My brain urges me to fill the silent gap as we head out the door toward the waiting black Mercedes. I’m desperate to bridge the conversation, but I hold steady, maintaining eye contact and not flinching when he shifts, rolls his eyes, and says, “I could probably do, like, five minutes.”
He grasps the cup holder in one hand and opens the car door for me with the other.
My fingers wrap around the car door as I step around him. “Twenty,” I counter, slipping into the warm seat.
He rounds the car, opening the opposite door and sliding into the backseat before looking at me with a playful smile. “You know that’s not how negotiating works, right? You can’t just say the same thing.”
We speed down the winding roads past the massive pools of muddy water I just familiarized myself with.
After a few minutes of admiring the lush scenery, I turn back to Oliver who is doing the same.
He shifts before turning his face toward me. “I can do five minutes.”
We stare at each other, both too stubborn to give in. The car screeches to a halt, and before I know what’s happening, Oliver’s arm springs out over my clavicle, stopping me and my drinks from flying forward into the seat in front.
“Merde!” we hear the driver shout as he jumps out of the car onto the road.
“You okay?” Oliver asks, slightly out of breath, his hair disheveled over his forehead.
Before I can answer, a cacophony ofbaas reach the backseat of the car. We glance out the windows, then at each other.
I unclip my seat belt, put my coffees next to his in the holder, and open the car door before saying, “Ten minutes.”
He follows me out, watching as I join the driver in trying to usher an entire flock of sheep around the car and off the road. “What are you doing?” he shouts over the ruckus.
“Helping,” I grunt as I run after a lamb who is happily trotting in the wrong direction and herd it back toward the group. I lift my chin and shout across the herd, “You have to get back in time for your meeting, right? Come on!”
“This way,” Oliver says to one of the sheep; it stands still chewing on a small tuft of grass.
I cross my arms and try to subdue a smile. “They probably only speak French.”
He laughs at me, a full-bodied laugh, and guides two annoyed sheep off the road. “You are ridiculous.”
It takes the three of us a few more tries to completely move the sheep out of the road into the valley’s field. By the time we get back in the car, Oliver is almost as covered in mud as I am.
“How are you going to explainthis”—I gesture a finger up and down his outfit—“to Dominic.”
He considers for a few seconds. “I got into a very heated negotiation about a one-to-one.”
“A negotiation which I obviously won,” I announce, folding my arms and relaxing back into the seat. “Because you’re going to give Spencer the fifteen minutes?”
He straightens out his hair, trying and failing to hide his amusement. “Maybe I can stretch it to ten.”
I beam at him triumphantly. “Deal.”
Chapter 16
Business Account (WYST) BALANCE: £2,825.22
Personal Account BALANCE: -£1,850.60
Recent transactions:
FemTech Monthlymagazine subscription: £15.99
Several hours later, I’m grimacing at the past month on my expenses spreadsheet and trying and failing to unsubscribe fromFemTech Monthlybefore I get charged again. A brisk knock sounds at the door. I jump to my feet, collecting the papers into a pile and sliding them under the duvet.
Oliver is holding about twenty dress bags over his arm. “Honey, I’m home!”
