He needed to get the situation under control, and swiftly. He just had to hope he hadn’t screwed their working relationship along with her.
But she was a professional and he was banking on that to save him from too much of a scene in the office. It wasn’t the ideal location for delivering the news, but what choice did he have? A phone call wouldn’t cut it—not when she could simply hang up. And he wasn’t about to risk her getting wind via anyone else.
He was also banking on her sound business acumen making her realise that ultimately his presence in the company could only be a good thing.
Plus, they’d both had fun. That had to count for something—right?
He combed his hand through his hair and wiggled the knot of his tie. Stress really wasn’t in his make-up...
Across the table Tony Andrews sat in discussion with his solicitor. Documents were being passed to and fro, and the scratch of pen on paper broke the air as each one was signed. But the buzz that usually accompanied such a sound was non-existent, drowned out by the very real possibility that he was heading into World War III.
His own solicitor, to his right, leaned towards him. ‘It’s not too late, you know...’
It wasn’t the first time he’d said that this morning. He was astute. He knew Marcus. Had worked with him for a decade. He knew something wasn’t right and assumed it was the deal.
‘No, it’s all good, Roger,’ he said, his gaze resting on Andrews as the man looked to him questioningly. He saw the flash of relief in his eyes before he looked back to the paperwork and wondered yet again at the man’s situation.
He was clean-shaven, smartly turned out, his blond hair greased back as per usual, but it was his eyes and the dark circles beneath that told of the stresses beneath the slick exterior.
There was also a tell-tale scent that one might mistake for an overly strong cologne if one wasn’t as attuned to it as Marcus. It didn’t matter that he’d spent two decades free of it, of him, it still affected him as if it was yesterday. As if he was still that little boy hiding away as his father rolled in night after night, intent on taking out his demons on the one person unable to evade him.
His nails bit painfully into his palms and slowly he unfurled his fists, forcing himself to relax, throwing his focus into Tony Andrews instead.
He would feel sorry for the man if not for the fact that he’d brought it on himself. Or the fact that Jennifer was suffering as a direct result. She was clearly hitting the point of exhaustion if her tiredness last night had been any indication. If Andrews had been a decent business partner who pulled his weight she wouldn’t have been in such bad shape.
Jennifer... He gritted his teeth. He never should have believed her when she’d suggested they talk in the morning. He should have known it was bull.
Christ, how many times had he done that himself? Escaping before morning, before all the questions and the hopes for a future...
His ego took the hit even as he respected her for the move.
And what did it matter? Soon she wouldn’t be able to walk away from him. He felt the buzz then—the spark of excitement in his gut.
‘Mr Wright, if you could do the honours?’
Andrews’ solicitor beckoned him, twisting the pages of the contract so they were facing his way and sliding them across the polished wooden surface of the table.
‘Of course,’ he said, taking up his pen and signing as Roger directed.
With each scrawl of his name the passion thrived, the excitement, the buzz... Only it definitely wasn’t this acquisition that was doing it. It was her—Jennifer—being tied to working under the same roof as him.
The confusing realisation should have bothered him—but did it?
He couldn’t see past the buzz to care.
* * *
Jennifer was having the morning from hell.
Tony letting her down last night was one thing. Tony not turning up to the morning’s company-wide briefing was something else altogether. How could the employees trust their direction if he hadn’t even turned up to deliver his part?
She gave way to a groan and collapsed back into her chair.
‘Hey, don’t stress—you did a great job.’
She looked to Anna, her optimistic, ever-cheery personal assistant, and smiled. ‘I could’ve walked in there wearing a pink tutu, reading a fairy tale, and you would still tell me I’d done a great job.’
Anna set a fresh coffee down on her desk, her face lighting up. ‘Ooh, now there’s a thought—one for the next briefing, hey?’