Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
“Jesus.”
“Do it.” He hangs up and calmly rests his phone down, taking a deep breath. “Tell me about your day.”
“It sounds like it’s going better than yours.”
“Mine will be fine.”
“You don’t look like it will be.”
“It will be. Tell me about your day.” He picks up his cup and blows across the top, momentarily making me forget where I am and what I’m doing here. His lips . . . “Camryn?”
I blink and pull my thoughts into line. “I took this job two years ago.” It was a lifesaver. “It was supposed to be a two-year project but I’m no closer to improving the numbers than when I first walked into TF Shipping, which is really hard for me to admit because I’ve done this a dozen times in my career, with success.”
“My father lived by the rule that if something is draining you, walk away.”
His father. The first mention of any family. “Who said I was drained?”
“Your entire aura.”
I clear my throat and focus on my coffee, my hands wrapped around it. “It’ll work out.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then it doesn’t,” I reply simply. I’ve lost a lot more than my work reputation in this world. I’ll live, for what living is worth. Which isn’t much now. My life; it’s just a crawl through a never-ending hell. “Does your father live in London?”
“He’s dead.”
I flinch. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, I hated him.” Dec finishes blowing his coffee and downs it. “Do you want my advice?”
“On what?”
“Your job.”
“Go on.”
“You can’t pull a company into shape if you don’t have the full commitment of the owner.”
“I know that,” I say, sounding bored. “I need another year.”
“Why?”
“So I can get it in its best shape.”
“You already wasted two years. You want to waste another?”
“I’m being paid.”
“Are you enjoying it?”
“I didn’t realise I was signing up for a career coaching session when I agreed to lunch.”
“Are you enjoying it?” he repeats.
I sit back, wondering if he thinks my job forms part of the black cloud that’s casting a shadow over my life. “No.” It’s a distraction, that’s all. A distraction that turned into a challenge, which made it an even better distraction. “Do you enjoy what you do?” I fire back.
“Yes.”
“What do you love so much about it?”
“Succeeding. Achieving.” His lovely brow hitches a smidge. “Power.”
“Are you an egomaniac?”
“No, Camryn. Are you?”
On reflection, I think I used to be. I was a ball-breaker. Top of my game. Now? Now I operate on fear. Not fear of losing respect in my field or failing, or even not being able to afford to pay my rent, but fear of not having a job, and failing could mean I lose my job. “I’m not an egomaniac.” Although I’m one hundred percent certain every employee at TF Shipping, including my boss, his wife, and his son, would disagree. “I do, however, expect respect in the workplace.”
“As you should.” Dec’s phone rings again, and he sighs, looking at me in apology.
“It’s fine, you take it.”
“It’s my assistant,” he says, taking his phone to his ear. “Tina.” He listens, his eyes squinting. “Thanks.” Hanging up, he turns his phone in his hold. “I have to go.”
“Me too.” I stand and swing on my coat. “But this was nice,” I add, the words coming from nowhere. “Short but nice.” I frown to myself as I collect my bag and Dec stands.
“Take your coat off.”
“What?”
“Your coat, Camryn. Take it off.”
“But I just put it on.” I glance down my front. “Because we’re leaving.” Returning my eyes to Dec, I see impatience past the glittery grey of his gaze. It’s beyond me why I do, but I place my bag on the table and slowly get out of my coat as Dec rounds the table and claims it. Then he moves in behind me and holds it up for me to slip my arms in. On an unsure smile, I do as I’m being silently bid, then I hold my breath when he moves into my back and reaches around me to tie the belt, virtually hugging me from behind. I savour his closeness. The feel of this man’s warmth.
His stubble grazes my cheek, his smell overwhelming me. “Now we can go,” he murmurs in my ear. He must feel my shudder. “Ready?”
No. No, I’m not ready. But I nod anyway, accepting my bag when he hands it to me, and let him lead me out of the deli. When he walks in the direction of Regent Street—therefore away from The Strand where he works—I tug him to a stop. “You don’t have to walk me back.”
“I want to.”
“But you have to go,” I remind him.
“I like walking with you, so I’ll walk with you.” He pulls me on, and I follow, at the mercy of his hand holding mine tightly. And I’m smiling again. It’s small, but it’s there.