She tucks her blouse into her skirt and strides into the bathroom, emerging with her shoes and stockings. She pushes her foot into one shoe and then the other, her eyes anywhere but on me.
‘We can pick it up at work.’
She grabs up her coat and stuffs the delicate nylon strips into its pocket as she heads towards me, past me, back into the foyer, her eyes scanning the lift for a call button. I press it for her and she clears her throat.
‘Thank you. My PA will be in touch to arrange a meeting.’
‘Your PA?’ I raise my brow at her, daring her to meet my eye. ‘Why not you?’
‘My PA and your PA can sort it out. It’s the way of things, is it not?’
‘Normally.’
She still won’t look at me and it’s driving me crazy. I want to reach for her and pull her in. I don’t want her to go with this uncertainty hanging over us. I want to know where I stand.
And deep down I know it’s not the business proposition I care about. It’s her and her opinion of me. Is it so low that she could truly question my business ethics? I don’t want to think it possible, and yet she’s implying just that.
But then I never thought her father would think me a liar either...
And she’s a Beaumont, after all.
The lift doors open and she sweeps inside, turning just quickly enough to offer me a parting look before they close.
And that look swallows me whole.
* * *
‘What is it, Nate?’
My temper is frayed. I feel oddly naked with my stockings stuffed inside my coat pocket. As if every Londoner can tell I’ve just run out on my lover and didn’t have the inclination to dress properly.
Your lover? Really, Eva.
‘What do you mean: what is it?’
I tune in to my brother’s scornful tone and take a breath before replying. It never pays to react in kind—especially with him.
‘If this is about Lucas again, I’m not interested,’ I say.
‘If?’
I weave through the heavy stream of pedestrians, their loaded bags making it more awkward than usual. I really need to start my own Christmas shopping, but it’s been at the back of mind, buried beneath work...and now him.
‘What else would it be about?’ asks Nate.
‘I don’t know—your issue with the wife of Mr Chan and her roaming fingers and the price hike they’re insisting on? Or how about your laundry going astray?’
Okay, so I’m not doing a great job of keeping a lid on my frustration. I blame it on the ice-cold air whipping up my skirt and the thought of the heated body I’d much rather be curled up against and had to bail on to make this call.
No, not to make this call—to avoid getting in too deep.
Honesty was supposed to help. Instead it’s opened me up...made me fall.
No. No. No. Not again.
‘You’re not funny, Eva.’
‘Funny?’ This really isn’t what I call ‘funny’. ‘I wasn’t trying to be.’