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“She had a heart attack in the middle of the night. Cocaine-induced.” He drains his glass, drops of red wine clinging to his lips. “By the time I woke up she was dead.”
I try to imagine the horror. It's one thing to have a father killed in combat in a country thousands of miles away, another to lose the love of your life at such a young age.
Especially when she was so beautiful. So vibrant.
“That's terrible.”
“Yes.”
Tears sting at my eyes and I squeeze them shut, unwilling to let him see them fall. But the thought of him going through that, seeing her lying dead next to him, is enough to strike me dumb. This time it's me who reaches out and threads my fingers between his. I circle his knuckles with my palm, warming his skin with my own. His touch makes me shiver.
“Don't cry.” He reaches out with his free hand, capturing a rogue tear. It beads on his finger and he stares at it for a moment.
It's that confusion that steals my breath. The way he stares at my tear as if he can't understand what it is. For the first time I realise we don’t just share an employer. Both of us are more damaged than we're willing to admit.
Silence descends as our main courses arrive, but it crackles like static. As I chew on a steak that melts in my mouth, I realise that I'm not just falling for my boss.
I've already fallen. And it hurts.
12
The following Friday evening Charlie walks into the office, his coat buttoned to the top and a striped scarf hanging around his neck. He slumps onto the sofa on the other side of the room, groaning loudly as he drops his head into the backrest, closing his eyes.
“Hi,” I say, amused. I've noticed he has a tendency to the dramatic. “Have you got problems?”
“Ninety nine,” he replies, cracking open an eyelid. “But the bitch ain't one.”
I pull open my drawer and slide my laptop inside. “Well, on the bright side it's Friday,” I say lightly. “Time to kick back and relax.”
I glance at Callum's office. Though the door is closed I can see him pacing behind the frosted glass, no doubt talking rapidly into his headset. Things have been strained since our alcohol-fuelled lunch, as if neither of us is sure how we’re supposed to treat each other any more. Our mutual confessions left me feeling as if we are more than just boss and subordinate, but I know there's nothing else we can be.
I think he's been avoiding me, and in many ways that's left me relieved. It's always easier to avoid than confront.
“Do you fancy a drink?” Charlie asks, his voice cutting through my murky thoughts.
“As long as it's not China's you're on. Just the one though, I want to make it to Yoga tomorrow.” I managed to get there twice this week and I want to keep the momentum going. It's better for me, both body and soul.
“You will go to the ball, Cinderella.” Charlie walks over to the exit as I shrug my coat on, pushing buttons through their loops. For a moment I wonder if I should tell Callum I'm leaving, but from the way he's leaning on the table, his arms tense and outstretched, I'm not sure I'm brave enough to bother him. So I take my bag and sling it over my shoulder, striding towards Charlie and the start of the weekend.
We join a mass-exodus of workers leaving Canada Square, and have to wait for the second elevator because the first's too busy. Stepping inside I feel like a sardine in a can. When we reach the ground floor it's a relief to be out of there. Charlie and I join the wave of people heading for the sliding exit doors.
I don't notice him at first. Perhaps I'm too wrapped up, my head full of work and thoughts of Callum. Or maybe it's because Canary Wharf is so far away from home that I don't even consider he might find me here. Regardless of the reason, I stand stock still as everybody pushes past, staring at the man about thirty yards away. Though I've only seen him once before, I recognise him immediately, from the broken nose and the scarred cheek, his eyes as vibrant as I remember them. They rise up to meet mine and he startles in recognition. He begins to walk towards me, pushing through the oncoming crowds, and panic stabs me like a knife.
My feet are glued to the concrete slabs, my body stiff and unyielding. It isn't until he's less than ten feet away that I finally find the strength to move, turning around and running back to the building. I barge my way through the workers exiting, and run across the lobby. The doors are closing on an empty lift and I squeeze through the gap, punching the button for floor ten as the elevator begins to ascend. Only then do I let the air escape my lungs, whimpering as I balance against the mirrored wall.
I've left Charlie behind. He's probably standing outside, wondering where I am, but I can't bring myself to care. I'm still gasping as the lift arrives at floor ten and I have to push through another wall of people.
When I reach my office, I pull the door shut behind me, panting loudly. I search through my bag, looking for my phone, desperate to call Alex and tell him Digger was here.
“I thought you'd gone,” Callum says, popping his head round the door. He takes one look at my face bef
ore walking over. “Jesus, what's happened? You look like you've seen a ghost.”
I'm too scared to talk so I shake my head, trying to bite back the tears. They flow anyway, hot and fast, and before I know it Callum's wrapping me in his arms, pulling me tightly against him. He's warm and he's safe and he smells amazingly good as I bury my face in his chest. I hold on to his shoulders with a death grip.
“Amy, try to calm down,” he says softly, his mouth right next to my ear. “Take some deep breaths, okay? You're safe here.”
That makes me cry harder. He starts to stroke my hair, tangling his fingers in the strands, and it feels so damn good. We stand there for a moment, him stroking, me sobbing, until I finally gain control. He pulls away and I feel bereft, seconds away from throwing myself back into his arms.
