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Sophia and Rose are in the office they share, heads bent, and I smile crisply at them. ‘I’m meeting Jack in the City. He says you have something for me?’
I address the question to Rose, who reaches into her desk and pulls out an envelope. It has his dark, confident writing across the front. My name, scrawled in his handwriting. I resist the urge to run my fingertip over the letters.
‘Thanks.’ I nod crisply and Sophia reaches for her phone before I’ve said another word.
‘Hughes—Miss Picton is travelling to the City.’
‘Thanks.’ I nod, pleased that things are working efficiently.
I hired Sophia to replace the last of Jack’s assistants to quit. He’s run through about six since losing Lucy; my own job has been filled a dozen times at least. I think it kind of bonds Sophia and me—a similar determination not to fail runs through us both.
‘Will you be long? Shall I move your two o’clock?’ asks Rose.
I can’t reach my phone and can’t remember off the top of my head what I have at two. I guess my blank stare conveys that, because Rose smiles at me kindly. How she’s managed to work for Jack for three years is beyond me. She’s a butter-wouldn’t-melt kind of woman, and yet there’s a quality to her that makes her oblivious to Jack’s demanding requests and lack of charm.
‘Carrie Johnson.’
‘Right.’ I nod distractedly, thinking only of the mysterious envelope. It’s small and there’s something inside.
Carrie is my friend who’s looking for a new job—I have her in mind for something with the foundation, though I don’t know exactly what yet. She was made redundant in the last round of restructuring at her company, and she’s brilliant and incisive—far too clever to let go.
‘Yeah, shift it to tomorrow. Thanks. Please apologise for me.’
‘Here.’ Sophia scrapes her chair back and walks towards me with outstretched arms. ‘I’ll help you to the car.’
I hand over some of the papers gratefully. The offices are in a separate wing of The Mansion, and we step out onto the short path that winds through a manicured garden before opening out into a gravelled courtyard. It’s really well designed to keep business away from personal life—not that Jack has much of a personal life outside his fuck-fests.
At least, not that I know of.
I slide into the back of the limo, distracted; I don’t think I even acknowledge Hughes, which is unusual because I like him and we usually have a nice banter going.
You know everything there is to know about me.
I’m startled. The words come from nowhere and I look over my shoulder, half expecting to see Jack’s cynical smile. Is that even true? Do I really know him that well?
We’ve spent a heap of time together, that’s true. But I don’t know if I would say I consider us well acquainted. Out of nowhere the memory of his lips on mine sears me, pressing me back into the leather seat with a groan.
I reach for the envelope, and now I give in to temptation, running my finger over his scrawled writing before tearing the top off.
My emotions are mixed as the object inside falls into my palm.
The distinctive dark red foil denoting a Cherry Ripe confectionery bar is instantly recognisable. I check the envelope for a note; there isn’t one. But his meaning is clear.
I can’t help it. I tear the paper off the bar and inhale.
Cherries will remind me of Jack forever. I don’t think I can say I hate them anymore.
My gut clenches as I recall the intimate way his finger circled me, teasing every nerve ending, finding where to press to make me moan.
Fuck.
A shiver dances along my spine and it is still pulsing even as the car pulls into the underground car park of the City high-rise that houses Jack’s offices. I gather he used to be based here a lot more. It was only after Lucy died that he set up shop, so to speak, at his home.
I make a point of smiling brightly at Hughes as I step out of the limo, laden with documents.
‘Need a hand, ma’am?’
‘I’m fine,’ I demur.
