The Beginning of Always (30 page)

I clenched my fists hard in frustration. I just wanted to scream, but I forced my voice calm. I stretched out an arm to stop her blasting through the wall, and she halted midstride, her frown deepening. “Chastising me for the bad dinner, yeah, I heard.” I said. “But you’re blaming me without even knowing the facts. Who told you what actually happened at the dinner? Alistair?”

Gertrude tilted her head back. She didn’t answer, but the determined gleam in her eye told me enough.

I lowered my arm slowly. “Looks like someone else is being obtuse as well.”

Gertrude’s fingers were so tight around her tablet you’d swear she was strangling the poor device. “I don’t need to know what happened at the dinner. All I know is the aftermath, and it is chaos. I don’t appreciate having to deal with it.”

I shook my head. “And I wasn’t the one asking you to deal with it. I didn’t even do anything at the dinner. Have you ever considered asking me what happened? Look, I’m not claiming I’m doing this perfectly, but trust me when I say I want to do the best job I can at this, just like you’re doing at your job. We can disagree on everything else, but can we at least acknowledge the fact that our respective responsibilities need to meet? And despite what you think, our goals and interests aren’t in conflict.”

I continued, “If you trust Alistair, trust this. Trust me. I don’t want to bicker with you anymore. I need your support for this to go smoothly, especially since I’ll be with you all in California.”

A throaty groan snuck out of Gertrude before she could stop it. She didn’t like the fact that I was going to California, not that that surprised me or anything. Her fingers tapped noisily against her notepad as she considered my words. “You have two more weeks?” she asked.

“Yeah. I’ll try to keep it to one more; two is the maximum if I don’t get enough material. Let’s just keep the peace until then.”

A pause, then a short huff. “Fine,” she finally said. “Peace.”

I grinned. “Alright,” I said.

Gertrude didn’t return my smile and spun away without another wasted syllable. I followed and we pushed out of the corridor, right into the angry high-eyebrowed face of the very lovely Cassandra Morgan.

“Why did
you
get to go in?” she said, hands on hips.

Gertrude and I shared a momentary incredulous glance, and before I could answer Cassandra, Gertrude spoke first. “Mrs. Morgan, your husband will be back momentarily, so please feel free to wait in the lobby. If you’d like a coffee or drink while you wait, our secretary will be more than happy to assist you.” Her tone was curt and exasperated, as if she was talking to a small child.

At least she yelled at me like an equal
, I thought to myself. Small victories, I had to find them somewhere.

Cassandra rolled her eyes and waved a cup in the air. “Hellooo, I already have iced coffee, obviously.” She pointed her accusatory finger at me. “But why is she allowed in there, when you told me before that girlfriends weren’t allowed in the office during business meetings? I’m a wife!”

My brow furrowed. “I’m not a girlfriend, I’m a journalist,” I said.

Cassandra rolled her eyes and used her manicured hands to mime a talking mouth. “Oh, please, all that ‘I’m a journalist, blah blah blah,’ what a pathetic excuse to get close to powerful men.”

My mouth went off before I could stop it. “I’d caution who you call pathetic. At least I bought the clothes I’m wearing. Then again, we have different ideas about what ‘clothes’ constitutes.”

We glared at each other. Gertrude I didn’t get along with, but I could respect her dedication to the job and her aggressive competency. But Cassandra was everything wrong with New York, with this industry, with rich men and young girls. And she was young, I could see it now. Behind the dark smoky shadow, long false lashes, and excessive contouring along her cheekbones, she had the eyes of a girl.

And Cassandra narrowed those girlish young eyes and was the first to break the stare. But she didn’t back down. No, instead she slowly uncapped her drink and took a step towards me. Before I could react, Cassandra gave an exaggerated gasp as she dumped her the iced coffee all the way down my front. I gritted my teeth as ice cubes slid down my chest and fell between my cleavage, the liquid dribbling down my bra.

