As the train rattles along, I take a few deep breaths. I just need to get through this first couple weeks and get my first paycheck, so I can pay my lawyer and get this annulment ball rolling.
I wonder if Luke’s come to terms with the fact that I don’t want anything to do with him.
I was surprised at how he’d acted, the morning after. He really did seem like he wanted to meet with me. I would have thought that, big-shot rich guy like him, he would’ve been only too happy to move on and forget this thing ever happened.
I mean, he must have had dozens of one night stands. So why was he so earnest, making those wisecracks and trying to get me to talk things over with him?
The train announcer breaks through my self-absorption, and I look up at the station name.
“Oh, shit.”
I’ve missed my goddamn stop, and all because I was thinking about my “husband.” As if this morning couldn’t get any worse.
I dash off the train at the next station and run out onto the street a sweaty, gasping mess. I hail a cab.
“The InFini building,” I say to the driver as I hop inside. “And step on it.”
I don’t have the money for this cab and for food tonight—it’s one or the other. But I’m already late, and I can’t risk making it worse. I’ll dig out some ramen from the back of the cupboard or something, live college-style for a bit.
The cab screeches to a halt outside the huge, glass-fronted monstrosity that is my new workplace, and I reluctantly hand over my last, crumpled five-dollar bill.
Stepping out of the cab, I crane my neck and look up. This place is the tallest building in the city by far, and I’ll admit I’m intimidated. I’m just going to be a tiny cog in a huge machine in a place like this, and it’s going to take some adjustment.
Whatever, right? I’ll be a well-paid cog, at least.
I check myself over one final time. I’m sweaty, disheveled, my hair is a mess, and I may or may not smell like vomit.
“You’re killing it, Tess,” I murmur, taking one last deep breath and pushing open the doors. The receptionist sitting behind her huge desk looks up as I enter.
“I’m Tessa Elliot, I’m starting today. Personal assistant. Could you tell me where I need to go?”
She smiles sweetly. If she’s noticed that I’m late, she doesn’t mention it. She taps away on her computer for a few seconds, then looks up at me. “Ah, the new PA. Forty-fourth floor. Mr. Garamond, your manager, is expecting you. The elevator is just over there.”
I thank her and half-run over to the elevator. It takes eons to come all the way down from wherever it is, and I tap my foot impatiently. My stomach is doing flips. I just hope this Mr. Garamond is feeling kind this morning.
I step onto the elevator, press forty-four, and wait as it glides upwards.
I step out into a huge open-plan office. People sit at their desks, studiously working, mostly in silence. I have absolutely no idea where I’m going to find my boss amongst these hundreds of people. I’m working up the courage to ask someone when . . .
“Tessa Elliot? You’re late.” A man shoves a notepad into my hands, along with a pen. He’s middle-aged, slightly overweight, wearing an expensive suit and glasses.
I just nod, feeling sick all over again.
“You’re supposed to be up in the boardroom, taking the minutes of the new acquisition.” He raises his eyebrows as he pushes the bridge of his glasses up his nose. “Normally I wouldn’t throw you in at the deep end right away, but Jenna has called in sick so it falls to you. They’ve already started up there, so I need you to go up right away. You know how to take minutes, right?”
The boardroom? On my first day? Oh hell, I am so not ready for this.
“Sure thing,” I say, sounding much calmer than I feel. If I can handle this, he might forget that I was late on my first day. “I can do that. Which floor is the boardroom on?”
“The top one,” he replies. “Now, quick, run along.”
So it’s back into the elevator for another long trip upwards. I try not to hyperventilate. I know how to take minutes—all I need to do is sit quietly at the back of the room and write down what they say. Easy.
I step off the elevator and wander down a long corridor, until I finally see a door with the gold-embossed word ‘Boardroom’ on it. I knock quietly, my heart pounding, and enter the room.
I open my mouth, an apology poised at the tip of my tongue, and then I see him.
Luke Alder.
My husband.
Sitting at the head of the table.