‘I know. Don’t worry. We’ll fix it.’
He drags a hand through his hair and slowly rolls his body to stand, looking tired.
‘Have you got plans?’ I ask, in a bid to improve his mood.
‘No,’ he snaps, making me regret the effort. ‘I don’t really know anyone here,’ he adds in a softer tone. ‘Microwave meal and biltong for one.’
‘We’ll go out sometime. I can introduce you to some people.’
‘Thanks but you’re a little old for me, Scarlett.’
My jaw drops open but I’m laughing, happy because finally, he’s smiling. ‘Get out, right now!’
He pauses at the door and turns back to me. ‘Listen, Scarlett, if—’ He stares at his feet. ‘Have a good night.’
‘You, too.’
I dim the lights once Stuart leaves, the glare of my computer screen becoming too much against the darkness surrounding the glass office. It’s deathly silent, the entire floor desolate. Perfect for reading and drafting. I didn’t realise the door hadn’t closed behind Stuart until a dark shadow in my peripheral vision makes me jump and squeal.
‘Shit! Paul. You scared the life out of me.’
‘Sorry, Scarlett.’ He steps into the office in his janitor get-up. He looks bigger than he did just a few weeks ago. He’s eating. ‘I call in to see Gregory on Mondays, if he’s around. Just, you know, to check in. I like him to see I’m on track.’
‘It’s good to see you,’ I say as my heart rate returns to normal. ‘How’s everything going?’
‘Good. Really good. Great, in fact. I feel like I’ve been thrown a lifeline, you know, and I’m going to make the most of it.’
‘Good for you. Well, Gregory isn’t in the office today but I can let him know you called by and you’re not slacking.’ I throw him a smile.
‘On that note, there are floors to be mopped. I guess I’ll see you around now you’re working here?’
‘Sure will.’
I get back to my emails. A two-page rant has dropped into my inbox from Shangzen’s lawyer, trying to negotiate what I’ve already told him is a deal breaker for GJR. I’m immersed in the detail of a reply when my phone rings and this time when I jump, I crash my knee off the underside of my desk.Damn, that hurt.
I look at the screen, which is pointless because there aren’t any numbers programmed into the phone yet.
‘Scarlett Heath.’
‘Scarlett, it’s Stuart. I left my fob on my desk. Could you come down to the ground floor and let me in?’
‘Erm, yes, sure. I’ll be down in a minute.’
Urgh, I’ll never get anything done.
It’s dark and cold waiting for the lift and I wish I’d pulled on my suit jacket, my blouse and skirt doing nothing to fend off the overzealous air conditioning. As I step into the lift, my phone rings again. This time, I recognise the number as Gregory’s but my signal cuts out as the lift doors close. By the time I reach the subdued lighting of the ground floor, I have a message announcing a voicemail.
Stuart is outside on the pavement on the other side of the glass doors, his shoulders hunched in the rain. A black limousine is parked by the curb, which strikes me as odd – not uncommon in London but unusual for this part of the city. My heels click on the marble floor as I wave to Paul, in full mopping mode, and hold my phone to my ear.
‘Scarlett.’ Gregory’s voice sounds panicked on the message. I step into the revolving door. ‘Stay at the office. I’m on my way. It’s Stuart. He’s involved.’
I drop the phone as I come face to face with Stuart.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says.
I’m yanked backwards.
A hand covers my mouth. Everything goes black.
