Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“He was talking to you,” Abbie says, linking arms with me on one side and Charley on the other. “Only you.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“Sure.” She laughs.
“If you won’t, I will.” Charley flaps the front of her tent dress. “Vows be damned.”
I laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I know.” She shrugs. “Let’s go cool down in the spa.”
“Yes,” I whisper, rolling my shoulders to try and loosen my tight muscles. “Let’s.”
Chapter 3
This was supposed to be a relaxing day. I expected to find myself slinking away from the others to sneak a peek at my emails and check the financial world hadn’t collapsed. But instead of relaxing or sneakily disappearing to check my inbox, I was distracted from real life, bracing myself and holding my breath with every corner I turned and room I entered, wondering if another encounter with the man from the bar was written in the stars. And if I would die of pleasure from the thrill. Because that’s what it was. A thrill, despite my not being able to perform basic human functions in his presence.
And it pains me to admit that.
“A few more laps?” Abbie says as we reach the indoor end of the indoor/outdoor pool.
“I’m not ready to go home yet,” Charley grumbles, her head firmly above water, not daring to get her hair wet. I appreciate it. I’ve had to wait while she dries it on the one day of the week she washes it. It’s a mammoth task, and all three of us have yet to find a blow-dry spray that actually speeds up the painful process.
“I need to catch my breath.” Charley holds on to the edge as I haul myself up and sit on the side. “How is work, anyway?” she asks, breathless. “Any closer to partner?”
“Hey, we agreed no work today.” Abbie joins me and scowls down at Charley where she’s bobbing in the water.
“No, you made that agreement with yourself.” I elbow her. “Humour me for a moment.”
“Fine.”
“It’s good. I’m on target and hoping to win a few more clients to beef up my portfolio.” Opportunities for partnership are rare, and this one was quite unexpected and came up much sooner than I anticipated after one of the senior partners was taken ill and decided not to return to work after doctors diagnosed a ministroke. I just need to accelerate my momentum and prove I’ve got what it takes. That means hitting targets. Actually, it means smashing them, and I’m on track. It’s a good thing, since the end of the financial year is looming.
“If I was stinking rich, I’d give you all my money,” Charley says, and I smile. “But I’m not, so I can’t.”
“It’s the thought that counts.”
“Is that slimy prick still ruffling your feathers?” Abbie asks. “What’s his name?”
“Leighton Steers.” I grimace at the mere mention of him. “He’s my only competition to make partner, but he’s solid competition.” And ruthless. “I just need to stay one step ahead of him.”
“You’ve got this.” Abbie slaps my wet knee and slips back into the water. “Another few laps?”
“I’m in.” Charley pushes off the side of the pool.
“I might go in a steam room,” I say as they swim away, a nice, peaceful, steady breaststroke. I watch them disappear under the glass wall into the outside area. The pre-spring sunshine is strong. Mum always says March was historically dull before I was born. The sun today is backing her up, reflecting off the rippling water, casting arrows of light up every glass wall surrounding me. It’s unusually mild for this time of year.
I look up to the vaulted glass roof, where climbing plants twine around the steel beams that support the glass structure. A modern twist on a classic, I think, as I brush my wet hair back. It seems to be a theme around Arlington Hall. I plant my hands on the tile either side of my thighs and glance around. It screams tranquillity. The entire place.
Breathing out, I get to my feet, collecting a white Egyptian cotton towel from the wicker basket by the white glass door that leads into the ladies’ changing rooms, wiping my face as I push my way through and wrapping the towel around my waist before retrieving my mobile. Two missed calls from Nick. I wince. Delete. One text.
Amelia, please answer my calls. Nick xxx
Another wince. Delete. I load my inbox, chewing the inside of my cheek as I do, scanning down the dozens of emails that have come in while I’ve been unplugged. My heart hammers a little bit faster. I’m going to be up all night clearing these down. I spot one from my boss, Gary, and the subject line catches my attention. I open it.
To: Amelia Lazenby
From: Gary Panter
Re: I wouldn’t usually disturb you on your day off, but . . .
I just heard a rumour that Tilda Spector is winding down.