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“There are loads flying around about a project I was working on before I left. Client turned out to be an awkward one. So Liz and Mick have been picking up the pieces on it and working long hours. It should’ve been me. I feel guilty I wasn’t there to run the show.” Gemma frowned. The three-week absence bothered her—far too long to stay on top of things.
“What do you want to do about it?” He kissed the nape of her neck.
“I thought about inviting my put-upon colleagues back to the White House after work one day. Tea and cakes or something. My way of saying thank you.” She waited for his opinion on the unusual idea of having guests in their London townhouse during the week. Blythewood, the impressive country mansion, had always been their preferred location for entertaining.
“It’s summertime. Why not a barbecue? Brooks would be happy to do the grilling. Speak to him.”
He referred to their butler, a retired soldier who lived in the attic apartment above their townhouse. She and Jason were very fond of the old gent.
He hadn’t dismissed her plan. Relief bubbled up inside her. “Yes, I will. Thanks. It means a lot to me, to be able to show my appreciation.”
“That domesticated nature of yours—must please others! I’m surprised you haven’t entertained work colleagues before now. Daniel, in particular.”
Another pang of guilt—why had she not invited her boss? Jason’s social commitments always seemed to take precedence. Yet, he had never told her she couldn’t invite her co-workers. Daniel, in particular. He’d been a good boss to her and, based upon yesterday’s e-mail, he valued her opinions more than she’d realised.
“Daniel. Yes. Well, there is the other issue. Daniel sent me a confidential e-mail yesterday. Not for discussion with anyone else at work. He’s been appro
ached by a bigger company in the US. They want to merge the two. They would have a European outlet, and Daniel’s firm would benefit from the investment and experience of the other. I don’t need to explain this to you.”
Jason—a man who had made his millions from empire building—was well acquainted with the pros and cons of mergers. “Not a merger. A takeover. Big corporations swallow up smaller ones, unless the brand is stronger in the smaller. Daniel’s company isn’t known in the US.”
“We have a good reputation in the UK and some European countries, too.” Gemma sighed, a lungful of air released through pursed lips.
He gave her waist a little squeeze. “You’re not excited by this? More opportunities, career development. It’s unlikely to result in redundancies. There isn’t much overlap, if it’s a territorial grab.”
He tried to reassure her, but his soothing explanation was missing the point. The whole merger news had made her realise she wasn’t excited about her job. She felt nothing, not even a sense of adventure burning within her. She didn’t want the status quo to change because she was familiar with the work, and that meant she wasn’t interested in developing her career. She preferred to tread water. Gemma pronounced herself twenty-seven-years-old and unambitious. Not what she had envisaged when she graduated.
“Daniel wants me to go to the US with him. Meet the key people in the other company. See what I make of them. He told me he trusts my judgement. My ability to read between the lines. Load of rubbish because my judgement has been appalling—”
Jason clamped his hand over her mouth.
“Don’t. Your abilities in work are excellent. Do not put yourself down. If I suggest you have poor judgement, it is because I push for high standards in you and my criteria for judging you is based on your weaknesses, not your strengths. There is no point striving to improve you in an area you already excel at, is there?” He removed his hand, and she licked her lips. “So, do you want to go with him?”
Gemma tried to take the positive from Jason’s words, but it proved difficult. He often accused her of having poor judgement. Judgement in her trusting of strange people, of situations, and her safety. Yes, she could be pretty crappy at evaluating certain things. Was she a poor judge in the work environment? She didn’t think so. She knew in advance when a client was going to be good to deal with or a bad experience. She handled people with efficiency, and both colleagues and clients referred to her as affable and easy to talk to, with a sense of humour to break the ice, and competence in her areas of expertise. She started to understand why Daniel might want to take her with him. The depressing thought was, she couldn’t be bothered.
“To be honest, Jason, I’m not interested in asset analysis anymore. Equations, formulae, charts, numbers, and bullet points. I’ve seen so much more of the world these past few weeks, I’m filled with scenery, ambience, and colours. I want to be painting, exploring what is trapped in my head, and to put it on paper or canvas. All those sights call to me. The conversation we had in Genoa about my mother? She didn’t have a chance to live out her artistic dreams, and here I am doing the same thing.”
Gemma turned over to face him. His expression was attentive and thoughtful. He ran a finger down her cheek.
“Building an atelier?”
“Yes. That was part of my plan. But I think I need to go beyond a hobby. I want more.” She bit her lip.
Unknown to Jason, when he had been demanding of her on holiday, when he caused her pain or used her beyond her capacity to respond with her own pleasure, she took refuge in her plans. While he spanked her hard on their last night on the yacht, she’d had a vision. A better place to be and far more fulfilling than her office on Monday morning.
“I was thinking, instead of trying to find an art gallery to exhibit my work, I should open my own. Not just for my stuff, but for other budding artists, too. Maybe approach the universities and colleges, the art faculties, and set up a foundation. Provide grants for the younger talent out there. I could help foster them by making use of the money you have gifted me. What do you think?” She held her breath.
“I think it is an excellent idea, Gem. Why wouldn’t I? If it makes you happier, then why would I not be supportive?” His smile rekindled a heart-melting buzz inside.
“Oh, thank you!”
Her despondent mood lifted. “It wouldn’t make much money….”
“Gem. I never expected you to make money for me. That’s what I do. You give back to me in other ways. You know this. What do you want to do next?”
She needed his support to help her realise her dreams—her husband, the planner.
Sitting up, she tapped a finger on her leg, trying to capture everything flying in and out of her head. “Concentrate on the atelier. The designing and construction of it. I need to build my portfolio, practise, and get all of these images into a tangible form. Research the galleries. Those fancy boutique galleries in New York have given me food for thought.”
