Chapter 45
The summer sun beats through the floor-to-ceiling triple-glazed windows at Beckett Deluxe Design Agency. I wish to God I was on annual leave. I’m swelteringly hot. I feel enormous. My ankles are starting to swell like an elephant. And turns out baby brain is a real thing. Yesterday, I found my TV remote in the fridge.
Tate paces the corridor towards my office like a restless panther, while Nico perches his pert ass on the side of my desk and fires questions at me about the casino project like he’s auditioning for The Weakest Link. ‘So… are we going with matte black fittings or brushed brass?’ His hands flap enthusiastically in front of his face. The man was born to perform. Clearly, he missed his true calling in life. ‘Do we want warm white LED strip lighting or do we lean into the whole moody, masculine vibe? And what about the signature scent? Tobacco and honey? Tonka and leather? Vanilla bourbon? California sunshine?’ He waggles his eyebrows at me.
‘We’re not calling the scent “California sunshine”, Nico. It sounds like a dodgy vape flavour,’ I mutter, flipping through the sample boards on my desk.
He snorts. ‘Fine. But we have to go with something spectacular. This is the most prestigious project we’ve ever taken on. I mean, I’m sure Cole’s going to tell you he loves it, because, you know, you’re shagging him, but we want to really wow him with our work as well as your sexual prowess p>
‘Nico.’ I shoot him a warning look, fanning myself. I need to install aircon for the three days a year we actually get good weather in Dublin.
‘Sorry. You’re dating him,’ he corrects, eyes twinkling. ‘The sexiest client we’ve ever had, who also happens to be the richest man I’ve ever met, and possibly the hottest. Sorry, Zara, but facts are facts p>
I rub my temples.
I love Nico, but Jesus Christ, I’m too uncomfortable for his teasing today.
‘I want it to be perfect,’ I say quietly. ‘Not because of who he is… but because I want him to walk into that casino and know that I understand him. That I understand his world. And his tastes p>
And because I want him to be proud of me. Impressed even. He’s super successful in his own right, but so am I, and this is my chance to prove why. Obviously I don’t say that part out loud.
Before Nico can launch into his next interrogation, Felstead enters the office. He’s as sullen as ever. ‘The tech guy is here,’ he announces, jerking his head towards the floor below. ‘Network updates. Something about the server hardware being overdue an inspection p>
‘That was fast,’ I murmur, glancing at the time. ‘We only logged a service ticket last week p>
‘I granted him access to the server room.’ Felstead holds up his security badge. Only Tate, he and I have level-three access. No external contractor can get in without an escort.
‘Thanks.’ I nod, and Felstead spins on his heels, retracing his footsteps along the corridor.
Nico leans over my desk. ‘You know, I still think he’s gay,’ he whispers. ‘That’s why he’s so miserable all the time. He’s sexually repressed. I could help him if he’d let me p>
‘I think he just enjoys being miserable. Some people do.’ My stomach twists for no logical reason as I stare at Felstead’s retreating back.
‘Right, where were we before we were questioning Felstead’s sexuality?’ Nico slaps a mood board in front of me, oblivious to my confusion.
‘You were questioning Felstead’s sexuality,’ I remind him.
‘Oh yes,’ he clicks his fingers. ‘So what do you think p>
‘I think we’re here to work. Let’s get back to the casino p>
‘Spoilsport,’ Nico pokes his tongue out at me. ‘So, are we going high-gloss black marble in the VIP lounge, or is that too… morgue chic? Wait—actually, I’ve got it. Zebra marble. Very decadent. Very villain-core. Very Cole p>
I blink at him. ‘Villain-core p>
‘Have you seen your boyfriend? He may be blond and beautiful, but with those icy blue eyes he looks kind of lethal too. He has an edge about him, you know? A kind of raw intensity. What’s he like in bed p>
‘Nico,’ I hiss.
He grins.
We spend the next hour discussing colours, textures, the subtle curves of the casino bar. The lighting. My head feels ready to explode.
My eyes drift to my diamond encrusted Rolex. Simon Slater should be here any minute. Of all the days, why does today—the hottest day of the year so far—have to be the one I agreed to stay late?
I open the door and beckon Tate over from where he’s still pacing the floor. ‘Is there a fan in this building anywhere? I feel like I might faint.’ I grab a sample and use it to fan some air in front of my face.
Tate stalks forward, concern creasing his face. ‘There used to be upstairs in the kitchen. I’ll go check it out. You haven’t eaten for a few hours, either. You should get something before Slater arrives. You…’ he turns to Nico. ‘Go to the deli at the end of the road and fetch her a bagel with peanut butter. Get me one too. Take Felstead with you. Tell him to stop at that electronics shop and pick up two more fans just in case I can’t find the other one. And for fuck’s sake, keep your questions about his sexuality to yourself.’ Tate strolls out of my office.
Nico rolls his eyes. ‘When did I become his PA, and not yours p>
I reach for my lipstick and reapply it. I might be two stone heavier than is comfortable, but I can still make a little effort with my appearance for a new client. Especially one with a chain of bespoke cocktail bars throughout the country.
I check my watch again. It’s after six. ‘I wish Slater would hurry up. The quicker we get him in, the quicker we can get him out p>
‘What happened to my workaholic friend?’ Nico teases.
‘She prefers being at home being worked by her hot, lethal boyfriend.’ I fire him a wink.
Nico saunters out with his hands in his pockets. ‘Back shortly,’ he calls over his shoulder.
I fluff my hair, rock back in my chair and smooth down the light dove-grey dress I picked out this morning. I’ll probably only get another week out of it before it won’t do up anymore.
I check my watch again.
Come on Slater.
I’m dying to get out of here. Dying to get to Cole.
My phone vibrates on my desk. I snatch it up eagerly. Every fibre in my being assures me it’s him. We have this weird telepathic like connection. I literally think about him and he texts.
I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes.
Love you x
Thirty minutes is optimistic, but I’ll do my best.
I’m typing a reply when Killian’s name flashes up on my screen.