Page 45 of The Surrender (Arlington Hall #2)

I have no idea how many missed calls I’ve had from Nick. Or how many I’ve rejected. His messages are being deleted immediately. Same goes for Jude. I don’t want to see or speak to either of them.

I meet Clark for breakfast the next morning and tell him everything.

I don’t relish it, but I need him to lay off the questioning and have my back when my parents inevitably grill me.

I can’t let them see how affected I am. It won’t make sense to them, since I was only briefly involved with the force that is Jude Harrison.

But they met him. And they loved him. Everything was so fucking perfect; I should have known the universe would fuck me over.

“Well, fuck,” Clark says, brushing his hands free of breadcrumbs. “So Nick gave him some shitty financial advice and—”

“His dad,” I correct him. “Nick gave Jude’s dad some shitty advice.”

“His dad,” Clark repeats. “So Jude has a gripe and he’s used you, the woman Nick loves, to get back at him? Seems a bit over the top, doesn’t it?”

I hum, annoyed with how much space this is taking up in my head. “Look, Jude wanted to hurt Nick and he succeeded. The end.”

“But he dragged you away from Nick when he found you in the pub. Why would he do that if he wanted Nick to be hurt? To be hurt he’d have to know Jude was seeing you.”

I stare at Clark, not liking where he’s going with this.

He leans closer. “Maybe because Jude really did fall for you and didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Are you actually defending him?”

“I’m just—”

“Well, don’t. I’m done.”

His hands come up, defensive.

And now, back to the breakup diet of work and wine. Except I’m on a different breakup. “Look, I have a meeting with Tilda Spector tomorrow that I need to prep for, and I want to get to the gym.” My work brain is switched back on. Distraction. I stand and drop a kiss on his cheek.

“Okay,” he murmurs, here but not here.

“Hey,” I say, smacking his shoulder. “Stop overthinking it. I’m over it, so you should be too.”

He laughs. “Sure. Over it. Fuck me, Amelia, you were spending every spare minute with him. That’s never happened in the history of my sister. Mum and Dad met him. Jesus, Dad even softened. You loved him.”

I flinch. “I didn’t know who he was, Clark,” I say quietly, smiling, using every ounce of my energy to do so.

“He’s a liar. A womaniser. A fucking arsehole.

I hate him.” I kiss his head and leave, slipping my earbuds in and shuffling my favourite tracks.

Moby’s “Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad?” comes on, and I move through the crowds on the pavement, listening.

Until I can’t listen anymore.

I yank out my earbuds, my chest tight, and pick up my pace.

It dislodges the tears, and they fall once again.

I reject yet another call from Jude as I walk across the lobby to the elevators. “Amelia,” Gary says, joining me as I hit the button. “Sorry I didn’t return your call yesterday. Everything okay?”

“Did you know Nick was interviewing?”

“Ah, yes, I meant to let you know about that.”

“Seriously, Gary? It just slipped your mind?” I feel at my forehead, exasperated. “You have to let the partners know he can’t work here.”

“Look, Amelia, I know he’s your ex—”

“He’s practically stalking me.”

Gary recoils. “Oh?”

“He helped himself to my phone while he was here yesterday and started tracking my movements.” That’s pretty much all I can say.

“Stalking you?”

“Yes, Gary. And if he continues, I’ll have no option but to report him.” I’m not fucking around anymore, walking on eggshells to save someone else’s feelings to my own detriment. I’m done.

With a heavy frown, Gary nods slowly. “Okay. Let me speak to the partners.”

“Thank you,” I breathe.

“No problem. Now let’s pick up where we left off on Jude Harrison.”

Don’t flinch! “Where was it left off?” I ask, peeking at my phone when it rings again. I slam my thumb down on the red icon and switch my mobile to silent.

“You didn’t want me to tell Leighton you’d met with him.”

“Oh, yes.” Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“He’s going to have to know.” Gary laughs. “As soon as a client signs, a memo gets circulated. You know that.”

