I tried to hold back a grin as I thought about Beck slowing down in the rain for me, holding my hand, whisking me away from Matt but not making a scene because he’d promised not to. And then that body and the things that it could do to my body. “I do like him,” I said in a small voice.
“Beck?” she asked.
“I just don’t understand why he wasn’t more persistent,” I said. “And although I like him, want him, think he could make me happy—I can’t be with a man who doesn’t want me enough to fight for me.”
“I get it. But something tells me that Beck’s relationships have been all about his dick up until you. He’s probably as confused as you are. Maybe you need to let him know you’re ready to be fought for.”
“Maybe,” I replied. Now that I’d let myself think about him, I couldn’t wait to see him.
“Weren’t you meant to have dinner with Karen’s godfather?” she asked me.
I nodded. That was this Saturday. Just two days away.
“Maybe that’s a good time to let him know.”
“Let him know what?” I asked.
“That you’re ready. To be fought for.”
Maybe I’d been too quick to label our relationship a holiday romance, as something that couldn’t be real. Because it felt more than real to me. I’d tried to convince myself I wasn’t the right woman for him, but the longer I spent without him, the more I couldn’t shake the feeling he was who I was meant to be with.
Thirty-Four
Stella
As I knocked on my boss’s door, I couldn’t decide if I was the world’s biggest idiot or just a fool pursuing my dreams.
“What is it?” she barked.
I opened the door.
“What now, Stella? I have a lot to get through and unless you’ve made this month’s target, so do you.”
At least she hadn’t suddenly become pleasant or I might have felt a little bad. I wondered whether she was always a bitch or if this awful job had made her that way.
“I won’t take up much of your time. I just wanted to hand you this in person.” The nerves in my stomach sloshed as I placed the sealed envelope on her desk. I was doing the right thing—I knew it. It was time to take a leap of faith.
“What is this?” she asked, as if I’d just delivered up a turd on a spade.
“My resignation. Let me know if you want me to work my notice.” Instantly it was as if someone had tied balloons to my body and I was ten tons lighter. I turn
ed and headed out.
“Your resignation? What the hell are you talking about?”
At the door I turned and grinned. “I’m leaving.” I wasn’t a recruitment consultant. Not in my heart.
“Who are you going to? Whitman and Jones? They are complete bastards to work—”
“I haven’t got a job to go to. I’m going to concentrate on establishing my own design business.”
“No job?” She rose to her feet and leaned across her desk. If I were a little closer, I might be worried she’d lunge at me. “Haven’t you got bills to pay?”
Paying the mortgage wasn’t enough anymore—I wanted to be happy.
“I’m selling my place.” I didn’t want to be in the flat that Matt and I had moved into together, surrounded by broken promises and bloody awful taste. “In this market, the agent said they’d have a buyer for me by the end of the week.” I was planning to use the equity in the flat to tide me over until my business got up and running. If it took longer than my money lasted, I’d get a part-time job—one that didn’t consume my soul.
“Well, good luck to you,” she spat as if she was wishing a tropical disease on me rather than luck. “Clear your desk. I don’t want to see you in the office again.”