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Once she would have been the one he had asked. Not Joel…
Kenneth was right; they didn’t need her any more… not any of them. There was no place in their lives for her now…
No place, no need… no desire… no love… no anything.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
‘AH, DEBORAH, there you are… let me introduce you to Kay…’ Ryan announced with smooth malice. ‘She’ll be joining our accountancy team from next week. The partners have decided that the workload on this side of the business has increased so much that we need to take on new staff…’
So, Ryan had already picked the girl who would take her place, Deborah reflected cynically as she smiled at the younger woman and shook her hand and then watched as Ryan steered her protectively towards the general office. She was small and blonde and, Deborah suspected, spectacularly curvy beneath her Armani suit. And, to judge from the look Deborah had seen in her eyes, she was by no means as kittenish and naïve as she looked.
She and Ryan would suit one another very well. Kay would have no qualms about ‘networking’ to promote her career.
Bitch, Deborah cautioned herself mentally, but what was the point in denying the truth? Her days here now were numbered; they had to be. She could stay and accept that she would never get her promotion, live with the humiliation of being ‘sidelined’, relegated back to the general office and all the speculation and amusement that would go with such a demotion, or she could press sexual harassment charges against Ryan—or she cou
ld do what she suspected Ryan now wanted her to do and find a job elsewhere.
Had he ever really expected her to sleep with him, or had that unexpected move on her on his part simply been his way of removing her to make way for this other girl? she wondered wryly. Despite what he had said to her, a part of her still refused to accept that he had not known right from the start that she would not sleep with him, and he was, as she had good cause to know—as Mark had often warned her—a master tactician.
Officially she was still working on the liquidation, still waiting for official recognition of her promotion, but she was under no illusions. Like Kilcoyne’s employees, she too was now effectively redundant.
She had spent the last few evenings ringing round her old friends and contacts trying to find another job. So far, things didn’t look very hopeful. There was a possibility that there might be a job going at her old firm in London, although of course it would mean a drop in salary, and status.
Perhaps in the end, like Mark, she might have to do temporary filling-in work until she found something suitable. The thought depressed her. She was in her late twenties now; what if she hadn’t made the next rung up the ladder by the time she was thirty…? She decided to go home for the day.
When she got to the flat, tiredly Deborah turned her key in the lock and walked inside, shrugging off her jacket and then opening the sitting-room door.
‘Mark!’
She stared at him in disbelief, frowning. ‘What are you doing here… how did you get in…?’
‘I still have my key. I’m sorry if I gave you a shock…’
A shock! Quickly Deborah turned her back on him, not wanting him to see the emotions she suspected were all too clearly revealed in her eyes.
He had been standing by the fireplace but now, as she turned around, she saw that he was walking towards her.
Immediately she made a tense, defensive movement with her body, and Mark stopped.
‘Can we talk?’ he asked her quietly.
Deborah pushed her hand into her dark chestnut hair. Mark looked tanned and well, making her feel depressingly aware of her own weary tension. She started to shake her head. What, after all, was there for them to talk about? But Mark stopped her.
‘Please, Deb. I promise it won’t take too long.’
Wearily Deborah nodded her head. It would be easier to listen to him than to argue with him.
As she sat down on the settee she saw him frowning. ‘You look tired,’ he said abruptly.
‘Thanks,’ Deborah told him drily, and then reminded him, ‘You said you wanted to talk.’
‘Yes.’ He sat down opposite her, the soft fabric of his jeans stretching against his thighs. Her body gave a small, dangerous jerk of sexual recognition which she instantly suppressed.
Ryan would probably not believe it, but as far as she was concerned, when it came to male visual and physical sex appeal, in any contest between them Mark would have won hands down. She remembered how once in their early days together he had laughed at the way she had buried her face in his chest, nuzzling at his flesh and breathing his scent.
‘I love the way you feel,’ she had told him then. ‘Like a lovely firm, cuddly, soft teddy bear… You’re so gorgeous to snuggle up to, Mark—so warm and safe…’
‘Oh, thanks,’ he had laughed, but she had meant what she said; to her his body—firmly muscled, broad-shouldered and softly furred with light golden hair—was overwhelmingly sensually appealing.