I’m so relieved Leighton interrupted my impromptu meeting with Gary and stalled me telling him about my relationship or I’d feel like even more of a fool. “I know that,” I murmur. Problem is, now I have to break the news that Jude Harrison won’t be a client at all.

“So are you telling him or am I?”

“Telling who?”

Gary frowns around a half smile. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” I step into the elevator, Gary following. Get it together! “My meeting with Tilda Spector is tomorrow. My head is full.”

“You must let me know how that goes.”

“I will.”

“So . . . Leighton?”

Fuck, how the hell am I going to tell Gary that Harrison isn’t going to be a client? “I’ll let you know,” I say, smiling. Dying.

Gary gives his phone his attention, blessing me with a break and an opportunity to pull my shit together. And, luckily, he stays engrossed all the way to our floor. I dip out, calling a goodbye, and slide into my office, shutting the door. Breathing.

And coughing when I see a bunch of peonies in the middle of my desk. I creep towards them like they might leap off and attack me, my eyes scanning for the card. No card.

Lowering to my chair, I stare at them, getting angrier by the second.

If I was completely heartless, I’d pluck every bloom off the stem and crush them with my bare hands.

Fuck you, Jude Harrison. Except the compassion in me refuses to allow it.

And that’s only because I know these flowers were Evelyn Harrison’s favourites. How screwed up is that?

I pick up the bouquet and put them on the floor behind my chair so I don’t have to look at them, answering my desk phone when it rings. “Amelia Lazenby.”

“I have Tilda Spector for you,” the receptionist says.

“Thanks.” I get my game face on and rest back in my chair as she’s put through. “Hi, Tilda,” I say, injecting a ton of enthusiasm into my voice. “Good to hear from you.”

“Amelia.”

I still in my chair as Jude’s voice washes over my skin. I don’t need to ask how he got past reception. Is there nothing Anouska won’t do for him?

“Please, just hear me out. Give me a chance.”

A chance to fuck me over again? No. That would be perfect for him, wouldn’t it?

The biggest and most successful fuck-you to Nick.

I slam the phone down and stand from my chair, heading for the kitchen to get a coffee, feeling all the emotions I’m fighting to keep restrained creeping back up my throat.

My mobile vibrates in my hand. Him. I shake my head, silently begging him to leave me alone.

Let me lick my wounds in private. Let me at least try to get over him.

Gary’s in the boardroom with Leighton when I pass, and both men look up at me. I force a smile but frown when Gary waves me in. Pushing the door open, I hang on to the handle and the doorframe.

“You two look cozy,” I say in jest, rejecting another call from Jude.

Gary clears his throat. “Leighton, would you mind?”

“Sure,” he says, jumping up from his seat and making a hasty exit, forcing me to move aside to let him pass. He doesn’t look at me. It’s odd.

“Should I close the door?” I ask.

Gary nods, so I do, my curiosity raging. Something’s wrong. Gary’s acting awkward, and I’m quite sure I don’t like it.

“Are you sleeping with Jude Harrison?” he asks. No foreplay. Bam.

Fuck.

My world stops spinning as my boss studies me, obviously watching for my knee-jerk reaction.

“What?” I breathe.

“Are you sleeping with Mr. Harrison?”

Oh God, oh God, oh God. “I ...”

“Shit, Amelia,” Gary says around his extended gasp, the look of disappointment on his face painful. “What the hell are you thinking?”

“It’s not like that, Gary,” I rush to explain, as he drops to a chair heavily.

“Jude ... Mr. Harrison sprang it on me.” I shake my head to myself when Gary’s eyes widen.

“I mean the financial-planning bit, not himself.” Oh God, could I make a bigger mess of this?

I rub my forehead. “I was seeing Mr. Harrison,” I say. “Briefly. Not anymore.”

“You realise what this looks like?”

“Yes, I do. Did. Mr. Harrison mentioned his current planner was leaving, so he wanted to move his interests elsewhere.”

“So you didn’t sleep with him to secure his business?”

“What? No! Jesus, Gary, come on. You know me.”

