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“On the periphery.”
“All the same. Thanks.”
“I’ve had too many wines, Lydia Marsh, and so have you. We’ve got a big day tomorrow, we should sleep them off.”
“Yes, sir.” I mock saluted, sailing my hand out towards him over the balcony. He didn’t move a muscle, just stared me out so hard I felt almost uncomfortable underneath the haze. “Goodnight, James.”
In a blink he was away from me; stepping down from the railings and out of view. “Goodnight, Cat. Straight to bed.”
Turns out Mr Perfect was Mr damn fucking Bossy, too. It suited him.
***
By the end of day two I’d have sworn we’d been introduced to every single employee of White Hastings McCarthy, including the cleaners. Round upon round of handshakes and tours and polite conversation. I hoped James had a better recall of faces and names than I did, because after about the fourth new person they’d all become a blur. Somehow I expected he did. He didn’t seem the type to be lost for a name at a dinner party.
We’d been waved off with fond farewells from the senior management team, and the morning would see our final wrap-up session with the IT department. Then back to London, to more sofa surfing and shared fridge space.
“Tomorrow’s just a formality,” James said, as we wandered back along the front. “The hard work’s been done.”
“I think I’ve got everything clear in my notes. I may just need to reconfirm some of the case management stages.”
“Our main prerogative was to cement the relationship, and we’ve already achieved that. You were invaluable, Lydia, thank you.”
“We made a good team,” I smiled.
“We did.”
After my previous evening’s rebuttal I waved James away in the foyer without the suggestion of drinks. He didn’t make a repeat offer of dinner on his room tab, so I figured I was out for myself. No big deal. I made a mental note to tone down the wine consumption. Just a couple, nothing crazy.
The first glass slid down my throat like liquid happiness, and Stuart slipped from my mind as easily as he’d thumped his way back in. I was checking out the bar menu when I caught the delicious notes of musk. Musk and vanilla.
“I’m sorry, Lydia, I meant to join you sooner. I had calls to make.” James took a seat next to me, leaning in close enough to scan the mains. “Have you ordered?”
“Not yet.”
“Excellent,” he smiled. “Let’s eat.”
***
“What was he like?” James asked, refilling my glass.
I slouched back in the chair to enjoy the ambience of the hotel restaurant, pleasantly tipsy and full of Dover sole. We’d covered all the work talk, and the wine had flowed much more freely than I’d intended.
“Who?” I feigned ignorance and he raised his eyebrows. I dragged out the silence before I answered. “He was nice. Funny. Patient... Safe.”
“Safe?”
“What happened torefuse to dwell on the pain, not even for a single second?”
“My bad. Forget I asked.”
“Safe. Stu felt comfortable, you know? It was easy. We fitted together.”
“It sounds more like a pair of footwear than a relationship.”
“Relationships get like that, no?” I took my drink, my eyes on his as I drank it down.
“Maybe some.”
