Page 26 of Pervade London
“Who hurt you?”
“My ex-employer didn’t want me to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m good at what I do. I worked for an organization that’s very influential.” He set his glass down. “Be right back.”
My curiosity was piqued. I wanted to know what kinds of things a man could accumulate in two days. Walking down a short hall, I reached an office that had three sleek computer monitors positioned on a long central desk. A leather swivel chair sat before it. I imagined Xander moving from one screen to the other as he multitasked. Maybe he was into stocks and shares. It would certainly explain where all his money came from.
The back wall had two shelves. The only picture displayed was of an attractive woman in her mid-forties. She looked so much like Xander.The lady was wearing wellies and a sleeveless green vest—posing in a quaint village and looking like the ultimate country lady with a black Labrador by her side. I peered closer, squinting, and read the sign on the post office’s wall. The town was Great Missenden.
With a jolt I realized Xander was standing at the door.
“I wasn’t snooping.”
He smiled. “I put our drinks in the sitting room.”
We made our way back and I picked up my wine glass from the coffee table. Then I strolled over to the window and stared out. The building opposite was just as dramatic as this one. Below was a row of the finest stores, people hurrying by.
“It’s an amazing view.”
“I like it.”
“This place is enormous.”
“You don’t make friends easily, do you?”
Feeling ashamed, I kept my focus on the street.
“That wasn’t a criticism, Em.” He walked over to me. “I’m the same way.”
“You are?”
“When I was growing up, I’d spend most of my time in this tree-house at the bottom of the garden. At night I’d hear all these weird noises. We lived in this Old Vicarage and I was convinced it was haunted. Overactive imagination.”
“I believe in ghosts,” I said.
“I grew out of all that. Now I believe in science.” He shook his head. “You can see why I’m crap at parties.”
“Was that photo in your office of your mum?”
He flashed a wary look my way.
“She’s beautiful.”
“When my parents realized their son was different, they put me in boarding school.”
“How were you different?”
“I learned to read at the age of two.”
“You were a toddler?”
“Yes, I was solving complex math equations at that age, too.”
“Seriously?”
He nodded, beaming. “I was a hoot at Tesco’s, apparently. Telling everyone in the checkout line how much they could expect to be paying for their groceries.”
