Page 81 of The Surrender

“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? ThatI’mJude’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.

Chapter 18

Gary didn’t emerge from the boardroom for the rest of the day. I walked past a couple of times, and it looked tense in there, all the senior partners huddled around the table with Gary and Leighton, so I didn’t disturb them, cracking on with preparations for my meeting next week with Tilda Spector. I’ll talk to Gary on Monday.

Abbie and Charley were both up for bringing our trip to IKEA forward, so after I’ve collected the keys for my new apartment, I head there to meet them. In my new car. Which, right now, I feel guilty for driving.

I pull up and get two sets of high brows as I step out of the brand-spanking-new F-Type and hit the fob to lock it.

“Wow,” Abbie breathes as I stand before them, me and the car under close scrutiny. It was a novelty driving to work. The parking, not so much. I didn’t realise how much I’ve missed being on the roads. And yet it’s not sustainable; the parking is expensive and the traffic horrendous.

“Are you two done drooling over my new wheels?” I ask, tossing my handbag onto my shoulder and heading to the entrance.

“So what are we shopping for?” Abbie asks, joining me on one side, Charley on the other.

I laugh. “Everything. But let’s start with a bed. Do you think I’ll fit a bed in my car?”

“I came in Lloyd’s wardrobe on wheels,” Charley says, pointing back at his A7 estate. “I knew you’d need a lot, and you could get a whole apartment in the back of that thing. We’ll have a flatpack party at your new place.” She links arms with me. “Lloyd’s taken the kids to his parents for dinner, so I’m all yours.”

“And me.” Abbie nudges me in the side. “Although you won’t be doing much DIY with that. Isn’t it healing?”

I look down at my bandaged hand. “It’s still a bit weepy. It just feels safer covered. I’m scared of knocking it.”

“You should have it checked if you’re worried.”

I nod my agreement and let them flank me into IKEA.