Page 35 of The Invitation

Abbie blows out her cheeks. “What do you want me to say, Amelia? You’re attracted to him. He’s obviously attracted to you.”

“I just broke up with someone,” I grate. “I have to make partner.”

“You think sleeping with Mr. Hot as Fuck will change that?”

I laugh under my breath. Yes, actually, he could, because I can’t seem to stop thinking about him, and I can’t imagine that problem improving if I give in to his persistence and take what he’s going to give.

So I won’t.

Be sensible.

“Want some help?” I ask. I can’t go back to Abbie’s, and I have nothing else to do. Except work, and I’m not in the right headspace.

And there’s my point. One phone call from the God and I’m a mess.

Abbie smiles, takes my shoulders, and puts me behind the cash register. “You can take the money,” she says, throwing me a colourful floral apron withFlora Floraemblazoned across the bib. “Corey will show you how to work the card machine. I’ve got to get the flowers out of the fridge ready for the wedding.”

I smile my thanks and shove my bag under the counter, faltering when my phone rings. Abbie raises her brows.

“He’s determined, I’ll give him that.”

“Or his ego’s too inflated to lose,” I muse, fighting back the mental images of him to the corners of my mind.

He calls a further five times that day.

I answer none.

Chapter 10

My lungs burning, I slow my pace down to a jog and grab the towel off the handles of the treadmill, wiping my forehead and checking the time. Six a.m. The bank of TV screens before me change in perfect sync fromSky NewstoGood Morning Britain, and I smile, exhaling. I’m feeling more like myself after spending the rest of the weekend at my parents’ helping with all things wedding and then immersing myself in work. He hasn’t tried calling again since Saturday night. It’s now Wednesday. He’s finally given up, and it’s a relief. I don’t trust myself around him, as proven on numerous occasions. My body just ... answers him. Sensibility be damned.

A staff member appears in front of me, arms crossed over his inflated chest.

“There’s no one else here yet, Chris,” I say, retrieving my phone from the band on my arm, now walking briskly. “We agreed six thirty.”

“The boss is in early, and no one but you wants to hear about the financial world while they’re working out.”

I glance around at the empty gym. “But they want to hear the doom and gloom of the real world, do they?”

“The stock market isn’t doom and gloom?”

“It wasn’t at close of play yesterday.” I smile. “And high risk is paying off. Galactia hit gold.” I open my screen and smile at the beautiful green numbers that greet me.

“Galactia?”

“There’s been whispers for months that they’re onto something.”

“Gold?”

“Oil, Chris.” And now my risky investments have paid off. I’m looking forward to the flurry of calls from my clients singing their joy.

“You said they’d hit gold.”

“Never mind.” I sigh, slowing to a stop and swiping my screen to check my emails. One’s already landed from Mr. Gibbs, who surfs the chat rooms and watches the stocks as keenly as I do. Typically, clients hand over their cash and let me crack on. Not Mr. Gibbs. He’s a constant stream of updates, not that I need them. I often ask myself why he lets me play with his money when he’s clearly got the time to do it himself. I’m not complaining. He’s a chunky percentage of my clients’ wealth and a step closer to smashing my numbers. And making partner. I quickly reply to him and hop off the treadmill to go shower. It’s a long day ahead.

The finance conference.

A great networking opportunity and a chance to pick Gary’s brain discreetly about where the senior partners are at in their search for the new partner. Plus, Tilda Spector will be there. My stomach flutters with anticipation for today and the opportunities ahead. I need to be on my A game, hence my stupidly early visit to the gym.

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