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She hugged Mel quickly. “I’m not going to a new job yet. I’m not sure where I’ll end up.”
“Em called. There is a press release being drafted. They’re saying you’re taking time off to peruse private passions. Is that true?”
She smiled. “True enough,” given how long it would take to get a new job, and a face-saver for the bank.
“If there’s anything I can do.”
“I’ll let you know.” She turned to the two guards. “I get the deal. I want five minutes to make a call and I’ll be ready to go.”
“I’m sorry, Ms Wentworth. We can’t allow you to do that.”
She almost let it go. After all, she’d let it go for a week. “You can’t allow me one phone call?”
The older guard shook his head. “It’s procedure.”
“And it’s one phone call. Given that I’m about to relinquish my office, my equipment, my car and my home,” her life, “one phone call seems a small thing to ask.”
“It’s—”
“Go ahead, Jac.”
Tom stood in the doorway. Come to gloat.
“Are you sure you should be consorting with me?”
“You’re not angry with me and I have no reason to be anything but saddened to see you go.”
“I am angry with you. You could’ve backed me.”
He looked at the immaculate nails of one hand folded towards his palm. “I don’t back losing propositions.”
She sighed. That was the reason she’d given up any idea of converting Tom to her cause. “Of course you don’t.”
“Make your call, Jac. These gentleman will go back to their workplace and I’ll take you home.”
“Mr Wentworth—”
Tom looked at the guard. “I’m sure I don’t need to repeat myself.”
The guard scrunched his mouth in consternation. “No, Mr Wentworth.” He signalled to his partner and they left.
“Oh thank God,” said Mel, she slumped at her desk; then, eyes flitting between them, said, “This is really happening.”
“Go home for the day, Melanie,” said Tom.
The unflappable Mel was close to tears. “Get out of here.” Jacinta gave a quick laugh. “I am.” She looked at Tom. “Five minutes,” stepped into her office for the last time and closed the door.
She spent one full minute with her back against it, trying to still the sick swings of adrenaline in her chest. The worst was over, she had no reason to feel like she might choke to death on her own anxiety, and in any case, no time to feel overwhelmed. She had a lot to do, starting with the call she’d wanted to make minutes after he’d left her apartment.
She went to her desk and opened the staff directory. She typed Lauder and up came Mace’s details. Before better sense got a hold of her she dialled the number. It rang and rang, then clicked through to message bank; not the usual apology for not being available, the cheerful exhortation to leave a message, just Mace’s deep voice and abrupt words. “If you want me leave a message.”
She wanted him and in the worst way: unfairly, with bad timing and ill grace. The time to call him was earlier, not now when her life was so unsettled. She’d hit on him when she was angry and looking for a way to expiate the hurt. She’d spent the next weekend irrationally annoyed with him, but she wanted him now with a longing that made her hand shake as she put the receiver down. This was better. If she saw him now, in the state she was in, she was only using him again and he deserved more than that.
He’d never know she’d called.
She took her books, a fancy pen set, a crystal paperweight. Not much to show for her career at Wentworth. Tom drove her home in her car. She appreciated his rescue. Being formally marched out under guard was an ignominious end, an obvious power play from a man who could afford to be generous, but didn’t understand the value of the sentiment.
They didn’t speak. What was there to say? Tom’s career would go on, hers was over, if only for the time it took to get a new job, and they had almost nothing in common outside Wentworth and Malcolm.
