Surely it was time for things to start going her way now?
AFTER MAKING UP the excuse about seeing a friend on Friday night in order to let Cara leave early, Max decided that he might as well phone around to see if anyone was available for a pint after work and actually surprised himself by having an enjoyable night out with some friends that he hadn’t seen for a while.
He’d spent the rest of the weekend working, only breaking to eat his way through the entire contents of the fridge that Cara had stocked for him. Despite his initial disdain at her choices, he found he actually rather enjoyed trying the things she’d bought. They certainly beat the mediocre takeaways he’d been living on for the past few months.
Perhaps it was useful for him to have someone else around the house for a while, as Poppy had suggested the last time they’d seen each other. He’d baulked at her proposal that he should get back out on the dating scene though—he definitely wasn’t ready for that, and honestly couldn’t imagine ever being ready.
He and Jemima had been a couple since meeting at the beginning of their first year at university, their initial connection so immediate and intense they’d missed lectures for three days running to stay in bed together. They’d moved in with each other directly after graduating, making a home for themselves first in Manchester, then in London. After spending so much of his youth being moved from city to city, school to school, by his bohemian mother—until he finally put his foot down and forced her to send him to boarding school—it had been a huge relief to finally feel in control of his own life. To belong somewhere, with someone who wouldn’t ask him to give up the life and friends he’d painstakingly carved out for himself—just one more time.
Jemima had understood his need for stability and had put up with his aversion to change with sympathetic acceptance and generous bonhomie. His life had been comfortably settled and he’d been deeply content—until she’d died, leaving him marooned and devastated by grief.
The idea of finding someone he could love as much as Jem seemed ludicrous. No one could ever replace his wife and it wouldn’t be fair to let them try.
No, he would be fine on his own; he had his business and his friends and that would be enough for him.
Walking past the flower arrangement that Cara had left on the hall table on his way to sort through yesterday’s junk mail, he had a memory flash of the expression on her face when he’d bawled her out in the kitchen the other day.
His chest tightened uncomfortably at the memory.
He needed to stop beating himself up about that now. He’d made amends for what had happened, even if she hadn’t seemed entirely back to her happy, bright-eyed self again by the time she’d left on Friday afternoon. But at least he hadn’t needed to delve into the murky waters of how they were both feeling about what had happened. He’d had enough of that kind of thing after forcing himself through the interminable sessions with grief counsellors after Jemima’s death; he certainly didn’t need to put himself through that discomfort again for something as inconsequential as a spat with his employee.
Fortunately, Cara seemed as reluctant to talk about it all as he was.
Rubbing a hand over his face, he gave a snort of disbelief about where his thoughts had taken him. Again. Surely it wasn’t normal to be spending his weekend thinking about his PA.
Hmm.
His initial concerns about her being an unwanted distraction seemed to be coming to fruition, which was a worry. Still, there were only a few more weeks left of the promised trial period, then he’d be free of her. Until then he was going to have to keep his head in the game, otherwise the business was going to suffer. And that wasn’t something he was prepared to let happen.
* * *
Monday morning rushed around, bringing with it bright sunshine that flooded the house and warmed the still, cool air, lifting his spirits a little.
Max had just sat down at his desk with his first cup of coffee of the day when there was a ring on the doorbell.
Cara.
Swinging open the door to let her in, he was taken aback to see her looking as if she hadn’t slept a wink all night. There were dark circles around her puffy eyes and her skin was pallid and dull-looking. It seemed to pain her to even raise a smile for him.
Was she hung-over?
His earlier positivity vanished, to be replaced by a feeling of disquiet.
‘Did you have a good weekend?’ he asked as she walked into the house and hung up her coat.
She gave him a wan smile. ‘Not bad, thanks. It was certainly a busy one. I didn’t get much sleep.’
Hmm. So she had been out partying, by the sound of it.
Despite his concerns, Cara appeared to work hard all day and he only caught her yawning once whilst making them both a strong cup of coffee in the kitchen, mid-afternoon.
At the end of the day, she waved her usual cheery goodbye, though there was less enthusiasm in her smile than she normally displayed at knocking-off time.
To his horror, she turned up in the same state the following day.
And the next.
In fact, on Thursday, when he opened the door, he could have sworn he caught the smell of alcohol on her as she dashed past him into the house. She certainly looked as though she could have been up drinking all night and plainly hadn’t taken a shower that morning, her hair hanging greasy and limp in a severely pulled back ponytail.
Her work was beginning to suffer too, in increments. Each day he found he had to pick her up on more and more things she’d missed or got wrong, noticing that her once pristine fingernails were getting shorter and more ragged as time went on.
Clearly she was letting whatever was happening in her personal life get in the way of her work and that was unacceptable.
His previous feelings of magnanimity about having her around had all but vanished by Thursday afternoon and he was seriously considering having a word with her about her performance. The only reason he hadn’t done so already was because he’d been so busy with back-to-back conference calls this week and in deference to Poppy he’d decided to give Cara the benefit of the doubt and put her slip-ups down to a couple of off days.
But he decided that enough was enough when he found her with her head propped on her arms, fast asleep, on the kitchen table when she was supposed to be making them both a hot drink.
Resentment bubbled up from his gut as he watched her peaceful form gently rise and fall as she slumbered on, totally oblivious to his incensed presence behind her. He’d been feeling guilty all weekend about how he’d spoken to her on Friday and here she was, only a few days later, turning up unfit for work.
His concern that her presence here would cause more harm than good had just been ratified.
‘Wakey, wakey, Sleeping Beauty!’ he said loudly, feeling a swell of angry satisfaction as she leapt up from the table and spun around to look at him, her face pink and creased on one side where it had rested against her arm.
‘Oh! Whoa! Was I sleeping?’ she mumbled, blinking hard.
Crossing his arms, he gave her a hard stare. ‘Like a baby.’
She rubbed a hand across her eyes, smudging her make-up across her face. ‘I’m so sorry—I only put my head down to rest for a moment while I was waiting for the kettle to boil and I must have drifted off.’
‘Perhaps you should start going to bed at a more reasonable time then,’ he ground out, his hands starting to shake as adrenaline kicked its way through his veins.