Something sparks in his eyes, but he turns and walks out without saying a word.
17
SULLIVAN
“Your father calledwhile you were in your meeting. He wanted to know if you had your usual plans this evening?”
Cara’s attention snags on the trash can in the corner, and the mounting pile of takeaway coffee cups inside it as she stands in the doorway of my office.
It’s Thursday. My father will be wondering if he’s keeping Molly tonight for a sleepover. It’s been a few weeks since I participated in my usual Thursday night activities at The Lanceford. Natasha calling, the deal with Fabienne, then hiring Tate and all the trouble that’s come with that… all mean that I haven’t even thought about going there.
“I’ll call him back,” I reply as I continue typing an email.
Cara’s continued presence makes me glance up, and she mistakes our brief eye contact as an invitation to approach my desk.
“I love your office,” she hums, gazing out of the floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase the city in all its glory. “You should turn your desk around so you’re facing the view. It’s pretty incredible from here.”
I ignore her. She’s been here long enough to know why I would never do that. The position of my desk gives me a direct line of sight into the opposite office where Molly plays when she’s here.
Cara rounds the desk and stops beside me, resting her ass against the glass top. Strong musky perfume wafts around her like a cloud and she leans a little closer.
“Are you okay? You look tense?”
I stop typing and let out an irritated sigh.
“I could help. I’m good at massage. I did a course.” She places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes it gently through my shirt.
“Do you have Miss Miller’s new number?”
“The coffee girl?” She wrinkles her nose. “No, why do you?—”
“In that case, you can get back to work. Close the door on your way out.”
She yanks her hand away immediately and collects herself with a brief, embarrassed sniff. “Of course, Mr. Beaufort. Please excuse me.”
The door clicks behind her, and I sink back in my seat, steepling my fingers beneath my chin. With any luck, Arabella will return to work soon. That’ll solve two problems. Firstly, Cara will be gone, and I’ll no longer question whether she’s about to drop to her knees and offer to suck my dick in my office. A line I would never cross with an employee. I have the suite at The Lanceford for a reason. And secondly, I will no longer need to consider who can help with Molly, seeing as Miss Miller is intent on playing this silly little game of coffee bingo with me.
Five days. Five numbers. Minus the weekend because she wasn’t on shift. I asked Cliff to drive by and check.
I’m down to the final two digits before I have her entire phone number. Her boss already blockedmy office and mobile numbers from their landline, so I’ve had to resort to playing along. I should have bought their damn building. Then they’d have had to unblock my number. But the paperwork would have taken too long.
I want her back now.
I run my steepled fingers over my lips and stare at my desk phone. Those final two digits would mean what? One hundred possible combinations? And that’s if the numbers I’ve already collected have been provided in the correct order.
Twenty minutes until my next meeting starts.
I sit forward and grab the phone, punching in the first five memorized digits.
I clear my throat as Cliff opens the rear door.
Fifty-seven minutes, uncounted wrong numbers, three guys who swore at me before hanging up, one death threat if I called back, and one lonely woman who kept me talking for eleven minutes about her pet parrot’s bowel movements.
But I did it.
I’m here.
She’s here.
