How strange. It does feel good to sometimes be a Romeo.
“Andrew, get me Warner-Jones,” I say, striding through the office an hour later, the embers of Eve’s gratitude still warming my insides.
“She’s on holiday, Mr. Deubel. The Seychelles.”
“And that’s supposed to interest me why?” I pause, turning back to face him.
“No reason,” he replies. “I just thought I’d mention it. You know, in case you didn’t want to disturb her and her new wife on their honeymoon.”
“When you’re the source of her income, therefore the person who paid for her wedding, you can make that call. Until then, Andrew...” I point at the phone.
I pay my lawyer an exorbitant amount for her expertise. And for her office to be available to me whenever I need it.
“Got it. Oh, she did send this through for your approval already.”
I open the folio he hands me to find details of Eve’s visa application, then snap the thing shut as another thought hits. A less pleasant one. One that makes her warmth dim.
“Wait.” Andrew stills at my raised finger, unmoving as I process my idea. It’s one that’s very much at odds with what I promised Eve earlier. Romeo or not, this might prove a better payoff. “I want you to do something else for me instead. There’s a journalist by the name of Una something or other.” I wave away the detailsas insignificant. “She’s a freelance digital journalist, I understand, though she claims to write for theCity Chronicle.”
While I understand Eve’s concerns, away from her, my mind is clearer; my own objectives are more pronounced. While my body might argue the case for her gratitude, my brain knows I have more pressing plans.
“City Chronicle,” Andrew repeats, noting the information in his iPad.
“I want you to set up a call with her. Today.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Which is why the call will be today, Andrew.”
“Right,” he affirms with a nod as I turn and make my way into my office.
“Well, good morning,” drawls an ironic tone.
My gaze moves to Fin, sprawled out on the Eames-style leather sofa. “You should come in more mornings,” I say. “It’s doing wonders for your term of address.”
“Want me to throw in a fewmy lieges? Come on, Oliver. No one likes an ass licker.”
I bite back a smile at the thought of last night’s events, striding to my desk.
“You’re thinking about ass licking in another sense.”
If he knew, I would never live it down. “Do you know that when your lips are moving, they rarely make any sense?”
“And when you’re yakking, all I hear isblahblahblah. Except, last night. Things were so clear, you didn’t have to use words.”
“Strange. I didn’t have a hangover when I woke this morning.”
“What?”
“Pillow talk. I’d have to be blind drunk, because you’re not my type.”
“Ah, but Eve is awholeother story. The way you looked at her said you’re down for licking her asshole.”
“Who’s licking whose hole?” Matt suddenly appears in my office, a company-branded construction hat in hand.
I drop the folio to my desk, tamping back a sudden sense of frustration. “Have you both confused my office for the playroom this morning?” I turn and lean back against it. “The crèche is on the third floor.”
“Our offices are on the third floor,” Matt returns.
