Page 45 of The Invitation

“It’s so good.” I’m getting vodka, lychee, a bit of pineapple.

“Tell me about it. He was right.”

“Who was?”

“The very impressive male who welcomed us to Arlington Hall. This is the Hey Jude.”

I look at the glass. “Oh.” And feel eyes on me immediately. Jude’s by the doors. And he looks furious. He’s definitely not licking his wounds. No. He’s preparing for battle.Fuck.

I place the glass down—a further rejection—as Jude watches, and get back to Tilda. “So, you’re winding down?”

She laughs, relaxing back. “Yes, I’ve done my time, earnt my stripes. I have other things I want to pursue, and now it would seem the vultures are out to circle the meat on offer.”

Oh God, I hope she doesn’t see me as one of those vultures. “I’m sure.” I smile tightly.

“You’re not a vulture, Amelia. That’s why I like you. Have you ever considered a mentor?” she asks. “I don’t mean someone to tell you how to do business, but more how to develop in your career. You’ve clearly got what it takes. I guess what I’m saying is personal growthis as important as actually winning business and keeping it. What are your boundaries, your principles, your goals for your clients, your own personal goals? That kind of thing. Give me one of your goals.”

I’m struggling to concentrate with Jude’s burning gaze on me. “I want to make partner.”

“Why?” she fires back. “What are you trying to prove and to who?”

I bite my lip. “I want to prove to myself that I’ve got what it takes. That my decision to pass on other opportunities was worth it.”

She smiles knowingly. Tilda knows my father. Tilda knows everyone. “Don’t waste time trying to prove others right. You’re the head of your own personal boardroom, Amelia. Choose who you invite into that room carefully.” She stands, and my gaze rises with her. “It’s been a pleasure chatting with you.”

“And you, Tilda.”

She walks away, and despite not having achieved what I set out to, I feel like I’ve taken so much from that conversation. And while it makes me happy, it also saddens me that my father has never encouraged me or offered such valuable advice.

I sigh and look at the cocktail on the table before me. I hate that it was delicious. Delicious like the man it’s founded on. And I hate that I desperately want another taste. I chew the edge of my lip, my eyes following the source of heat. He hasn’t moved, not his body or his eyes, his stance wide, his hands in his pockets.

“So, what’s the lowdown?” Leighton drops into the seat Tilda just vacated and leans in toward me, his elbows resting on his knees, totally invading my personal space.

I lean back and narrow one eye. “You want me to relay the conversation I just had with Tilda Spector?”

“Sure, we’re friends, aren’t we?” He cocks a smile I’m sure many women would find appealing. Unfortunately for Leighton, I know him.

“Friends?” I ask.

He pouts, coming that little bit closer. “Or more, if that’s what you’re looking for. I heard you’ve recently become single.”

I laugh under my breath. He would totally fuck his way to the top. Do whatever it takes. Screw people over, tread all over them. Yes, you have to be ruthless, but something Tilda just said has resonated.You’re the head of your own personal boardroom, Amelia. Choose who you invite into that room carefully.

“More?” I ask, moving in closer to Leighton, making sure my smile is demure. I’m not Leighton’s type. I have a brain, for a start, which is why I know not to go anywhere near him, not in my personal lifeormy business life. I just have to endure him at work until I no longer have to endure him.

His eyes fall to my lips. “More,” he whispers. “I’m sure there’s a room available at this swanky place.”

He makes me sick. But I don’t have the chance to tell him to fuck off. He’s suddenly moving back rapidly, falling to his arse, his drink going everywhere. I gasp, seeing his chair clatter across the floor. And then a body appears in front of me, and my gaze climbs the length of it until I’m staring into a raging pair of dark-teal eyes. His jaw ticks as he holds me in my chair with a lethal glare.

It’s another side to Jude Harrison.

“What the fuck?” Leighton yells, rolling around like a beetle on his back.

“My apologies,” Jude grates, slowly turning that stare onto him. “My foot caught the leg of your chair.” He offers a hand. “Let me help you up.” He sounds like he’s ready to slaughter Leighton, not help him up.

Leighton accepts, and Jude hauls him to his feet as one side of Leighton’s body seems to shrink. He laughs nervously. “No problem,” he squeaks. Is he in pain? Then he hisses, looking at Jude’s hand wrapped around his.

Jude releases and reveals a limp limb that’s had all the life and blood squeezed out of it. What the hell does he think he’s doing? I stand, smoothing down the front of my dress, and Jude moves in close, hisfront to mine, just off centre. My eyes are on his shoulder. His head is held high, his hands restrained in his trouser pockets.

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