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‘It’s not what I want.’
‘You should have thought of that earlier.’
‘Caitlin!’
She ignored the hoarse command and kept going, opening the door without a backward glance. Before she could close it, he was beside her. She walked on towards the elevator. David matched her step.
‘What do you want from me?’ he grated out, frustration underscoring every word.
‘Nothing.’
‘You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I can’t do without you.’
‘Tough.’
‘I’ll raise your salary.’
‘I can’t be bought.’
‘I’ll improve your conditions.’
‘Too late.’
‘Isn’t there anything I can do to change your mind?’
‘No.’
‘What the hell am I going to do?’
‘Stick to business, David. You’re better at that than human relationships.’
She reached the elevator and pressed the ‘down’ button. ‘I’m going to miss you,’ he said.
Caitlin said nothing. She was going to miss him too, but there was no way she could tell him that.
‘Who gave you the roses and the other fripperies?’
The elevator door opened. She stepped into the compartment, pressed the button for the ground floor and turned to look at the man she had loved. His face was a study of conflicting and violent emotions.
‘I don’t know who gave me the St Valentine gifts,’ she said sadly, ‘but it should have been you, David. It should have been you.’
The door slid between them and closed.
CHAPTER FIVE
CAITLIN was surviving on nervous energy. Inwardly she felt pummelled, stricken, destroyed and destitute.
She took a taxi from the Hartley building to her apartment where she quickly discarded her office clothes. What was needed for David was far too fancy for her father. In his opinion, fashion was a lot of silly nonsense. Very down-to-earth was her dad.
She pulled on a T-shirt, a pair of jeans and her old battered Reeboks, then raced to the bathroom to clean off what was left of her tear-riddled make-up. The mirror revealed she didn’t look all that good. Certainly not at the top of her form. It would have to do.
She grabbed what she needed in the way of toiletries, and headed back to the bedroom to pack enough clothes to see her through a week. She didn’t know if her parents would get back together again, but she might end up staying with her father, staying with her mother, or jockeying between the two of them until something was straightened out.
She had little doubt that her older sister would stand staunchly by her mother. Michelle had always been Mummy’s little girl, while Caitlin, six years her junior, was very much her father’s daughter. If any rapprochement could be made, Caitlin knew she was the most likely catalyst.
