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“Still, Uncle Bill made it pretty damn clear. Angie’s treated nice, or you’re out, no matter who you are.”
I glare in David’s direction as he screws his nose up. “Out as in heading home for Christmas, or out as in, fired?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure, but I wouldn’t be bettingmylife on it.”
Ryan snorts, shaking his head. “Who the fuckisthis chick?”
That’s not the right question to be asking. He’s missing the point entirely.
“Whoever she is, I think we can all be nice to her for the next five weeks.”
Beau and Max nod their agreement, and while Ryan and David grumble, they both agree. I drain my coffee, checking my watch. It’s only 1.30 AM in San Diego, but I like to keep my managers on their toes, so I’ll fill up their inboxes before they wake up. Leaving my cup, I make my way to the small breakfast room overlooking the circular drive and impressive stone fountain from the 1700s. I commandeered this room when I arrived, and the others have set up their laptops and iPads as well. Gladys even sourced a printer and fax for us, which are sitting on the buffet table.
Firing up my laptop, I sort through my emails, which flowed in last night. David and Max appear after an hour – around 5.30AM New York time – and drop into their chosen seats.
“Dude. You are a workaholic. You don’t have to be here for hours,” David rolls his eyes at me, wrinkling his nose.
“I work best in the morning.”
“You mean, you like fucking with people’s heads best in the morning,” Max snorts, not looking at me as he scrolls through email, pausing and frowning.
“Not as much as that email is fucking with your head. What’s going on?”
Max sighs, rubbing his eyes and glaring at his laptop. “Just this fucking account manager. No one wants to work with him. Not even clients who rarely give a shit. And he’s always in my office complaining about everything under the sun.”
“So, fire him,” David mutters, dialing a number on his cell, his eyes glued to his iPad.
True. New York is an “at-will” state. Max can fire this prick whenever he likes. Max sighs, stretching back and knotting his fingers behind his head.
“Trust me. I’m this fucking close to it. But he’s harmless, and he’s surprisingly efficient at bringing in new clients. Just shit at keeping them.”
Sounds like Max’s problem. I fire off my last email and shut down my laptop, nodding to David, who has moved across to stand by the window to make his phone call. Haven Property’s Sydney office, by the sound of things. He nods back, and Max waves me off, still frowning at his annoyance email. I’ll come back after lunch to make some phone calls, but right now, I fancy a game of pool. Ten bucks says Beau is already in the billiards room, waiting for me.
Uncle Bill has a certain way he likes his vacation run, and they’re very location specific. As we’re in England, we’re all seated in the drawing room with a tea tray when Uncle Bill and Angie return from their ride.
Uncle Bill comes in first, picking up a cup of tea and moving to stand at the fireplace, where he strikes up a conversation with Beau about a book that he wants the publishing house to pick up. Angie appears about ten minutes later, freshly showered. Uncle Bill hurries across to her, helping her sit on the unoccupied sofa and fetching a cup of tea.
“I’m fine,” Angie waves him off, and he leaves the tea on the sculptured end table beside her.
Everyone else stares at them, stunned at how he’s fussing over her. He certainly didn’t pay that much attention to her last night. She winces slightly when she reaches for her teacup. I’m not the only one who catches the expression.
“Fall off, did you?” David smirks from where he is seated in an armchair to her right.
Angie flushes bright red while Uncle Bill’s head snaps around, his eyes angry as they land on my idiot brother. Max, sitting beside David, obligingly smacks him upside the head, and Angie fixes a hard stare at David’s face.
“Yes.”
David has the grace to look a little shamefaced.
“But at least I didn’t die,” she quips sarcastically.
Of course she didn’t die. But that’s not the question here. I stare in shock. How the fuck did Angie fall offButtercup? I picked the most placid horse in existence for her. She’s avoiding my eye. Whether it’s embarrassment or something else, I’m not entirely sure.
Uncle Bill quietly says something to her, returning to the fireplace to continue his conversation with Beau. I take the opportunity to stride across the room and seat myself beside her.
I say nothing, watching her quietly as she squirms. Finally, she sighs, rolling her eyes at me.
“Just say it,” she groans. I bite back a grin. That obvious, huh?
