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She’d been about to step forward and attempt to kiss that angry mouth, Beatrice thought in horror. She’d been about to reveal her deep desire.
And so, rather than back-pedal, she snapped, ‘Then it’syouwho doesn’t want conversation,’ Beatrice told him. ‘Sir!’
She felt a little giddy as she walked over to Jordan’s desk. She felt a curious mixture of anger, towards herself for confiding in him, horror at how close she had come to lowering her guard, and embarrassment at such an inappropriate question.
And she was determined to get back on track.
She flicked off the computer and commenced packing her bag, as she always did. She paused and looked over briefly. ‘I answered the question you asked. You, sir, did not.’
Julius watched her, not in the least chastised.
Clearly she was feeling vindicated as she packed up her bag, and he tried to recall when it had first annoyed him.
Diary: close. Pen: put it in a box. Computer: put into its case.Zip. Snap, snap, snap. Whether in her office, or his, whether in a meeting room or sitting by the lake, Beatrice kept her possessions with her at all times. She was like a speedy little tortoise, carrying everything on her person, ready to disappear into herself or vanish without trace, leaving nothing of herself.
Well, she’d leftsomething—but a tale of a long-lost friend didn’t come close to what she was really asking him to share.
Was Beatrice stupid or did she really not know the basic rules of engagement? Seriously?
He asked himself the question again, already knowing for certain it wasn’t the former.
Off she stomped, her bag on her shoulder. The woman who had put everyone’s backs up. The woman who preferred to eat her lunch by the lake alone. The woman who shut down all attempts by her colleagues to be friendly.
Shedidn’tknow, Julius realised. Oh, she could handle the press, and cut down his aides with few words, and she was brilliant to go into a hostile room with.
But Beatrice did not know the basic rules of engagement. She hadn’t even known what to do with a birthday cake!
He couldn’t understand it, nor even explain it, but in that moment it suddenly dawned on him that she actually didn’t know the rules. And he wasn’t thinking about palace protocol, or anything as complex as that.
She didn’t know the basics.
‘Beatrice.’
He was still irritated by her question, yet he was no longer angry—not even when she chose to ignore him and marched furiously out of the room and down the corridor.
‘Beatrice.’ He caught up with her just before she got out of sight. ‘Wait.’
‘For what?’ She turned.
‘We were talking...’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘We weren’t. I’ll hand in my questions next time in advance, for your approval.’
He tried not to smile, and had to bite his lower lip to stop himself. How should he handle this liaison aide, who was actually dreadful at communication?
‘Beatrice...’ he was almost out of breath ‘...you don’t go straight for the jugular.’
‘What?’
‘When you want to know something about another person—something awkward, or difficult, or personal—you don’t go straight for the jugular.’
‘I told you about my friend.’
‘You did,’ Julius agreed.
He knew he was on the right path.
‘But I could tell when you’d said enough. I respected the fact that you’d told me it was best left. I knew there was more—of course there’s more—but you asked that it be left so I didn’t wade in with more questions.’
