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"Come on! Don't stop now," Marcus hurries, still on his knees piling the papers up until he sees the piece of paper in my hands.
"Marcus. What is this?" I say, showing it to him.
"What? I don't know."
"Don't lie to me. Whatisthis?" I shout, rifling through the other papers. One after the next all telling me the same thing.
"Luna," he whispers, his voice tight. "Those, you need to put those back. I don't know what they are but those are his private papers."
I grab another handful and shake them at Kingsley's assistant. "Except they're not, are they? Marcus.Oh my god."
Marcus stares back at me, as pale as I feel.
"Shit. I need to get out of here." I gather as many of the documents as possible, stuff them into my bag, and scramble to my feet.
"Luna, wait. Where are you going?"
"Anywhere!"
He jumps up, following me. "What am I supposed to tell him?"
"Tell him whatever you want." I storm to the door. Then, at the last moment I stop, just to say, "Actually, you know what? Tell him to go to hell. And that we're done."
Thirty-Six
Kingsley
It's one of themost beautiful days we've had in weeks.
The end of winter is coming, and it feels like the sky is celebrating a few weeks early. We'd woken to a clear blue sky, not that I'd noticed it; waking up with Luna in my arms is all that I noticed about the morning until I'd actually stepped outside to take her to her meeting with Alex. But the last half hour, driving around London, running some errands and stopping at Harrod's food market, the warm weather has put an uncharacteristic spring in my step. Aside from the fact that whenever I'm not with her, there's a dull ache that sits immovable in my solar plexus, I feel better than I have since…
Than I have...ever.
I've put together a picnic basket for lunch, and asked Marcus to lay out a tarp on the roof. I haven't taken her up there yet sinceit's been too cold. That and it's always been a secret place just for me, when I need some quiet and don't have time to drive out to Watergate Bay to get to the cottage. Up there it's just me and the sky.
And after today.
A bottle of wine and Luna.
I pull into my parking garage, pick out the wilted flowers from the bouquet and stick them into the basket.
Her last message is still open on my phone.
Luna: Jerk. Race you to your office. Loser gives the other a massage. A proper one, not the kind where you're just trying to feel me up.
I deliberately don't reply. Let her wonder how far away I am, and stew over whether I'm going to get there first or not.
Calling my private elevator, something I try to do only in the most urgent of times, it surprises me how long it takes for it to get to me.
It takes almost three minutes before I'm let out outside on my office floor.
And there's something different in the air.
Hurrying to my office, it's hard not to notice that everyone is watching me.
Probably because I'm carrying a picnic basket with flowers. Not my usual accessories.
Marcus isn't at his desk when I get there, and I assume he's at lunch.
