Page 7 of Gold Digger
“Shit,” Ollie muttered, finally releasing Giles to reach for me and steady me by gently supporting both my arms under my elbows.
“I think I’m gonna be sick.” I’d barely managed to get the whispered words out before his arm was around me, and I was being propelled across the room. When I stumbled, he lifted me so he was practically carrying me. I felt too awful to pull away, so I just let myself be pulled against his chest, trying to breathe in his glorious aftershave and block out the smell of red wine, but it was just too overpowering. Instead of going into the public toilets, he took me through a door markedStaff Only, down a small corridor and into a large office. Thank the Lord, there was an ensuite bathroom. I pushed away from Ollie and flew into it, slamming the door behind me, and then I re-experienced my lunch in reverse, beyond caring that Ollie was only just behind the door and could hear me retching. At least I hadn’t had time for dinner tonight – that was something.
When I was done, I flushed the toilet and managed to wash out my mouth at the sink but felt another wave of nausea as I smelt the red wine again. There was a reason I couldn’t drinkalcohol – the smell brought back such horrendous memories it wasn’t worth it. But now, with my entire shirt soaked, I couldn’t get away from it. Without thinking I ripped my shirt off, threw it into the corner of the bathroom, grabbed the hand towel off the rail next to me and sank down onto the cold tiles with it clutched to my chest.
“Lottie?” I heard his deep voice through the door. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I whispered, too low for him to be able to hear. “I’m not okay. My life is a total shitshow, and I have no idea how to claw my way out.”
I closed my eyes and let one tear fall down my cheek. Just a few moments of self-pity. I’d go back to being a “strong, competent, capable caregiver” after that. I snorted. If social services could see me now, they’d restart all their applications to have Hayley taken from me.
“Please, Lottie,” he said, concern threaded through his tone now. “Just let me know you’ve not passed out in there.” Another tear slipped down my cheek, and I didn’t trust myself to speak. “Lottie,” his voice was firmer now. “Answer me, or I will come in anyway.”
Oh shit. I swallowed and tried to get my throat to work, but it was too late. The door swung open, and his huge frame filled the doorway. I swiped at my cheeks, but I knew it was too late. Crying on the bathroom floor in a wine-soaked bra was a new low, even for me.
“Hey,” he said softly as he crouched down in front of me.
“Hey,” I managed to choke out. He glanced at the shirt I’d thrown into the corner, then back at me. I clutched the towel tighter around me.
“I can’t stand the smell of alcohol,” I explained, my voice hoarse. He cocked his head to the side.
“Unusual career choice working in a bar then,” he said through a small, teasing smile.
I snorted. “Ha. Career choice. You’re funny.” People like me didn’t makecareer choices. People like me took what work we could get to survive. But then he wouldn’t understand that. I flinched when he stood up in a sudden movement and then my mouth dropped open when he started undoing his tie.
“What are you doing?” I managed to get out in a horrified whisper. His suit jacket was the next to go. He chucked it onto the floor of the bathroom. I caught sight of the Armani label and gritted my teeth. Here I was, stressing about how my only decent white shirt was covered in red wine, and he threw Armani suit jackets worth thousands of pounds onto dirty tiles without a second thought.
“Here,” he said. I turned my attention from his jacket to look back up at him, and I stopped breathing altogether.
His shirt was off.
Dear God, his shirt was off, and I knew I should be horrified but I had never seen any man this perfect. Well aware that I should be screaming in this situation, my mouth stayed firmly closed. My eyes roamed over the bunched muscles of his biceps, his broad chest down to his defined abs. When I managed to force my gaze to his face, he was trying to suppress a smile.
“I’m not that kind of girl,” I whispered, and he rolled his eyes.
“Lottie, I’m not getting undressed to assault you in a bathroom after you’ve just been assaulted in my bar. I’m offering you my shirt. If you’ve quite finished checking me out, you could take it.” I blinked and then realised that, yes, he was holding his shirt right in front of my face; I’d just been too fixated on his body to notice it. I cleared my throat.
“I can’t take your shirt. I’ll get wine on it.”
“Take it, Lottie.”
Realising that really this was my only choice, I clutched the towel to me with one hand and used the other to take the shirt. He moved back as soon as I’d taken it from him as if to emphasise his lack of interest in assaulting me. My face flushed with heat. Ofcoursehe wasn’t propositioning me. As if he needed to proposition anyone. The man was in the top fifty eligible bachelors in the country, according toHello!magazine.
Wow, I really needed to stop Googling my employer.
“Thanks,” I said, my voice low and defeated. “For everything.”
He snatched his jacket and tie off the floor before focusing back on me. “Put on the shirt and stay in the office. Do not go back out onto the floor. I’ll be back.” With that, he swept out of the room, and I heard the office door slam behind him.
“Right,” I whispered. “Woman up, Forest.” I pulled off my heels and pushed up onto my feet. His shirt was massive on me. It fell to my knees, and I had to roll the sleeves up a ridiculous number of times to find my hands. I picked up my shoes, glanced at my ruined top but couldn’t bring myself to pick it up yet. When I limped out of the bathroom, I came to an abrupt halt. The blonde woman from earlier was standing in the middle of the office staring at me, still looking immaculate.
“Er… hi,” I said.
“Hi,” she returned but then just kept staring at me.
“Right, I’m gonna go, so?—”
“Ollie doesn’t want you to go.”
