Which is pretty much what I’d said when I’d told Beckett how we were now being referred to in the office. I’d used explanationmashupand he’d looked on, confused. So I’d further explained; B for Beckett, then Olivia. He’d smirked and informed me the word I was looking for was aportmanteau. Smart ass.
‘Bolivia is a portmanteau of Beckett and Olivia, don’t you know,’ I reply rather loftily.
‘Like a name mashup?’ Mir says, her face still scrunched in consternation.
‘Yeah.’ I give in. ‘Exactly like that.’
‘Bolivia isn’t that bad. After all, it might’ve been Olecket.’
Strange. That’s what Beckett had also said. Not that Olecket wasn’t bad, but that it wasn’t too bad if you consider Bolivia as the home of llamas, cocaine and civil unrest. He said if you take out the llamas, as a name, it wasn’t so random for the pair of us.
I didn’t laugh.
‘All done,’ Heather announces, appearing next to me. ‘Name badges are by the door, profiles and pencils are on the table, ice breakers are in the buckets. What’s next?’
‘I know,’ Miranda answers with a gleam. ‘Let’s make an early start on that prosecco.’
Chapter 38
BECKETT
‘What are you doing spending Friday night with me?’ I place my phone face down on the table and turn my attention to Harry sitting across from me. ‘I know I’m pretty, but I’d have thought you’d prefer to spend Friday night staring adoringly into the face of your wife?’
‘Is that your not so subtle way of telling me you’re bored with my company?’
‘Bored? It’s like I’m sitting here by myself. All you’ve done since you arrived is brood over your phone. You’ve grunted a few times, your contribution to the conversation less than scintillating, and you’ve nursed one drink. I’ve had more fun with statues.’
‘I don’t need to know what you get up to in your gallery. Or what gets up you.’
‘Funny. Put your fucking phone away,’ he complains as I reach for it again.
Fuck. While late to the phenomenon, I’ve suddenly become obsessed with social media. More specifically, the E-Volve Instagram account. I find I can often discover how Olivia is spending her day, and see her smiling face. Though she’s not responsible for the running of the account, she features in many of the posts.
Let’s face it; I’m a fucking stalker.
‘You know, you’re pretty shit company all round these days.’ My gaze slides away from Harry’s smug expression, despite the truth in his words. ‘You don’t introduce us to your wife and we’re not allowed to talk about her. If I hadn’t seen photographs of you together, I might think she wasn’t real.’
‘My wife is my business,’ I reply sharply. Harry grins and reaches for his drink.
‘Business you’re not attending to this fine Friday night,’ he adds pointedly.
‘She has commitments. And a business to run, just as I do.’ Because as of yesterday, the B in JBW is the majority shareholder of the company, two and a half months ahead of my projected timeline.
‘Congratulations once again,’ he offers, tipping his glass. ‘Although, it appears to me to be all the more reason you’d be with her. You know, celebrating.’
But in order to celebrate, I’d have to have shared the news. And I haven’t.
It’s the strangest thing to admit to I’m not content with the expedient play of things. I even went as far as to negotiate a lower bid, thinking perhaps the lawyers could haggle for a few weeks, but no such luck. Maybe the bastard is currently fucking Mrs Jones number five behind the back of number four, because he agreed to a lower price and wouldn’t move on a completion date, insisting it be pushed through this month. It all sounds like he’s trying to liquidate assets while he has a chance, after refusing to sell me the business for a year.
There was, of course, a sense of triumph in signing the paperwork, in knowing that I’d achieved what I’d set out to do. But now I don’t particularly feel like I’ve won anything. I’ve mentioned the change of status to no one but Harry, and even that wasn’t in the plans. He’d happened to call into the office at the same time Jones had cracked open the champagne to celebrate the company’s change of direction— new blood at the helm.And the doubling of his bank balance, no doubt.
The bottom line is, the minute the news is out is the minute I lose Olivia.
Butloseisn’t the precise term. I never reallyhadher to begin with. Not really. She shares my bed because the sex is good, because I make her feel good. And she shares her meals with me because she’s kind and a generous cook. We talk, of course, mostly about work and I’ve become a sounding board for her. It’s been gratifying to see her flourish. Add in a few engagements she accompanies me to and that’s the extent of myhavingher.
Meanwhile, my insomnia is filled with less exercise and much more introspection and longing looks. I find myself watching her sleep like some fucking nutter. My head tells me to run this to full term would be dangerous, but my heart and my hands know they can’t give her up.
I know I have to. That I’m not the one for her. But it doesn’t stop the cravings.