“Ohhhhh, no,” Cassandra said with mock horror. “You got coffee all over yourself, all over those fancy clothes you
bought
yourself.” She grinned, a vicious glimmer flashing in her eyes. “How horrible. You got yourself all wet.” She shook the upside-down cup several times, unloading several stray pieces of ice which bounced out and across my collarbone.

Shock flashed through me, punctuated with disbelief, tinged with anger. I honestly had no idea of what to do next. I had an insane urge to strangle her, but also to laugh at the sheer childishness of our whole exchange.

“Wow,” I said. I couldn’t decide if I was more angry or amused.

“I’m bored.” Cassandra yawned. She gave a flick of her manicured nails and the empty plastic cup flew away to crash and bounce twice against the tile floor, scattering remnants of what I now knew to be very cold iced coffee.

“I’m going to take a taxi to Saks. Tell my husband I’ll be waiting for him there.” And with a swish of her hair over her shoulder, she flounced into the open elevator and disappeared.

And so there I stood, coffee dripping down my shirt and pooling against the top of my feet, slipping down into my favorite pumps.

Gertrude had the beginnings of what seemed like a slight smile against her lips. She probably enjoyed seeing me like this.

This was the first time since I met her that I’ve seen her at the edge of a smile. It almost made this all worth it, to witness a crack in Gertrude’s bullish robot programming.

“I’ll get Train to go get you some new clothes. You might as well throw those out,” she said while flicking her eyes up and down my outfit, “which, considering, might actually be doing you a favor.”

Small victories. Small victories.

Chapter 16

“K
nock, knock,” came the gruff voice behind the dark wood.

I tightened the towel around me and swung the door open. Train’s mirth-filled grin greeted me and I immediately put a hand to my hip.

“Don’t say a word,” I warned, wagging my free finger in his face.

Train laughed. “Knew that girl was trouble, knew that Solomon’s girl wouldn’t ever be up to any good. That’s why she was left in the front lobby.”

After Cassandra used my shirt as a sink, Gertrude had shoved and pushed me into Alistair’s office, throwing a towel on me and snapping not to drip coffee on the floor. So much for our brokered peace treaty, although at this point I might as well just chalk it up to her personality.

She had to get to a client meeting with Thomas in fifteen minutes, she barked at me, so Train would bring me clothes and I would have time with Alistair at 12:30 p.m. once he returned from the site visit.

“It’s going to take longer than thirty minutes, knowing Solomon, so don’t expect to see Alistair this morning.”

Then she slammed the door.

I was trying my best to dry the sticky, sugary coffee off my skin just as Train showed up.

“What set her off?” His voice was laced with amusement.

I shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe it’s because I told her to put on a damn sweater, or a skirt that reached past her crotch.”

He guffawed loudly and handed me a black shopping bag. “Water under the bridge. She’ll get her due, those types always do. Here are some new clothes. Gertrude got some sent over, don’t know if they fit but at least they’re clean.”

I grasped the handles in relief. “Thanks, Train.” I gave him a tired smile. It was barely noon and I was already exhausted. “Tell Gertrude I’m going to change right now. I can meet her in the conference room in half an hour.”

Train chuckled as he stuffed his hands his leather jacket. “Sure thing, G will love hearing you give her directives.”

I winked at Train and he cracked a wider grin. “Alright, I’ll let you get cleaned up. Don’t know if you looked inside Boss’s bathroom, but there’s a shower and stuff. Gertrude and Thomas are busy with some clients so you actually have about an hour before they are free, so take your time.”

Train pointed to the right side of the room, where a skinny black door stood between the corner and a tall set of bookshelves.

“Thanks, Train. Sorry for the trouble.”

“No problem, and hey, no worries on anything.” Train scrunched his shoulders up so they met his ears. “You’d be surprised how often this happens.”

“Um, never?”

Train chuckled. “You never know.” He turned around and exited the way he came. “See you in an hour.”

