He smiles. “Thanks, that would be great.”
I bounce out of the office and back to the lift. Damn it, I have to walk past dog patrol again. I put my head down and walk back past reception.
“Where are you going?” Stephanie sneers.
Oh, mind your own business stupid wench. “I’m getting a coffee,” I reply.
“I’m telling Mark,” she threatens.
My fury starts to simmer. “I am getting Mark a coffee, actually.” I fake a smile.
She looks at me, deadpan.
“With extra sugar.”
“You don’t impress him, you know,” she sneers.
I smile my first genuine smile for the day. “I’m not trying to, Stephanie. I kind of feel that it’s embarrassing trying to impress a man who doesn’t want you, you know?”
She narrows her eyes just as the front door opens and we both turn. Horror hits me like a freight train when I see it’s Alastar. What the hell is he doing here?
“Bye, Stephanie,” I grunt as I walk Alastar backwards out the door.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper.
“What are you doing?” He growls.
“I gave the artwork back,” I whisper as I lead him to his parked car in the loading bay.
“I told you I was going to handle it.”
“It’s okay. I pretended it was delivered to my apartment. They don’t even know it’s the stolen art yet.”
He puts his face into his two hands. “Emerson.” He sighs.
I glare at him. “My name is Emmaline and don’t dare tell me you are handling it. I will not have you in prison.”
He gets into the car and slams the door and I bang on the window and he opens it. “What?” He snaps, furious.
“Book the castle for the wedding,” I tell him.
“You will probably be in fucking prison,” he grumbles.
“Shut up and do it,” I snap.
He shakes his head angrily as the window winds up and pulls out into the traffic. I calm my pulsing heart and walk into the coffee shop to get a quadruple shot of anything.
* * *
As I wait for my coffee I ring Brielle.
“Hi, babe,” she answers happily.
“Can we meet for dinner tonight?” I ask.
“Sure, where do you want to go?”
“Italian. Our favourite?” I ask hopefully. “About eight.”
“Cool. I will pick you up.”
“No, that’s okay. I will meet you there. I am coming straight from work.”
“Sounds fun.” She smiles. “See you then.” I hang up. She’s going to freak when I tell her what’s going on, and it’s going to go one of two ways. She’s either going to freak and run, or she’s going to embrace the weirdness of this whole fiasco and be my bridesmaid on Saturday. I’m telling her everything.
I have to. She’s my life-long best friend.
Twenty minutes and a million regrets later, I walk back into the office like I’m walking into prison. This was a stupid idea and I have no doubt that I am about to be arrested.
Hell. What was I thinking? You can’t just waltz into your office with stolen artwork and pretend it was dumped at your door. The only good thing is that I know my building doesn’t have security cameras because they have been petitioning to get them.
I knock on Mark’s door as I juggle our coffees in my hands.
“Come in!” he calls.
I walk in, trying not to act too nervous, and he is sitting back, swiveling on his chair whilst holding a pen, his knowing eyes holding mine.
“The three bags of samples you found.”
I swallow. “Yes.”
“Is the stolen artwork…”
“Oh... what?” An intelligent reply escapes me. Gosh, I really need Brielle here with her fast thinking, bullshit ways.
“But you already know that, don’t you?” He raises an eyebrow in question.
I drop my eyes to the floor. I’m not lying to him. I’m not being that sneaky person ever again.
My eyes meet his. “I had my suspicions,” I whisper.
“Who did this?” he asks.
I drop my eyes back to the floor. Fuck. What do I say?
“Star?” he asks. My eyes meet his.
“Did Star do this? He is the only person around you that knows art like this.”
“He’s not a thief,” I whisper.
Marks eyes hold mine. “That’s not true. He stole you from me.”
I swallow nervously. “I wasn’t yours to steal, Mark.”
“You could have been,” he whispers. I stare at him through blurred vision, and for an extended time, we stay still as if grieving the friendship that we once had.
I finally drag my eyes from his and he stands and looks out his window with his hands in his pockets.
“Hand your resignation in immediately.” I stare at his back, unsure what to say next.
“Hand it in now and I will tell them the art has turned up from an unknown source.” I swallow the sandy feeling in my throat. “Why would you do that?” I whisper.
He turns and faces me. “For you, Emerson. Not him. You will be implicated in all of this and you know it. I can’t believe he would involve you.”
“Mark,” I whisper.