Page 26 of The Wrong Promise

She slides into the chair opposite me. “What time is our first meeting?”

I check my emails. “Ten o’clock.”

“If Grant asks me to do any more of his shit jobs, I’m resigning. I’ve been here long enough to get a promotion.”

“I think he likes you,” I offer with a smile.

“What? He grunts every time he speaks to me as though I’m wasting his time.”

“Some men are like that. If he’s getting your attention with shitty behavior, then he’ll keep being an ass.”

She fiddles with her long, blonde ponytail. “So, how do I get him to stop?”

I take a bite of her muffin and groan with pleasure. “Ignore him, so he needs to change his behavior to get your attention, or you tell him you don’t appreciate the way he speaks to you. If he continues, then go to HR. You don’t have to put up with his crap even if he likes you.”

Our coffees arrive, and she takes a sip. “He is kind of cute.”

No, he’s not.

“What’s the office policy here? Are relationships allowed?”

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

I’m not about to give her a lesson in heartbreak or losing your job because your male colleague dumped you and fake excuses were made for your dismissal. She is more than ten years younger than me and has a life of lessons ahead of her. However, I will warn her when the time is right.

I finish my coffee and stand. “I’m heading up as I need to start work. I’m finishing early as I have a …” What is it? “I’m meeting a friend for dinner.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“I’d rather stand barefoot on tar in one hundred and twenty degrees.”

She screws up her face. “How many?”

“Oh yeah, whatever it is in Celsius.” I need to study that more as I haven’t yet worked out the British metric system.

“So why are you going?” she asks, wiping milk froth from her lips.

I let out a sigh. “I agreed to the arrangement before I…”Before I knew how much money was involved? Before I thought it through?“It’s only one night,” I say more for my benefit. “I’ll see you in the office.”

When I walkinto Jobe’s penthouse that evening, there are boxes on the floor and dresses hanging on a wheeled rack.

What the…

He is nowhere in sight and presumably not yet home from work. I retrieve my cell from my bag to text him.

Why is there a rack of dresses here?

Before I get a chance to walk into the bathroom, he has sent a reply.

If you like any, keep them. Accessorize with the shoes, jewelry, and bags.

What is happening?

I throw my phone on the bed and head to the shower. By the time I have finished applying my makeup and styling my hair, there is still no word from Jobe.

I keep wiping my hands on my robe when I play outtonight in my head. What if I say something that’s inappropriate? Surely, this is doomed before we even start.

Out on the terrace, I stare at the view of London and the people walking near the river. The stone terrace calms my erratic mind. In the street below, I watch as a black sedan stops, and Jobe emerges from the back seat, then disappears from view, heading inside. A minute later, the door whooshes open, and he stops in his tracks when he sees me.

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