“I know what this looks like, Amelia, and I don’t like it. Leighton secured a meeting with Harrison, and the next thing he’s cancelled and rearranged with you.” He stands, palms pointing to the ceiling. “Are you saying that isn’t the case?”

“No, it’s not.” Fucking hell, how am I going to explain? “I started seeing Mr. Harrison after the convention.”

“But his wealth wasn’t on your mind?”

I gape at him, indignant. “No, Gary, his wealth was the furthest from my mind. In actual fact, I’d met Mr. Harrison before, but I had no clue who he was until the conference.

” I cannot believe I’m having to explain myself out of this.

Fuck you, Leighton, and fuck you, Jude Fuckboy Harrison.

But I can’t very well tell Gary that Jude only arranged a meeting with Leighton Steers to warn him off me.

Or can I? I rub my forehead again. “Gary, I had every intention of telling you that I couldn’t take on Jude Harrison as a client because of my personal relationship with him. ”

He gets up and starts walking slowly up and down the conference room. “But you didn’t.”

I point to the door. “You were called away because of an emergency news flash, and then you were in meetings, and ...” I laugh. Jesus. “Well, I’m no longer seeing Mr. Harrison, and I expect he’ll find alternative arrangements for his millions.”

Gary flinches at the mention of millions. I’m just making this worse. But then something comes to me. “Wait. How did you know I was seeing him?”

“You know I can’t divulge that, Amelia.”

I laugh under my breath. “Of course.” Anger is rising. Leighton. The fuckhead. “Look, Gary, I pride myself on my integrity.” I dig deep to remain calm. “You have to believe me; I would never do that.”

He slows his pace and looks out of the corner of his eye. “I really don’t want to take this to the board.”

“Then don’t. They never have to know.”

He looks up at the ceiling, sighing. “I told them about Harrison, Amelia. They know he was here to meet you.”

“Fuck,” I hiss, losing control for a split second and hitting the table. I immediately apologise for it, taking some deep breaths.

“Look, leave it with me.” He pulls his glasses off and rubs his eyes. “You’d better get back to work.”

I nod and stand, my mind bending, leaving Gary in the conference room. I’m raging. And the control I was fighting to keep escapes me, my unstable emotions letting me down. I stalk to Leighton’s office and burst in on him. “You fucking snake,” I hiss.

He does a terrible job of hiding his smirk, sitting back in his chair casually. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You know what.” I walk towards his desk, my fists bunched. “How did you know I was seeing Jude Harrison?”

“Oh, you’re seeing him?”

“Was,” I reiterate. “Briefly.”

“Oh, you broke up?”

“How did you know?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.” I place my palm on his desk and lean over it. My move seems to increase his amusement, therefore increase my fury. God, I’d love to smash his face into the wood. “You’re a sad, desperate creep, Leighton Steers.”

“Ouchy,” he says, pouting.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Ouchy, ouchy.”

I push myself up and leave before I follow through on my desire to cause him physical pain, my emotions needing an outlet desperately.

“Is someone on their period?” he calls, making my heels skid to a stop.

“Fuc—” My mouth snaps shut.

My period.

My stomach turns when my heart drops into it, my mind frantically working through the dates. I’m suddenly cold. So fucking cold. “Off,” I whisper.

“And good to see you got your fancy new car repaired.”

I exhale sharply, staring forward, another bombshell getting me. I look over my shoulder at him. “You?”

“Me, what?” he muses, kicking his leg up on his knee, reclining back.

Gold digger. But, crazily, I have something more important to deal with than Leighton and my vandalised car.

My period.

“I hope you’re happy,” I say, picking up my heavy feet and walking back to my office. I get to my desk, pulling my calendar up, and count back to my last period. Twice. Three times. “Shit,” I breathe, counting again, hoping by some miracle I’ve miscalculated by a week. “No, no, no.”

I’m a week late.

I grab my handbag and pull my makeup bag out, searching for my pills. My hands land on a pen.

I’ve got you. Jude xxx

Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I toss it aside and find my pills, counting through the empty holes in the foil. “No,” I whisper when I discover two more pills than I should have. I drop the packet on my desk and stare at them.

This can’t be happening.