Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
I spend the rest of the evening pretending to listen to conversations while constantly wondering what Jack’s thinking, what he’s doing and what he’s saying to his wife.
Micky and Lizzy make their excuses to hang back when everyone leaves, though the knowledge of an impending inquisition doesn’t fill me with dread like it probably should. I need their support, plus Lizzy spent most of the night talking to Stephanie. What did she find out? Do I need to know? Or, more importantly, do I want to know anything about them? Because they are a they. A couple. Married.
I shut the door behind the last people to leave, then turn to find Micky and Lizzy standing in the hallway, both sober, both waiting for . . . I don’t know what. So I just shrug, the evening sinking into me and weighing me down.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Lizzy says, shaking her head.
‘Happy Housewarming to me,’ I murmur, wandering towards them. They part and let me through to the lounge, where I pick up a few cushions and chuck them on the couch on my way to the kitchen. I pour myself a nightcap in the form of a large glass of wine, and take a long glug as I stare out of the kitchen window. ‘Well that was fun,’ I say seriously.
Lizzy clears her throat and comes to stand on one side, Micky on the other, like they’re sensing my need for support. I look to each of them in turn and smile a small, hopeless smile.
‘You okay, treacle?’ Micky’s palm slides onto my shoulder and squeezes.
‘I’m fine,’ I say resolutely. ‘Honestly.’ I shake my head to myself and finish off my wine, hoping it’ll knock me out and put me out of my misery.
Both eye me doubtfully, and they have every right to. I’m not fine. I don’t sound it, and I’m certain I don’t look it. My stable, controlled existence has been rocked to the core, and I’m scared. More than I was scared by the crushing connection we had.
Because everyone wants what they can’t have.
Chapter 7
Monday morning comes far too quickly, and I feel far from fresh going into my meeting with Colin and his contractor. Jack.
I did a little research on his company last night and found that Joseph Contractors was formed by Jack in 2009, when he was only twenty-eight. I mentally noted that that makes him thirty-five today. He did manual labour for years as a builder, which would explain the stunning physique – a physique that he’s clearly set on maintaining – before starting his own building firm that has gone from strength to strength. It was clear from what I learned that any architect should feel lucky to work alongside him. Me? I just feel scared to fucking death.
I’ve agonised constantly about how to deal with working together. I’ve given up Colin’s project ten times in my head, then reinstated myself quickly after. The prospect of kissing this opportunity goodbye makes me feel empty and weak. But I’m not weak, and I’m not about to let a man make me that way. I owe it to my career to move forward. I owe it to myself.
Jack’s the contractor. Just the contractor, and I’m not going to let his lies and deceit affect what I’ve worked my arse off for.
So I put on a pale grey pencil dress, leaving my hair down and wavy, then gather Colin’s file and get on my way.
I call Lizzy as I walk to the Tube, hoping for a little pep talk. ‘I’m due to start a bikini wax in two minutes,’ she says when she answers. ‘So let me cut to the chase. How are you going to handle him in this meeting?’
‘I’m going to pretend I’ve never met him before Saturday night,’ I tell her, my voice now wavering from the sureness I’d found, just at the thought of doing so. ‘He’s a liar and a cheat and, frankly, I hate him. It shouldn’t be hard to keep it business.’
‘Good girl.’ There’s a buzz of activity from down the line, and Lizzy curses a few times. ‘Shit! I just spilled hot wax. I have to go. Good luck!’
I hang up, straighten my shoulders and head for my meeting.
My plan was to arrive early, get a coffee and settle at a table before the men got there, and maybe talk my nerves down, but when I walk into the bistro I find them both already sitting at a table at the far end.
They’re talking, looking over some paperwork, and when I’m only a few feet away, Jack slowly turns to face me, like he’s sensed I’m close. My lungs shrink at the sight of him, my feet slowing as I fight to breathe. His straight expression doesn’t clue me in on what reception I might get from him, and that makes me all the more nervous.