“How are you dear?” Mr. Connell asks me.
“I’m fine thank you. How are you feeling?” I reply.
“A lot better thank you,” Mr. Connell says. He lowers his voice and grins conspiratorially at me. “I just need to convince Yvonne I’m not about to drop dead and then everything can go back to normal.”
I laugh quietly and shake my head. I feel relieved that he’s joking around with me. Whatever has happened between Mr. Connell and Brett to cause this awful atmosphere has nothing to do with me.
“Right, let’s get down to business then. Brett informs me we have several new clients. Why don’t we start by you filling me in on them, Opal?”
I nod, happy to be getting down to business. I start to tell Mr. Connell about the new clients – who they are, what their businesses entail, what we’re doing for them, and perhaps most importantly, how it affects our bottom line. The whole time I’m talking, I can feel Brett’s eyes on me. I try to ignore his gaze, but it’s hard and a couple of times, I stutter a little as I talk.
Mr. Connell doesn’t comment on my stuttering.
The more I glance up and catch Brett’s eyes on me, the more conscious I am of the feel of him looking at me when I’m not looking back at him. It makes me feel good. There is no animosity in his look and it makes me think that maybe, just maybe, I am having an effect on him after all. This thought takes me to a dangerous place. A place where I allow myself to believe we can get past our blip and go back to how things were this time last week. Well, more accurately, how things were this time last week plus a couple of hours when we were at the dinner party and beyond it.
“Right, I think that about sums everything up,” I say, a half hour later when I’ve briefed Mr. Connell on everything and gotten a glass of lemonade provided by Mrs. Connell. I glance over at Brett. “Unless you have anything to add?”
“No,” he says coldly.
“Ok, what’s going on here?” Mr. Connell says, looking at Brett and then at me. “You’re being rude to Opal, Brett, and you Opal, can barely string a sentence together without stuttering and spluttering. What’s happened between you two?”
“N-nothing,” I say quickly, feeling my face warm. How the hell has he jumped to the conclusion that something has happened between us, just from this? The atmosphere in the room was bad before I even stepped into it, and if anything, it’s thawed slightly since I came in. How can he blame this on me?
“I’m not convinced. Have you two been fighting about something?” Mr. Connell says. “Brett? Opal? Someone tell me what I’m missing here.”
Brett smirks.
I blush again. Of course Mr. Connell didn’t mean something like sex happened between us. He thinks we hate each other. He thinks Brett is looking at me so intensely because he hates me, and that I’m stuttering and spluttering because I’m very much aware of that. And Brett is smirking because the blush on my cheeks gave away exactly where my mind went.
“Honestly Mr. Connell, everything’s great between us,” I reassure him. “Right, Brett?”
“Right,” Brett agrees.
“Hmm,” Mr. Connell says. “Why don’t I believe that? Anyway, it’s not something I’m going to press you on, but I will say this. Whatever you two think of each other, it had better not affect any clients.”
I just nod.
“Thank you for coming Opal. You’ve been very helpful. Please leave the files there, so I can go through them later. That will be all.”
Standing, I leave the files in a neat pile on a small coffee table. “Thanks Mr. Connell. I hope you’re feeling a lot better soon.”
Brett stand as I start to leave.
“Actually Brett, there’s something else I want to talk to you about,” Mr. Connell says.
Brett sighs and sits back down.
I am out of the study and free of the terrible atmosphere. I breathe a sigh of relief as I make my way back along the hallway and outside. It’s a nice day and I debate getting the bus back into town and then walking home, but I have no idea what time the buses run here, or even where I would catch one. I don’t want to go back in and disturb Mrs. Connell. I will have to get a cab.
Opening my purse, I start digging around for my phone, pushing aside the pages and pages of hand written notes. I have finally gotten my hand on my phone when I hear a car engine. I look up as a black Mercedes pulls up at the curb and the window goes down.
“Are you calling a cab?” Brett asks, nodding towards the phone in my hand.
I nod.
“Don’t bother. Get in and we’ll take you home,” he says.
I open my mouth to tell him no thank you, but movement catches my eye. I turn to look and see Mrs. Connell watching us out of the window. I really don’t want her to mention to Mr. Connell that I refused a lift from her son. Instead, I smile and nod. “Thanks.” I walk around to the other side of the car as Brett’s window slides back up. I get in and Brett gives his driver my address.
We pull away and Brett starts to speak, “You’ll never guess what my father wanted me to hang back for.”
He’s right, I wouldn’t and I am curious, especially when Brett was only in there a couple of minutes after I left. “What?”
“He reminded me of how valuable you are to the company and told me off for pissing you off.”
I can’t help but smile at the thought of Mr. Connell telling Brett I’m valuable to him. “Why were you so angry at me in there?” I ask.
“I wasn’t angry at you. I was angry at him. I realize you probably thought I was staring daggers at
