‘That was a good talk. A solid resolution,’ I tell him.
‘Solid being the operative word.’ He bites my lips. ‘Baby, this is five weeks’ worth of hard-on. I’m going to be solid all night.’
8
In some ways, three weeks flew over. Gregory nights were easy. He kept me more than a little busy. He’s been amazing. He’s spent at least two nights in Dubai each week, working from the penthouse suite. Non-Gregory nights haven’t been unbearable either. I’ve been crazy busy completing Mr Ghurair’s deal, or I’ve been helping Sandy plan.
I’m told it’s coincidence that just hours after Gregory returned to London three weeks ago, I received a call from Sandy saying she and Jackson have decided to get married. She explained away how they hadn’t previously thought about holding it abroad and how Lara has contacts in St Lucia so they could marry soon and it wouldn’t break the bank. And bysoon, she meant four weeks.
So here I am, sitting in a chair on one side of Neil Wallace’s desk, my first morning back in the London office. He’s pacing the floor on lanky legs, trying to keep his temper, switching between folding his arms across his blue shirt and huffily pushing his hands into the pockets of his black pinstripe trousers. Not only have I cut my secondment short, I’m now going on annual leave for two weeks from Thursday, seventy-two hours after returning from Dubai. I’m not sure if it’s the temperature of the room or the heat radiating from Neil that has my skin flushed and my hand fanning air against my cheeks each time he turns his back. Neil is a family man at heart but my explanation about having to be in St Lucia to walk my sub-mum down the aisle is falling on pissed-off ears.
‘Disappointed would be an understatement, Scarlett.’ He shakes his head of silver hair and halts in front of his desk, staring down at me.
One thing’s for sure: my career ladder has snapped in two. Hours of effort, slogging my arse off for the firm, big wins, expedited promotions. They mean nothing now because I just pissed off the man at the top of the tower, two times.
‘I’m sorry, Neil, honestly I am and it’s not something I’ve done before but, well, sometimes, family has to come first.’
There’s something I never thought I’d say to my boss.
He sighs, almost resigned, as if there’s an outside chance my words have resonated somewhere in his brain. ‘I won’t lie to you, Scarlett. This hasn’t done you any favours.’
I nod. ‘I know.’
* * *
It’s after eleven, dark, cold and wet when I leave the high-rise but I smile as soon as I see the Range Rover. It’s the first time Gregory has ever picked me up from work himself. Jackson is already in St Lucia.
I wheel my large suitcase through the disabled access door and Gregory pulls up the collar of his navy trench coat as he climbs out of the driver seat.
‘I had a feeling we might need boot space,’ he says.
He takes the suitcase I’ve struggled to lug through my office block and makes quick work of throwing it into the car whilst I run with my mac over my head to the passenger side.
‘Hi, you,’ I say with an enormous grin as he climbs behind the steering wheel.
‘Hi.’ He cups my cheek with his warm palm and presses his lips to mine. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you from the airport.’
‘That’s okay. I thought it would be best to face Neil sooner rather than later anyway.’
‘How did it go?’
I let out a short laugh and flop back in my seat as Gregory fastens my belt around my tired body. ‘I’m pretty sure my career with Saunders, Taylor and Chamberlain has reached a dead end.’
Gregory drops a peck to my brow, then buckles himself in and pulls out to the road too quickly. I press my body into the seat as heat climbs through the black leather, and I turn my head to look at my sexy CEO.
He casts me a quick glance as he takes a left turn. ‘If it was so bad, why are you smiling?’
‘Because something occurred to me whilst I was sitting in his office having my ears chewed off. Something I’ve never thought before.’
He glances to me again. ‘What’s that?’
‘It doesn’t matter what Neil Wallace has to say because at the end of the day, I get to come home to you.’
He focuses on criss-crossing with traffic over Blackfriars Bridge, heading south across the River Thames, but his lips turn up in a sexy half-smile and he reaches for my hand. He drives back to the Shard and carries everything for me, including my handbag, when we get out of the car.
‘Are you tired?’ he asks as we ride the lift to the sixty-fourth floor.
‘Mm,’ I say with sleepy eyes. ‘It’s almost four in the morning UAE time.’
