“How much?” I bark, snapping my gaze away from her as Rafael tells me a number that makes me want to get on a plane and fly over to London so I can punch him in the jaw.
“Just making sure you were listening,” he drawls with a soft chuckle.
I shove a lid on my takeaway cup as the redhead places it on the counter.
“Oh, I’m listening. Now it’s your turn, jackass. Call me back when you’re ready to talk real numbers.”
I hang up, cutting off his deep, throaty laugh. This is how we operate. He gives me a number. I call him some choice names that I wouldn’t use in front of Molly. We volley back and forth until we both think the other is an asshole, but that we were the one who got the better deal.
A perfect business relationship. And friendship.
I slide my phone back in my suit pocket.
“Sullivan?”
I look up into the eyes of a woman with long blonde hair wearing a patterned workout crop top and tights.
“Hello.” I flash a brief smile with just enough warmth in it that it will appear like I recognize her.
Her flirty smile and glint in her eyes tell me we must have fucked once.
“Nonfat chai for Jemima!” the redhead in the ill-fitting uniform calls.
“Jemima,” I say smoothly. “Nice to see you. Have a good day.”
I nod politely and move to sidestep her. That call with Rafael has got me fired up and ready to unleash hell. I bet my accountant will have some choice words for him too when I inform him of the ludicrous figure the bastard gave me.
“Sullivan?” Jemima reaches out, placing her hand over my jacket sleeve. Her expression is one of unconcealed eagerness as I turn back to her. “Maybe we could have dinner soon? Catch up?”
One side of her glossed lips curl.
I narrow my eyes as images of those lips begging me to fuck her throat a couple of months ago flash back to mind. But that’s all I’ve got.
“Sounds wonderful,” I lie, injecting disappointment into my tone. “But we’ve just launched a new line at work. Things are busy right now.”
“Oh.” Her face falls before her brows pop back up. “I could come to your office and bring lunch? I’m free tomorrow.”
“I’m having lunch with my daughter tomorrow,” I tell her. Not a lie this time.
“That sounds great. I love kids.” She beams.
Irritation prickles up my spine and my fingers tighten around my coffee.
“My daughter isn’t good with new people,” I say, walking away before she can respond.
As I push through the door and out onto the street, her raised voice hits the back of my navy suit jacket.
“Call me!”
5
SULLIVAN
One dayof getting my own coffee becomes three. Turns out Arabella’s Mom’s foot wasn’t a small matter, but gangrene brought on by her diabetes. I’ve given her leave for a couple of weeks and hired a temp to fill in as my PA.
The new PA is fine—a young woman from an agency who’s slipped seamlessly into the role. It’s not Arabella’s absence at work that’s the problem. It’s the extra help she gave me with Molly. Sitting with her during meetings when I had to bring her in. Picking her up from my father’s. Taking her home on nights when work ran late, despite my best efforts to leave on time.
Between myself, my father, and Sinclair, we’ve managed over the past two years. Molly came into all of our lives like a thunderbolt, giving us something positive to focus on after losing my mother and brother. I was adamant I didn’t want her going to daycare or a babysitter. I wanted family and friends to be the ones to care for her until she can start pre-k at age four. The idea of her being someplace unfamiliar brings back unwelcome memories of crying boxes discarded in hallways.
