‘Was there something you actually wanted?’ Dory asked. ‘A report that needs writing, or a meeting to set up?’
‘Yeah, I need you to pull up the publicity shots from that charity event in Washington D.C. last week. See what people are saying about the cause, the people involved, that sort of thing.’
‘You mean you want me to check that they caught your best side in the photos.’ She’d been Tyler’s assistant for six months now. She knew what really mattered to him, and it often had little to do with the multi-million-dollar restaurant chain he stood to inherit, or its subsidiaries – even if he was the CEO.
‘That too,’ he admitted with a grin. ‘Send them through when you’ve got them.’
He swept off back into his office and Dory turned to more important matters than whether or not Tyler’s eyes looked red in some photos surely no one really cared about. Like how to break it to Dad that she really, really wasn’t coming home for Christmas.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go back to good old Blighty. Her stomach rumbled at the very thought of Dad’s Christmas dinner and Mum’s mince pies. She was nostalgic about beating her siblings at Monopoly while they drank their way through a bucket of mulled wine until they all ended up writing each other IOUs for ridiculous sums of rent. She wanted a soggy Christmas-Day walk after the Queen’s speech and turkey sandwiches while watching the Doctor Who Christmas Special.
But she couldn’t.
Working for Tyler Alexander had a lot of perks, but unfortunately the pay wasn’t one of them. It paid the rent, got her invited to some pretty cool parties, and provided the entertainment of working with Tyler, scion of the Alexander family and generally fun guy to be around. But it didn’t stretch to holiday-period flights to the British Isles.
Of course, she couldn’t tell Dad that. Especially since her parents still believed she was working at the aforementioned Dream Job.
She should have told them by now. It wasn’t going to get any easier, after all. But she just hadn’t found quite the right way to break it to them yet. And yeah, okay, maybe a part of her was still hoping she’d get back the life she moved to the States for, before anybody back home noticed that she’d let it slip through her fingers. Dream job, devoted, successful and rich fiancé, Manhattan penthouse apartment… Now she shared a shoebox of a flat an hour’s commute away, put up with Tyler’s daily demands (while still refusing to deal with his wardrobe in any way) and didn’t even want to think about dating. And, as if that weren’t enough to make her miserable, she couldn’t go home for Christmas.
With a sigh, Dory pushed her chair up to the desk again and rested her hands on the keyboard. How was she going to do this?
She glanced at the office door. When in doubt, blame Tyler.
Dear Dad
I wish I was there to see the tree – send photos? And you know ‘Lonely this Christmas’ is Mum’s favourite. She’d be listening to it even if I was there. Which, unfortunately, I’m not going to be able to be. You know there’s nowhere else in the world I want to be on Christmas Day, but I’m afraid work is crazy and I can’t get the time off to even fly there and back and say hi at the airport! Maybe in the New Year…
She stopped. Things weren’t going to be any better in January, and there was no point pretending that they would.
Deleting the words, she clicked on to the Internet browser and brought up the travel website she used whenever Tyler needed to jet off somewhere at short notice. Typing ‘New York’ and ‘London’ into the starting point and destination fields, she held her breath while it did its magic.
When the price range appeared on the screen, she winced and closed the tab. No way. Even if she was willing to give up food and shelter for the foreseeable future, there wasn’t enough money in her bank account to get her halfway across the ocean.
Her hand drifted to the locked top drawer of her desk entirely of its own accord. It knew what she kept there, hoping that the lock and key would protect her from temptation. She kept it at work so she didn’t have it on hand in her weakest moments. Like late at night, watching QI repeats on her laptop with a large glass of wine, and feeling homesick.
In that drawer, tucked away behind her stationery supplies, was the emergency credit card her father had insisted she get before she’d left for New York with Ewen.
She’d never used it, but she knew the credit limit was high enough to get her a ticket home. She could use it, have a few days with friends and family, then return to New York with nobody any the wiser as to her current fall from perfection. It was an ideal solution – she’d keep up appearances and get to go home for Christmas.
Except she’d be paying off the trip for the rest of her life. And what would she do if there really was an emergency and she couldn’t pull out the magic credit card to get her home?
Sighing, Dory pulled her hand away from the drawer. Dad had a rule about credit cards, one he’d drummed into her repeatedly before she left for university, and on every visit thereafter.
It’s not an emergency unless someone is bleeding, or there’s a real chance of decapitation.
She could probably get away with a more general risk of death than decapitation but still, neither applied in this case. The only thing at risk was her pride. And perhaps her relationship with her parents.
If she asked, if she confessed all, she knew Mum and Dad would try and find a way to pay for her to go home, but they didn’t have the money any more than she did. And it would be a one-way trip. If she left New York, broke and desperate, she wouldn’t be coming back. And she wasn’t ready to give up just yet.
The phone rang in Tyler’s office – never a good sign. The only person who had Tyler’s direct line, and so didn’t have to come through Dory, was his mother. She’d tricked it out of his previous assistant, which might have been why the job suddenly became available. And now Tyler couldn’t change the number or his mother would know he was avoiding her.
Personally, Dory was just glad she didn’t have to take the calls.
Within moments, a message from Tyler flashed up on her screen. Get photos. Now!
Dory rolled her eyes. Classic avoidance tactic. She would go in there, needing to urgently speak to him about photos, of all things, and he could legitimately tell his mother he had to go because something had come up.
Pulling up the search engine, she typed Tyler’s name into the search box. Usually that was all it took to get the most recent articles and photos up. She’d narrow it down by venue and event if there were too many. But before she could click search, the phone rang.
‘Tyler Alexander’s office,’ Dory said. ‘How can I help you?’
‘Is my brother there?’ The voice was unfamiliar, even after six months of working for Tyler, but she could make an easy educated guess at its owner. Lucas Alexander. The black sheep.
‘I’m sorry Mr Alexander, Tyler is on the phone right now.’ What did he want? She supposed this was the time of year when estranged brothers might suddenly get in touch, if only to discuss what on earth to buy their mother – the original woman-who-has-everything – for Christmas.
‘Let me guess – our mother.’ He sounded almost amused. His voice was deeper than Tyler’s, richer somehow.
‘I believe it might be.’ Dory clicked search then, while it was working, opened a new tab and typed the name ‘Lucas Alexander’ into the search bar. Let’s see exactly who I’m talking to. ‘Do you want me to ask Tyler to patch you in on a conference call with them?’
‘God, no!’ As Lucas spoke, a series of images began to load on Dory’s screen, all several years old, and all gorgeous. Lucas Alexander in a suit, on his wedding day, in shorts and a t-shirt on some