Page 64 of Forever Not Yours

“You look awful. Go home,” she said, staring out the window.

“Have to go speak to Faye and get this all set up. I’m taking two—”

“Four,” Juliet cut in. “I need four. Maybe six or even eight weeks. You work from home and then we reassess. Faye will be your eyes and ears here, and you do the work. I don’t want to see your sorry arse. And in the future…”

“Yes?”

She stood up and walked around her desk. I stood up too, half in fear, because she had that look. And now she was too close, her chest against mine, her manicured finger under my chin.

“If, in the future, I decide to have you back in the office, and if, in the future, you let Jacob destroy your pathetic skinny arse, you make sure you can sit down in a chair before you turn up for meetings. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.” I grinned.

“Mr Thurrock’s assistant called me and was clearly scandalised. Accused me of mismanaging my staff and failing to call the paramedics. Thought you had broken your back.”

“Oh, for fuck’s—”

“She did. Filed an official complaint et al. Had to have a private conversation with Mr Thurrock himself over lunch at the Ivy finally to calm her tits. I told her you’d had a minor surgical procedure and were still healing, but that your commitment to the Thurrock fund and its growth was your primary concern over your own health.”

“I know how much you hate lunch at the Ivy.”

“You do.”

“Great sacrifice on my behalf, and I’m grateful.”

“So you should be, you ungrateful brat.”

“So, I’ll see you in four weeks?”

“Six. At least. Don’t call me. Don’t show up. I’ll communicate with Faye. Just give me that please, Bash.”

“Consider it done,” I promised.

I walked over to the door. She returned to her seat. All like normal.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Go away,” she said brusquely.

I got it. Fuck, I did.

Faye didn’t, though, when I waltzed into my office demanding her services and she flatly refused to get me a smoothie.

“Bastard,” she said instead, sitting in my office chair like she’d already signed on for my job. “I’ve spent the last hour going over the Chan account and can’t make any sense of your interest calculations. Balanced against the tax offset—”

“Wrong file.” I walked around the desk and tapped the keyboard. “Had to redo it all and encrypted it in a different place.”

“How on earth am I supposed to help you when you do shit like that?”

“I need to set up a different security key, so I can access these things remotely.”

“Why, so you can do… You’re doing what?”

“Not sure.” I sat down in my own visitor’s chair. Like a guest. Funny how it felt kind of good. Less responsibility.

“Change of plans for the next few weeks.”

“I hope that includes you getting some sleep. You look absolutely awful. There are creams for those bags under your eyes, but I’m not sure anyone can pickout the correct foundation to cover that grey on your skin.”

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