about the minuscule drop and what’s spiked it.

“I thought the same,” I say when I know Jude’s had enough time to leave, hanging up.

“Bloody man,” I mutter, getting up to go in search of Gary.

I can’t sit on this. I tap his door and poke my head round. “Got a minute?” I ask.

“Sure.”

I step in, closing the door behind me. “Please don’t tell Leighton that Mr. Harrison was here to see me. He’ll think I’m conspiring.”

“Why would he think that?”

“Well, Mr. Harrison cancelled his meeting with Leighton and then requested to see me. You appreciate how that might look.”

Gary’s mouth tilts down, his expression telling me he’s not getting it. “Happens all the time, Amelia. Some clients just don’t jell with certain advisers and request another.”

What do I say? That Jude thinks Leighton’s a douche and is after his girlfriend?

That I’m Jude’s girlfriend? “Here’s the thing, Gary.

” I’ve got to be open, tell him who Jude is to me and that I propose recommending him to one of the senior partners.

Maybe even Gary himself. The board will be over the moon to obtain such a high-wealth client, whoever he is. “Mr. Harrison and I—”

The door swings open, and Leighton falls in, appearing a bit flustered. Shit. Did he see Jude? Ask him questions? Shit, shit, shit. I frantically search my brain for the words I might need to get myself out of this mess.

“Gary,” Leighton puffs, out of breath. He’s run here. “News flash. I’ve got it on in the boardroom.”

Gary’s up like a shot, hotfooting it out of his office. “Can we pick this up?” he calls, following Leighton. “We’ve been waiting for news on a bailout; we’ve got plans riding on it.”

“A bailout? Anything I should know?”

“Not unless you have IDF Telecoms on your radar.”

He’s gone before I can answer. “I don’t,” I murmur.

Fuck it all to hell.