Chapter 1
Tommy
Laughter carries across the hillside as I dump my rucksack into the back of the Range Rover.
“Can you lot hurry the fuck up?” I call out.
Nobody hurries.
If anything, Phil laughs louder.
I check my watch and swear under my breath. I should already be back at Greenview Manor having coffee with a supplier who wants to convince me that his laundry company will somehow revolutionise the washing of bedsheets.
Instead, I’m halfway up a mountain while four grown men take their sweet fucking time packing away climbing gear.
“Some of us have to work on weekends,” I call over.
Chris looks across at me. “Really? You’ve never mentioned it.”
Nick snorts.
“Funny,” I mumble.
I drop onto the edge of the boot and untie my mountaineering boots. My feet are killing me. The call came through just after five this morning and breakfast so far has consisted of half an energy bar Nick found at the bottom of his bag.
Luckily, we finished quicker than anticipated, so at least my agenda for today won’t be completely ruined.
Ella will have sorted it.
She always does.
Since she started as my assistant four months ago, she’s somehow managed to turn my constant last-minute cancellations into evidence that I am a deeply admirable human being rather than a man who cannot manage his own diary.
Apparently telling people I’ve been called out with Fellside Mountain Rescue works far better than simply saying I won’t be there.
She once got a supplier to apologise for bothering me.
Then she persuaded him to donate five hundred quid to FMR.
No idea how she did it.
Another rucksack lands beside mine.
“Thank fuck,” I exhale.
“Want to tell me what’s wrong with you?”
I glance up.
Alex is leaning against the Range Rover, arms folded over his FMR jacket. He’s still wearing his beanie against the autumn chill and has that patient expression on his face that usually means he’s about to become extremely annoying.
“Nothing’s wrong with me.”
“Right.”
“I’ve got a meeting.”
“You always have a meeting.”