Beckett.
Oh, no. Fuck no!
My stomach sinks to my shoes. But no, the universe isn’t so cruel. It’s just a coincidence.
It has to be.
The receptionist makes the call, murmuring into the handset.
‘Oh,’ I hear her remark. ‘Okay. Yes, I’ll tell her. Perhaps there was a mistake.’ Cue a second stomach swoop as her gaze flicks my way with a pinched expression. I straighten my spine and paste adon’t mess with melook on my face. I’m here to do business, and business I intend on doing!
‘Ms Welland? Mr Jones’ PA doesn’t have you down for today. Your appointment was Friday.’
‘Yes, that’s right. But I had a call from her asking me to return today.’
‘Yes, of course. But what I mean to say is that your appointment this morning is with Mr Beckett.’
I think ... I think I must look like I’ve swallowed half a lemon, half a lemon that feels like half a melon in my throat as I swallow down the wordmotherfuckwhile also trying to convince myself that this isn’t some massive cosmic shakedown. It’s just a coincidence. Beckett is a common enough surname—hell, Beckett might have even been his first name for all I know. Wouldn’t that make more sense anyway? That he’d give me his Christian name to keep up the whole secrecy thing? Also, on Friday, he was only near the building, not in it. He wasn’t at the meeting.
‘Ms Welland?’
‘Yes, of course. My mistake.’ Because there are more men named Beckett in London than him. I mean, I don’t have a phone book on hand or the time to search the internet for confirmation as I juggle my laptop bag, purse, and coat to sign in, but I’m pretty certain that’s the case. The same way I’m pretty certain finding two Becketts in the vicinity of this building is purely a coincidence.
There.
No need to panic. Or stress.
I make my way to the elevators and don’t even mentally genuflect as I step into the little glass box of potential death. I pull out my phone to check my email, suddenly doubting what I’d read, but I can’t get a signal. So all the way to the thirty-fifth floor, I’m giving myself a pep talk.
It’s a coincidence.
Get your head in the game.
Today, you’re going to show him—not him-him, the other him—how E-Volve works.
How it can help people find love while also making those involved an awful lot of money.
I rub my sweaty palms against my thighs as the doors ping open on the thirty-fifth floor, and I’m met by the young intern I’d noticed last week who greets me with a warm smile.
‘Ms Welland, Mr Beckett is waiting for you. Right this way.’
On the tip of my tongue, I have a dozen questions balanced. Did this particular Beckett attend the meeting on Friday? What’s his position in the company, and how the hell did I end up with a meeting with him?
We walk through the same sleek and stylish open-plan offices, past glass-walled meeting pods and the larger boardroom to the far end where a bank of private offices are housed. Private but for the glass walls facing the more public spaces. I count four doors that blend seamlessly with the walls they’re set into.Glass doors set in glass walls. But at least it makes it easy to see what’s in the rooms. Offices as big as my apartment with desks and chairs, and fabulous views. But it must be like working in a goldfish bowl. The woman turns left, leading me to the door at the very end.
Without knocking, she pushes it open, then steps aside, gesturing me inside an absolutely huge corner office.Whoever said size doesn’t matter obviously hasn’t been in here.Despite the grey gloom of the day, the stark space is suffused in light. An atrium terrace runs the length of one side with rain currently lashing against the glass. An industrial looking partner’s desk sits almost front and centre of the room framed by an almost panoramic view of the city beyond. To the left, several oversized canvases hang against the bare wall, the bold splashes of colour almost a shock to my retinas. A plush geometric-patterned rug denotes a seating area, though nothing about it looks casual with a console table and some stylishly placedobjet d’artdefinitely not picked up at Ikea. The grey fabric of the original looking Knoll sofa and a pair of matching chairs is perfect complement to the clouds that seem to be hanging just beyond the windows.
‘May I take your coat?’ The woman’s voice brings me back to the moment and the fact that she’s stepped into the room behind me.
‘Oh. Yes. Thank you.’
‘Would you like something to drink? A tea or coffee?’
‘No, thank you.’
In response, she inclines her head. ‘Mr Beckett will be with you shortly.’ She smiles blandly before closing the door behind her.
No way am I sitting. I’m not sure why, but nothing about this feels right. As I place my purse and laptop next to the sofa, it also occurs to me that I haven’t seen Luke.Is that a good omen or a bad one?I wonder. But as he knew I had a meeting, I guess that means he’s hiding from me. I’m not sure how that makes—
