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Friday morning dawned bright and sunny. I chose to take that as a good sign for the weekend ahead, despite my extra-early start (on Ethan’s insistence). Instead of walking to work lugging my heavy overnight bag, I crammed into the Tube, another sardine in the overheated metal tin made up of stressed commuters. I felt equally excited and apprehensive, and by the time I arrived at Barrett London, I was a giant ball of nerves. Ethan had messaged me last night to confirm our arrangements. We would drive up to the wedding location straight after work; we were both leaving just after lunch as Ethan reckoned it would take over four hours to reach the hotel in Friday traffic. He already had a cover story in place, something about a potential new advertising account which he needed my advice on. Delia was the only other person who knew about our deal, and she wouldn’t have said anything to anyone. Ethan didn’t have social media accounts, so he didn’t have to worry about being inadvertently tagged in any incriminating posts, but I did, so I had tried my best to lock down my profiles and remove all tagging options.
Juggling my overnight bag and four coffees—thankfully the coffee shop had given me a bag—I arrived at my desk to find a Post-it note stuck to my screen with a barely legible scrawl—“My office as soon as you get to work. E.”
I smiled and placed a coffee on my colleague Luke’s desk, then walked down the hallway towards Ethan’s office. Stopping at Delia’s empty desk, I placed her coffee in front of her monitor screen, then knocked on Ethan’s door. It swung open as I was in the middle of knocking, and there he was, looking impossibly gorgeous in a pale blue shirt that accentuated his muscular torso—No. Just no. Stop that train of thought, right now!
“Are you alright?” He raised a quizzical brow.
“Ah ha, of course; why wouldn’t I be?” I laughed weakly. He looked at me sceptically but didn’t comment further.
“Right. Firstly, thanks for the coffee. I know I haven’t told you properly, but I appreciate both you bringing me my coffee every day and saving Delia a task,” he told me, his voice sincere.
I could feel the blush stealing over my face.
“It’s no problem, honestly. I pick up my own coffee; it’s no effort to grab a couple more while I’m there.”
“Regardless, it’s appreciated.”
“Thank you.” I looked down at my hands, unsure. “What was that note all about?”
“I wanted to go through everything one more time before everyone gets here.”
We spent the next thirty minutes finalising the details of the weekend, and I felt much calmer by the time we’d finished. As I left Ethan’s office, Delia gave me a knowing look.
“What?” I asked, unable to decipher the expression on her face.
“Nothing,” she insisted. Then, “Alright; it’s none of my business, but I think you’re going to be good for Ethan.”
“Good for him? What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean, Avery Jenkins.”
I shrank under the force of her penetrating gaze. “Uhhh, no I don’t,” I stuttered.
“Hmm.” She eyed me, unconvinced. “You know, he needs a good woman to take care of him, to breathe new life into him. He’s too wrapped up in his work.”
I stared at her dumbly. “What?”
“Remember, Avery, he built this company from the ground up. It’s his baby. He doesn’t have time for proper relationships with women. He never allows himself to get close to anyone; he doesn’t want anything to take him away from Barrett London.”
“Oh.”
“Look after him, Avery. He needs you, although he doesn’t know it.”
“If you say so. I’ll try.”
At lunchtime, I caught the Tube to Oxford Circus and headed to a large department store where Ethan had arranged an appointment with his personal shopper friend, Maria. I was slightly nervous, knowing my credit card was about to take a battering and just hoped I didn’t end up maxing it out.
Maria was a beautiful, older woman, with an open and friendly demeanour that immediately put me at ease. As she placed armfuls of clothes into the large and airy changing room, she chatted to me about Ethan. Apparently, she was an old family friend, and she’d known him for years.
“Here we are, Miss Jenkins. That should be everything that Mr. Barrett requested. If you’d like to try on the outfits, we can decide which ones to keep and which to discard,” she instructed me.
“Hold on—he gave you a list?”
“Only a short list,” she assured me. “Oh, and Mr. Barrett is covering the costs. He said it’s non-negotiable.”
I rolled my eyes. Of course he did.
According to Ethan’s list, I needed three outfits—one for the Friday evening drinks reception, one for the Saturday wedding, and one for the Sunday breakfast. I ended up choosing a beautiful scarlet red dress which clung to my curves, a stunning duck-egg-blue midi dress with a complementary fascinator for the wedding, and a pretty yellow wrap dress. Maria picked out some heels that she assured me would complement the dresses, then bagged everything up for me. Despite my protests, she wouldn’t even allow me to see the prices, let alone pay. I drew the line at underwear, however. Ethan Barrett was not going to buy me underwear—that would be plain weird. Plus, I would be the only one to see it. Thankfully Maria seemed to understand, so we chose a few pieces that worked with the outfits I’d bought, and my shopping trip was finished. All that remained was to head back to work and meet Ethan.
