What an utter waste of an early start.
‘You can’t go on like this,’ she muttered under her breath, taking up her coffee mug and rising out of her swivel chair to head to the window.
She looked down at the street below, at the early-morning commuters going about their business.
Were any of them suffering the same way? Their thoughts stuck where they shouldn’t be, on something else, on someone else?
There’d been a closeness between them that night, when they’d opened up about their pasts. A closeness she’d never shared with anyone outside of her family. She doubted he had either. She’d sensed his disclosure had come from him feeling he owed it to her, that he’d had to force back his unease at doing so. And all that he’d told her of what he’d been through. Her heart swelled anew. To have pushed through it when many others might have let it ruin them...
But then wasn’t he ruined in some way? Broken, almost? She’d seen the hurt he harboured, the bitterness, the discomfort when he’d talked of his grandparents. All of that she had so badly wanted to heal, to take away. It had swallowed her whole that night, when she’d given way to the need that had ravaged them both.
The morning after she’d been able to throw herself into Tony and his problems, but in reality she’d just been trying to shut Marcus out, to stop the seed of caring for him from flourishing.
But it had taken root—good and proper.
She clenched both hands around her mug and rested her forehead against the cool glass window.
It was useless.
No matter how hard she tried to push him out he always came back with a vengeance—especially at night, in dreams she was helpless to prevent, in which they could do everything they wanted, and it would feel so real, so right. Then she would wake up, needy and breathless, and have to come to work, pretending none of it had ever happened. Knowing it would never happen again.
It had been less than a week, yet it felt like several. Having him in the same building was driving her crazy. Always on high alert for her next glimpse of him, hanging on for their next encounter. None of it was conducive to work.
She’d tried to gain some breathing space, had worked off site, even at the coffee shop down the road, but her head would soon wander, and no sooner had she returned than he was calling on her for some matter or other, going overboard on the inclusion front.
She only had herself to blame for that. She’d told him what would happen if he didn’t keep her in the loop.
Well done, Jennifer.
She brushed her fingers over her lips, remembering how he’d goaded her, how close he’d come when he’d pressed her up against her desk...
But, to his credit, he’d been nothing but businesslike since, and she’d been careful not to give him cause to be otherwise. It didn’t make her happy, though. More...dissatisfied, antsy—like a cola bottle about to explode with the need fizzing up inside her.
‘Knock-knock.’
Anna’s chirrupy greeting sounded from the doorway and she turned to see her leaning in. ‘Morning.’
‘Eww!’ said Anna, pulling a face and crossing the room to study her. ‘Are you feeling okay? You don’t sound great.’
‘Long week.’
Anna gave a flourish of a nod. ‘Just be thankful you don’t work for Mr Wright. I heard his PA in the kitchen yesterday, saying she’s never known him to be so difficult—a week from hell, she deemed it.’
‘Oh,’ she said, feigning uninterest, ignoring the flurry of excitement that just his name evoked. But she had to ask. ‘In what way?’
‘Apparently he’s impossible to please—coffee’s too hot, too cold, too sweet, too milky.’ She waved her hands about dramatically, eyes rolling. ‘Documents flying back and forth, stuck in draft stage, meetings and agendas up in the air, yada-yada-yada.’
Jennifer felt her insides smile. ‘And this isn’t usual?’
Anna laughed. ‘I don’t think his PA would work for him if it was. From what I overheard, she’s about ready to give notice. And she’s worked for him for five years.’
‘Maybe he’s finding it hard to get his feet under the table here.’
‘If that’s the case, maybe you could help him?’
Anna’s smile was innocent, unlike Jennifer’s brain, which was delighting in the many ways she could help settle him. None of which were acceptable.
‘If he carries on like this he’s going to become a thorn in your side too—albeit a good-looking thorn. But still, you don’t need the stress.’