After the door clicked shut behind him, I rummaged through the bag Train had brought me—a plain black skirt that went to my knees and a shapeless sweater. But despite it all, I was thankful for them. I needed to get my wet clothes off me. The coffee was drying and the sugar in the drink was causing everything to stick against my skin, making me itch. It definitely didn’t help that the ice had long ago melted and brought my body temperature down with it.

I dropped the sweater back in the bag and nudged it aside with my foot.

“Okay,” I said with a loud sigh. “Let’s do this.” My whole day had just been crapped on. Hopefully a hot shower and clean clothes could still salvage what was left.

I picked up the shopping bag, walked over and opened the black door that led into the bathroom. It was standard in configuration with a full stand-in shower stall situated against the far corner, the large size of the entire room not surprising me in the least. A toilet with some overhead cabinets was off to the left, and a wide sink sat underneath a mirror that stretched across the entire expanse of the room. The bathroom was sparkling clean and just like everything else in his life, Alistair hadn’t been bothered to include any distinctive touches to personalize the space.

I yanked open a drawer beneath the sink. A wooden comb, a barely used tube of toothpaste, and a toothbrush sat there innocently. I proceeded to wrench out all the drawers in quick succession. They were empty. Curiosity piqued, I threw open the cabinet doors. A couple plain white dress shirts and two suit bags. All the other drawers were empty.

Everything appeared untouched, as if an assistant (Gertrude) had put them there as backup, but with Alistair never bothering to even use them.

I shut the cabinet doors and the cold slide of liquid down my arms reminded me why I was there in the first place.

“Ugh,” I groaned. The coffee had even gotten into my bra and underwear. I hastily pulled my damp top off and chucked it onto the floor.

I made quick work with stripping down to nothing, then hopped over gingerly to the shower.

I gave an audible groan just as I turned on and ducked into the glorious stream of water. The shower felt amazing splashing over my wound-up muscles. I inhaled deeply, bringing the steam into my lungs and I exhaled.

I took my time, lathering myself up in all of Alistair’s expensive Italian shower gel, soaping myself from head to toe. I just wanted to enjoy the moment, just wanted to savor the quiet of now.

After a good ten minutes or more, I reluctantly stepped out. The towel in the bathroom was soft and plush, but proved to be too short once I wound it around myself.

I stepped in front of the mirror, pulling my hair out of my bun to rearrange into a ponytail. But the mirror in front of the sink had fogged up. I leaned across the counter and used my free hand to wipe away the moisture.

I had just about swept my palm across the mirror twice when I heard it. The click and soft swish of the door handle engaging, and then the bathroom door swinging open.

I froze, one arm held before me pressed up against the mirror and the other still tightly holding my hair up in a ponytail. I witnessed the change in my expression in the mirror, the progression of the panic flitting across my face, to the paralyzing uncertainty of what to do next.

His head was down as he came in, eyes on his phone, his demeanor and body language completely devoid of understanding as to what he was walking into.

I held my breath, my heart crashing against my ribs as all thought and all understanding vanished from my mind.

The change in humidity must have been the first indication that he was not alone. That reality was shifting under our feet.

Alistair’s brow furrowed slightly. He stopped, barely two paces in, still halfway in the doorway.

He looked up.

There was a stunned silence in between us as we watched each other in the mirror. His dark eyes swept over me. Those eyes, in a flick of his lashes, were imbued with comprehension and suddenly filled with the promise of something sinful, something dark, as they traveled up the length of my body.

I stopped breathing. I was suddenly acutely aware of every single curve of my body, the heat sweeping across my skin.

The towel now did seem too small, the hem too high, barely skimming the tops of my thighs. My skin was still glistening, moist and dewy from the shower.

I lowered an arm, letting my hair drift down over my shoulders, and his gaze followed. That gaze, the electric quality of that look, the intensity, it washed over every inch of me and lingered. It cascaded over me in waves, into crevices, piercing my pores, tunneling straight into depths.