I startled slightly, the voice right behind me. Jackson grinned at both of us. "What's Max done, or not done, or rumored to have done?"
"He's fighting again," she said, sipping the coffee. I hadn't yet met anyone as addicted to coffee as Claire. "He's pulled his neck and he's holding his side in."
"Maybe he's just had a night of kinky sex?" I offered, forgetting my filters and immediately kicking myself. That would've been fine to say in front of just Claire, but not in front of Jackson. Not right now when I needed to come across as being the ultimate professional business woman and not some geeky kid from Derbyshire.
Thankfully he laughed. "I suspect kinky for Maxwell would be changing the music to something other than Ed Sheeran."
"I now need bleach for my ears," Claire muttered. "Let's not discuss this any further. I've got a client in at two, but I'm clear after then. Can we meet after that?" She looked expectantly at Jackson.
"Who's the client?"
"Lucas Morris. I don't need to speak to you about him though."
Jackson nodded, slowly, as if he was reasoning something in his mind. "Sure. Make it around four. I'll tell the others to join us at five. We need a catch-up." He looked towards me. "Ready for breakfast? I promise they'll be no prissy food."
Claire looked from me to Jackson. "I hope he was civil when you met him. The usual code of conduct is to not communicate with him until he's got a personal best on a deadlift and has eaten at least four eggs. And never before eight."
Jackson glared at her. "It's a good thing we're related." He started to walk towards the door. I smothered a smile and caught Claire's eye. She gave me a tired grin and sipped her coffee.
The morning manic London rush had begun outside; cyclists, taxi drivers and pedestrians spitting up rainwater from the pavements and roads. I followed Jackson into a trendy looking coffee shop I'd passed a couple of times already. It was pretty full already; the expected suits and tourists getting an early start. We sat in a tucked away booth, the table cloth less and the air permeated by the aroma of freshly ground coffee.
"What's your poison? My treat, so order the largest breakfast you can. I'm not always this generous." He gave me that look, the one that almost dared me to challenge him. I didn't take the dare. I knew he was generous; as part of my research on the company I learned that they donated substantially to a variety of charities, just as Grant Callaghan always had, but even more so since Jackson took over.
I checked the menu. "Smashed avocado and poached eggs. With sourdough toast. Although a lot of these aren't your usual greasy spoonerisms."
"I should think not." A pocket-sized blonde pixie appeared next to us. "There are too many greasy spoons around here. A girls got to do something different, hasn't she, Jacks?" She smiled vivaciously at him and a shard of jealously hit what appeared to be my sciatic nerve.
"And you do it well, Amelie," he grinned up from the menu. "This is Vanessa. She's rebranding the firm or something like that. Vanessa, this is Amelie. Non-greasy spoon owner by day and speakeasy dame by night."
I look around and spot the signs of the café's alter ego. "Awesome. This would be a great place to hang out in the evenings. Do you do food then too?"
Amelie's face lit up. "A set menu; keeps it uncomplicated and we can get seasonal food and specials in from Borough Market. You should come one evening. Not with him though. The bouncers have him on a banned list for stealing."
I looked up at her, unsure if she was joking or not.
"Hearts, darling. Thisgentlemanhere,steals hearts. Now, what will you be having?"
Jackson was too busy choking on laughter so I went ahead and ordered: including a French press of Jamaican Blue Mountain.
"Your usual, heart thief?" Amelie glared at him. He nodded, still convulsed with laughter.
I watched him until he'd stilled, refusing to ask for an explanation. I didn't need to know why he was a heart thief, I just needed to do my job, which is what I kept telling myself as I watched him roll up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing the beginning of the tattoos on his forearm.
"Sorry about that," he said. "I've known Amelie for years. She always knows what not to say and then says it anyway. And just so you know, I don't steal hearts."
I raised my eyebrows. This man was like caffeine for my eyes: rich, smooth and addictive. Running my tongue along the ridges of his abs should not be my next ambition, but he evaporated my willpower like water on a hot day. "The brief for the rebrand - I've brought my notebook so I can show you where I'm up to. I've gone through everything so far with Maxwell, Claire, and Seph and like I said before, everything is relatively straightforward. I can give you an idea of style and design based on what you outlined in your email. It's helpful to work with a client who has a clear idea of what they want to present." I needed to stay focused. That would be this morning's mantra.
Our coffee arrived while I took Jackson through the suggestions for logos and the potential themes for the website. I'd been working on ideas for a couple of weeks in preparation for starting on their project.
He nodded. "I like that one best." He pointed to a simplistic design with bold lines and abstract color.
"This is the template for the website that would sit best with it." I brought up another screen on my notebook and tried not to notice his aftershave or how his hand nudged mine slightly. I'd not been aware of a man for over a year, since me and Richard started to go so catastrophically wrong. Now was not the time for the hormones to become engaged but he was gorgeous, even with clothes on. He had the type of cheekbones usually found on men on billboards wearing just underwear and long eyelashes that were wasted on most males. His beard was tidier than when I had seen him in the gym, not quite hiding a firm jawline. He was the stuff marketing materials were made of, and I tried to focus on my marketing rather than the smile he flashed me that corroded my insides.
"Can that be on that side instead?" he asked, pointing. "What about the history page – what content will that include?"
"That was Claire's suggestion: an overview of the company's growth and development since it began. She's provided a lot of pictures to support it which will stop it from being just text which no one, except prospective trainee lawyers will read, and I thought we could link into other sites connected with Callaghan Greene and its history in London."
"I can live with that. What will it do for us though? Is it not just some fancy window dressing?" He sat back and pushed the plunger down on his press.
