Elsa frowned. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything? Maybe tea?’ she said hesitantly, anxiety filming her eyes, as if she was afraid I’d say yes and confound her further.
‘No, thanks. Do you have any messages for me?’ I said, striving to keep my voice calm.
She looked down at the leather binder she always carried and back up at me. ‘Nothing that can’t wait—’
I held out my hand. ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’
She passed it over. I flipped it open, my heart racing as I perused the three neatly typed sheets containing my packed daily schedule. There was nothing about a meeting or call with Jensen Scott.
Bleak disappointment thudding through me, I handed back the binder, aware Elsa was staring at me.
‘Is there something specific I should be looking at?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Well...your first meeting is at nine. I’ll give you the usual ten-minute heads-up.’ She started to walk away.
‘Is Larry in? Do you know if he’s heard from Jensen Scott?’ I blurted before I could stop myself.
Elsa turned around, her eyes flaring with interest at the mention of Jensen’s name. I tightened my fist in my lap, attempting to breathe calmly so as not to give myself away.
‘Larry left for Jo’burg last Thursday. He’s taking his annual leave before he starts the next project. I emailed you about it last week.’
‘Can you liaise with his assistant and let me know the minute Mr Scott gets in touch?’ I said briskly, partly because I didn’t want Elsa to linger, and slip into one of her girly chats about Jensen.
It worked, my solemn mood filtering through to her. With a nod, she left my office. My hands shook as I laid them back on the desk.
Jensen had said he’d be in touch next week. It’d only been two days, for heaven’s sake. And yet it felt like a lifetime. I turned back to the window, irritated the rain was still falling, that it hadn’t turned into snow while my back was turned.
I was still standing there, fighting a losing battle with dejection, when Elsa returned with the promised ten-minute warning.
Get your head back in the game.
But my performance was perfunctory at best, only years of experience seeing me through the busy day. The magazine I was so passionate about, nurtured from an often disregarded five-page newsletter into an award-winning mechanism for charity, had lost its lustre. And I wasn’t sure whether to be terrified or shocked at my apathy.
In between meetings, I rabidly refreshed my inbox, hoping for an email from Jensen.
It didn’t arrive.
I held my breath each time Elsa entered my office with a message, each time a new email hit my inbox and I experienced a bolt of excitement, only to deflate when it wasn’t the one I yearned for. By Friday afternoon, I wanted to hate him for sticking to his word. For cutting me off so clinically.
But how could I when nothing had changed for me, except the searing sense of loss every time I thought about him? How selfish did it make me to long this desperately for a moment of joy on what should be a conclusion to a business transaction for the sole purpose of alleviating my loneliness?
An email pinged and my heart leapt. It wasn’t from Jensen, but Bryce’s name caused a different sort of excitement.
I know you’re thinking about joining us on the yacht for New Year’s, but do you fancy Christmas Day with us as well?
My fiancée insists you join us if you don’t have plans.
I would love to see you too.
Bryce
I read and re-read it, unable to stem the expanding hope in my chest.
In a moment of weakness a year ago while in New York, I’d had lunch with Savannah, and blurted out my desire to reconnect with Bryce. Her store opening had been the perfect opportunity to fly to Singapore to attempt to salvage things with Bryce. I’d come away with a suitcase full of exquisite lingerie and a growing hope that my relationship with my brother would be rekindled.
I fought back tears that sprung out of nowhere, daring to accept that things weren’t so hopeless with my brothers after all. I was dashing away tears when Elsa knocked and entered. She looked flustered, her eyes a little too bright. ‘Umm, sorry to disturb you, but Mr Scott’s just turned up. He says he has a meeting with you, but—’
I jumped up to my feet, despite the sudden nerves and the memories of our parting. ‘Where is he?’
‘I’m setting him up in the conference room, but you have an appointment in fifteen minutes.’
‘Cancel it,’ I blurted.
Her eyes widened as I rounded the desk and headed for the door. ‘Which of the conference rooms is he in?’ I asked, my heart slamming against my ribs.
‘Conference Room Three.’
I nodded, pleased. It was the most secluded one, the one with the best soundproofing. Which we wouldn’t need, of course, because this was purely a perfectly civil business meeting. A last meeting before we parted ways.
If you are so unaffected, then why is your heart racing? Why are you shaking?
I ignored the taunting voice, walked with measured strides to the door.
‘Umm... Miss Mortimer?’
‘Yes?’ I answered, impatience and anxiety ramping high. ‘Was there something else?’
Elsa nodded at my face. ‘You might want to fix your make-up.’
I grimaced and reversed direction, tossing my thanks over my shoulder as I headed to the private bathroom adjoining my office. When I saw my reflection, my jaw dropped in shock. I looked a mess. No wonder Elsa had been casting me concerned looks all day.
My mascara was smudged to clown-like proportions, my lipstick non-existent from stress nibbling. My hair looked as if I hadn’t brushed it in days.
Who cares? He’s seen you without make-up for three straight days.
That didn’t mean I wanted to present myself looking like a scarecrow.
I repaired my make-up, tugged a
