I’d say you’re more whisky-smooth: delicious, but with a kick.
She hadn’t said that aloud, had she? No, of course not.
Get a grip, Molly!
‘Tonight we’ll start to turn the tide back our way. You’ve got some great cutting-edge strategies you’ve implemented even in the last month.’ Molly headed for her office, drew out her handbag and the carrier bag. ‘We’ll talk the business up, and people will begin to realise the rumours can’t be true.’
Jarrod followed behind her. ‘Don’t be worried for me, Molly, will you? I’m annoyed as hell, and I won’t stop until this situation is completely resolved, but it will be.’
‘I know. I have complete faith in you.’ Not so much in herself, but she’d committed to this now and she wouldn’t turn back. Not while he needed her.
He paused with his hand on the light switch, and for a moment his brows drew down and his gaze flared as he stared at her. Then he shook his head, flicked the switch, and they stepped out.
They got into the lift. Molly breathed in and out and commanded herself to calm down. That look…Well, it had just been a look, right?
She was all out of sorts. It was the dress, and the stress, and spending his money on herself, and having to dive into that social world, all together. Belly flop, more like.
‘You’re not too smooth.’ She spoke the words to fill the silence, and then attempted to explain. ‘I don’t mean you’re not smooth personally. I’m sure you’re as smooth as is appropriate, and that’s none of my concern, anyway. But, in business, you’re exactly the right amount of non-smooth.’
‘Thank you.’ Did his lips twitch before he turned away? ‘I appreciate that explanation.’
Molly faced forward and wished they’d get to street level. When they finally did, she scooted off the lift so fast she almost didn’t fit through the gap in the still-opening doors.
‘I’ll be ready at six-thirty.’ She would completely get over this feeling of impending panic between now and then, take control of herself and be ready to present an utterly businesslike front when he called to collect her.
Yes. That was much better. ‘I’ve got the work PDA with me. I’ll bring it as we agreed, so I can keep track of names and information. Goodbye.’ Molly bolted and didn’t look back, even if she was a little tempted.
She half-jogged her way to the bus stop and tried not to feel uptight about the upcoming events. With a PDA in her hand and a clear agenda, this didn’t have to feel all that different from a day in the office.
And what if it took a week, or two weeks, or a month, or three months, before she could safely draw back? All that time at her boss’s side—days, weekends, evenings—to make it really hard to remember he was her boss and she was his PA, and nothing else could possibly be…
Nonsense.
Nonsense, the idea of them being anything else to each other, and to this taking three months. The rumour issue would be resolved fast and that was that!
In celebration of this utter certainty, that was no certainty at all but what she so wanted to believe, Molly slumped into a seat on the bus, drew her phone from her bag and sent a text message to her mother.
Do you think Faye would have a pair of sandals I could wear with a burgundy evening-dress? I have to go out on business with my boss tonight.
There. See? All about business. A few moments later Molly opened her mum’s return message.
I checked with Faye. She has a pair of sandals with glass beading all over them. Three-inch heel. They’d go with anything. How exciting, Molly. A chance to do something grand for the night!
Yeah. Great. And glass-beaded sandals with a no-doubt uncomfortable heel would do nicely. The pumpkin coach could drop her and her broken toes off at her flat at midnight.
The phone rang in her hand. Molly jumped, and then answered. ‘I don’t know about glass-beaded sandals, Mum. Maybe something a bit more sensible would be better. Personally I don’t see why people don’t just stick to shoes with a thick strap and a decent tread, like I do for work and weekends.’
A long pause of silence ensued and she realised she might have sounded a bit ungrateful. Molly drew a breath. ‘Mum?’
‘I take it you made your bus on time?’ Her boss’s voice poured into her ear.
And he was definitely smiling this time. She didn’t need to see him to know it.
‘Yes. Yes, I did make the bus on time.’ Molly sat up straighter in her seat, not that he could see her. Jarrod had her number for emergencies. She’d put it into his mobile phone herself. Why hadn’t she checked the display before answering? He had never called before, and she’d made a right goose of herself, hadn’t she, blathering on about shoes?
In the background she heard a clattering sound—the underground roller-door of their building going up?
Molly pictured him driving his car one-handed, mobile phone in the other. ‘You’re not allowed to drive and talk on your mobile phone. You could have an accident.’ Great. Now she sounded like a mother hen.
‘I know. We bought Bluetooth, remember?’ Oh, yes. He definitely sounded amused.
Enough to make her hopes of regaining control of her changed circumstances, of riding it out with barely a ripple in the usual fabric of her work for him, threaten to crumble. Things were changing already, and she hadn’t even sorted out her shoes.
He went on. ‘The phone is on hands-free. I always use the technology we buy.’
‘Oh. Good, then.’ It was silly to feel so gratified by his words. No, her heart simply stuttered in shock that she had forgotten about the purchase even for a moment. In her defence, she’d had a long and trying day, and it wasn’t over yet.
‘I wanted to tell you to eat something before tonight.’ His voice returned to a more usual tone. ‘It’s only drinks and nibbles, and I don’t want you to be hungry.’
‘Thank you. That was thoughtful.’ If Molly knew her family, either Faye or Izzy or both would be ready for her when she arrived at the group of three flats they rented. They would have sandwiches in hand, and be ready to throw open their wardrobes so she could pick a pair of shoes and any other accessories she might deem necessary for the evening.
And her mother would be waiting to hear about it by phone as she went about her evening cleaning-job in a building full of offices not so different from the one Molly had just left.
Generous. They were generous…to a fault.
‘I’ll be sure to eat.’ If she could push anything down over the knot of unease currently lodged halfway up her oesophagus.
‘Then I’ll see you soon. We’ll take care of this, Molly. Between us, we’ll do it.’
‘I’ll do my best to help you.’ Not to embarrass him in front of his peers. Not to embarrass herself. Molly’s tummy contorted into fifty different balloon-shaped animals, and stayed bunched in all those multicoloured knots.
‘See you soon.’ Jarrod ended the call.
Molly put her phone away and peeked into the bag at her hastily purchased dress. So there would be an art exhibition. She’d attended some free ones at Turbine Hall and other places. No difference, really—other than the whole glitterati, buckets of money; nothing like her lifestyle.
And so her boss had phoned when he never had before. Things had changed;