Page 62 of Beautiful Liar

16

TAKE TWO

Fionnella’s text to me on Friday morning is the first warning that the dress rehearsal is over.

A driver will fetch you at seven pm. Be ready. Please ensure all the relevant ties are severed with discretion.

I read and reread the text, wondering if she believed me about Miguel. Perhaps she thinks we’re more than just co-workers? But the message makes me think of what to tell Sully. Granted, he never intimated his job offer would be permanent. He helped me out when I was in need. There will be a dozen others to take my place within a day.

But as I near Blackwood Tower, it’s neither Miguel nor Sully who occupy my mind. Today will be the last day I serve Quinn Blackwood. Will he invite me to lunch again, or will he request just coffee, like he did yesterday, instruct me to serve it at the coffee table in front of the sofa in his office, and drink it while sitting far too close to me?

Even now, I recall the brush of his thigh against mine; the sandalwood and male musk that flowed from his skin. The way his lower lip curved on the cup, his strong throat as he swallowed.

He still hasn’t asked me for the favor I owe him. And he won’t get the chance after today. The thought produces a spike of regret that unnerves me more than I know is wise to allow.

It’s enough to make me contemplate a different scenario for myself. One where I return to Blackwood Tower in a month’s time, and ask Sully for my job back. But then in a month, provided the shit show of variables fall into place, I’ll be too busy finding a way to talk Clayton into sparing my life in return for one million dollars to think about Blackwood Tower. And I’ll be trying to do all that with Clayton without placing myself anywhere in his orbit.

Or divulging the secret that’s locked tight in my heart.

Provided I manage to jump all those hurdles, then yes, I might give returning to Blackwood Tower and asking for my job back a try, so I can go back to lusting after its unattainable and questionably unstable CEO.

I half-snort as I change into uniform for my last day. Miguel is nowhere to be seen, which is a little surprising, but I secure my locker and head for Sully’s office.

The middle-aged man listens to me, a thoughtful frown in place, and shrugs when I’m done thanking him. “It’s no big deal. What I did for you, I hope someone else would’ve done for my kid. I’ll have a job on my hands to get someone for Mr. Blackwood though. He seems taken with you.”

My heart skips a beat. “I don’t think so.”

Sully smiles. “You know how many times the man’s had lunch in his office since he took over from his father three years ago?”

I shake my head.

“Far less than you think. And certainly not every day for a week like he has this past week.”

“I…I don’t think that was because of me.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Elly. The best things come in small packages. Or so my wife tells me.” He waves me away. “Go on, now. Make the best of your last day. And don’t forget to come pick up your pay when you’re done.”

The morning rushes by, probably because time, like the rest of my life, is determined to give me the finger, and before I know it, I’m standing in front of Quinn’s frosted doors. His EA, a sylph-like brunette with an expression as neutral as Switzerland, aims a remote at the door to release the lock.

“He’s not in yet, but he’s on his way up. He wants you to proceed as normal.”

I start to nod, but she’s already re-engrossed in her task. I wheel in the trolley and unload today’s offering of sushi and accompanying dishes. I’m setting down the crystal goblet containing bluefin tuna topped with Osetra caviar when I sense him behind me.

“Elly. Hello.”

I swallow and turn around. “Hello, Mr. Blackwood.”

Eyes as bright and deadly as the sun rake me up and down before they settle on my mouth. “Call me Quinn, please. Mr. Blackwood is a man who has the unhealthy habit of wanting to make his employees do things they may not want to,” he divulges in a stage whisper, sexy and pulse destroying.

My breath reacts accordingly. “Things like what?” I ask before I can stop myself.

He half-turns and throws his coat over the sofa. “Things I deem wise not to introduce before lunch, in case it turns your stomach.”

“I’m not delicate.”

For some reason, that reply invites that terrifying deathly stillness. Only his eyes move. He tracks my lips to my racing pulse. From my breasts to my hips to my feet and back up.

“Do you know how I feel about you, Elly?”

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