His lips quirk in something that resembles a smile. ‘How are you, Olivia?’’
Chapter 13
BECKETT
I really thought she’d have cracked before now. After the incident in the office, and the minor altercation I’d had with Luke after she’d left, word has certainly gotten around. According to my PA, Olivia has been painted a little like Mata Hari within the glass walls of JBW. Adding to the fuel, the number of silly girls who still insist on making eyes at me have taken the hapless Luke to their collective feathery, maternal bosom. Staff gossip. Word gets around. People get painted in ways that are perhaps unfair.
So why hasn’t she come around?
Extreme stubbornness is my guess.
It seems it’s time to raise the stakes.
‘What are you doing here?’ It’s not a polite enquiry but rather a demand.
‘I found him wandering around downstairs.’ The young girl in the tulle skirt, pink hair, and two cake boxes tied with matching coloured string almost vibrates on the spot with a need to share.
Me! Me! Ask me!
‘He didn’t know how to use the lift,’ she adds with happy gleam.
‘It’s rather antiquated,’ I agree.
‘Ols takes the stairs,’ the young girl says a touch conspiratorially. ‘She’s frightened of—’
‘Thanks, Heather. Do you want to go and put the kettle on?’
‘Not really,’ she answers, her smile falling immediately.
‘Okay, how about we try that again?’ Olivia says in a tone that’s meant to convey she has this under control. ‘Heather?’
‘Yes, Ols?’
‘Go and put the kettle on.’
‘But I got Mir a skinny cap already.’ She points a black-painted nail at the cardboard cup she’s just placed on the desk “Ols” is standing next to. ‘If you wanted a coffee, wouldn’t you have said before I left?’
‘Heather,’ she almost snaps.
‘Yes, boss,’ the girl answers with an unhappy twist to her mouth before slinking off.
‘What a charming girl,’ I observe blandly.
‘Heather has a problem interpreting non-verbal language,’ Olivia says defensively.
‘I think she’s quite lovely.’ Even if she’d last less than a day in my office before leaving in a flood of recriminations and tears. ‘Without her, I might never have found your offices.’ My gaze scans the space. The brick walls, the large dome-shaped windows that look approximately a year overdue in their cleaning. ‘And... where is your office?’
‘You’re looking at it.’ She inclines her head to indicate a nondescript desk, neat in appearance. ‘Are your minions off today? Only, I didn’t hear the usual crack of thunder as you arrived. Or the whiff of brimstone.’
‘I thought we might speak in private,’ I reply, ignoring her ridiculousness.
‘Then it looks like you thought wrong.’
‘Beckett, can I make you a cuppa?’ the young girl calls from somewhere beyond. As I open my mouth to reply in the affirmative because I’d suffer a cup of poison just to get under Olivia’s skin, she answers for me.
‘He’s not staying.’
‘Aren’t I?’
