He practically growls the last word.
I smirk. Oh, this is entertaining.
“I’ve dealt with push back before, but this one? She’s got teeth.”
I raise a brow. “So, you’re telling me a florist is outmanoeuvring you?”
James scoffs. “Oh, fuck off. It’s not just her. She’s got backup. The business owners, hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she starts chaining herself to the building next.”
I chuckle. Now that I’d pay to see.
“She’s demanding a meeting,” he grinds out. “With you.”
“With me.”
“What, London too comfortable for you now? You forget how to handle business in the trenches?”
I shoot him a dry look. “That’s what happens when you’re the boss.”
“She wants to deal with the head honcho.” He tilts his head, eyes glinting with something close to amusement. “Don’t you come from Nottingham? You could throw in a family visit with it at the same time.”
I keep my expression blank, but my grip tightens on the desk. It’s been years. And I like it that way. I push back from my desk, standing to my full height. “Fine. I’ll handle it.”
James smirks, cocky as ever, like he’s just passed off a particularly irritating problem. “You do that and when you realize what a stubborn pain in the ass she is, I’ll be here. Waiting. Laughing.”
As I pass, I clap a hand on his shoulder, squeezing just enough to be a dick about it. “James?”
“What?” He glares, already knowing I’m about to wind him up.
I smirk. “Next time, try not to get outplayed by a florist.”
His scoff follows me down the hall. “Fuck all the way off, Ashcroft.”
***
Back in my office, alone, the silence settles in. I sink into my chair, James’s words still turning over in my mind. This woman. Persistent. Difficult and wants to deal with the person at the top.
I’m curious now, despite myself. My lips curve into a slow, humourless smile. That’s what she wants, is it?
The line rings. Once. Twice. Three times.
Just as I’m about to hang up, the voicemail kicks in.
“This is Lila Ng. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
Her voice is smooth, calm, with just the faintest husky edge. Confident. Collected. A little too controlled. It’s the kind of voice that lingers in the back of your mind, refusing to be ignored.
Something about it snags my attention, but I can’t quite place why.
Ng. The name doesn’t ring any bells, but her voice… It feels familiar, like a song I’ve heard before but can’t remember the lyrics to.
I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the end-call button. I could hang up, let her wonder. That would be the smart move. Keep her waiting.
But then I change my mind.
“Ms Ng,” I say, my voice low and deliberate. “This is Ben Ashcroft.”
I pause for effect, measuring my words carefully.
