One
Beah Jenkinson exited the black taxi at the swanky entrance to Claridge’s, grateful for her long vintage cashmere coat. Ignoring the light drizzle, she paid her fare, tucked her designer clutch bag under her arm and sucked in a deep breath.
She could do this; she had to do this...
It was only dinner with one of the most important and elusive art collectors in the world.
And her ex-brother-in-law Carrick.
And her ex-husband, Finn.
Who also happened to be two of her three bosses. Not a big deal.
Liar. It was such a big deal...
“Good evening, madam.”
Beah returned the black-frocked doorman’s greeting with a distracted smile and walked through the doors and into the lobby of the impressive hotel. Allowing her coat to swing open, she resisted the urge to turn and check her reflection in the glass doors, to reassure herself that her off-one-shoulder, tight-fitting cobalt blue cocktail dress with its ruffled hem was suitable.
She knew she looked fine; she always did, and her dress was a perfect combination of business chic and dinner sexy. As per usual, she’d pulled her Orphan Annie curls into a tight chignon and she’d covered her much-hated freckles with expertly applied makeup.
She was thirty years old and looked like what she was, a woman confident in her body and her looks. She had an amazing career, a wonderful life. It was only when she was faced with meeting Finn Murphy that she felt like the insecure, clingy, desperate-to-be-loved young woman she’d been nine years ago.
Soannoying.
Needing a minute to regulate her breathing, to slow down her over-fast heart rate, Beah ducked into the plush ladies’ room and sat on the edge of a velvet-covered stool, staring down at her classic nude heels.
Resting her head against the wall, Beah closed her eyes.
You can do this, Jenkinson. It’s just business.
Needing reassurance, Beah pulled her phone out of her clutch bag and hit one on her speed dial. It was early afternoon in Boston, but if she was lucky, her best friend would answer her call. Beah held her breath as the phone rang. And rang. Dammit, Keely was busy; she wouldn’t be able to talk Beah down from this ledge.
“Hi, Bee.”
Beah’s heart settled as air flowed into her lungs. Keely’s voice, as it always did, steadied her, made her feel connected. She’d met the small blonde through the Murphy brothers and they’d instantly clicked. When Beah and Finn announced their divorce, Keely had rocked up on her doorstep with wine, pizza, chocolates and open arms.
“Why are you here?” Beah had asked her, tears streaming down her face. “I thought the Murphys gained custody of you in the divorce.”
“Finn has his brothers. You need someone.”
That’s what Keely had told her as she swept into her life. Although they lived on either side of the Atlantic Ocean these days, they were as close today as they’d ever been.
“Bee? Talk to me, honey.”
Beah straightened, leaned back into the chair and tipped her face up to look at the molded ceiling. “I’m sitting in the ladies’ room at Claridge’s.”
Keely waited for a beat. “Would you like to tell me why?”
Beah turned her head to the right, saw her reflection in the massive mirror and wrinkled her nose. She looked as pale as a ghost. “I’m about to have a working dinner with Finn, Carrick and Paris Cummings.”
“Ah. Are you feeling nervous?”
Not exactly. “Off-balance, maybe. I’m good at my job, Keely, and I meet clients all the time. And I speak to Carrick and Ronan a few times a week. Finn...”
“Finn what?” Keely asked, sounding amused.
“Finn—”