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“Let her hate you for it. It’s not your call, and it’s not your fault.”
She looked behind her, checking the door was closed. “We’re supposed to be playing this cool, yes? Keeping things really low key, no waves, no personal relationship. You wanted that just as much as I did.”
“Easily as much as you did,” I snapped. “And you shouldn’t be talking like this. We had an agreement.”
“Then why are you ruining it?” she hissed. “Putting me on Salmons is a dumb move, it draws attention, makes us look closer than we should be. Explicit-only, you said. Now Emily’s mad with me and the whole fucking team know about it. Don’t think I don’t realise WHM is almost up, no more cosy coffee mornings and nights over in Brighton. If you wanted more time together you could have just said. You didn’t need to pull Emily off her project, James, it was unfair.”
My hackles were smoking, breath fierce. “Have you quite fucking finished?”
She smoothed her skirt down, nodded her head. “Yeah, I’m finished.”
“For your information, Miss Marsh, this decision had nothing whatsoever to do with our personal relationship. I picked you for Salmon’s becauseyou’rethe best, becausewework well together, becauseyouhave experience on large personal injury case-management implementations.” I shot her a look of fire, jaw tense. “Emily Barron is scatty and disorganised. She worked with Tony because she had an ideal personality for a rapport-build with the Salmons team in the early stages. I never hadanyintention of letting her live with the implementation, and neither did Frank. Not even Tony wanted her to handle it, if you must know.” She flushed beetroot, eyes like saucers. I was on a roll. “And as for your little monologue about coffees and hotel nights, I’m Chief fucking Technology Officer, Lydia, I make decisions that are best for this whole fucking company. If you think having you on the other side of this desk takes priority over me doing a good job for this business, then you are way off the mark. Way, way off the fucking mark.”
She rubbed her temples. “I don’t think that.”
“That’s not how it sounds.”
“Really, I don’t. I was just stressed, she kicked off at me, ok? And I didn’t know anything about it. I felt like an idiot.”
“Frank was going to tell you, sincehe’syour boss.”
“I’m sorry, James.”
I rubbed my palms against my thighs, clammy hands. “Your minute’s up, Lydia, I’m really busy.”
She stood without a word, edging her way to the doorway. I didn’t look up from my screen, cock rising at her humiliation, despite my anger.
“I guess I’ll see you later,” she said, letting herself out.
I didn’t indulge her with an answer.
My email sounded a few minutes later. My cock responded in its usual fashion, jumping on sight of her name in the preview box.
From: Lydia Marsh
Subject: Professionalism
James, I’ve offended you. It was unintentional, and I assure you it’s much more about feeling bad for Emily Barron than it is about you. I would never question your professional integrity. You conduct yourself faultlessly.
Lydia Marsh
Senior Project Co-ordinator, Trial Run Software Group.
I smiled despite myself. My own fucking email spouted back at me.
To: Lydia Marsh
Subject: Re: Professionalism.
I know that’s my email. Switching the names doesn’t make it an original piece of work.
In light of this fact, I feel entitled to plagiarise yours:
Do you mean ‘sorry’?
James
James Clarke
