“I don’t understand.”
Kai saw it as his mission in life to educate the shy, odd-looking girl from the Islands and leaped on every opportunity to expound on his accumulated twenty-six years of sophisticated knowledge.
“Like you’ll just hang on for a tiny word of kindness, a crumb of recognition, and that makes people fall for him. Well, people with low self-esteem.”
Flora frowned.
“Maybe I just think he’s hot.”
“Yeah. Cruel hot. Never go there. Also, he’s your super-boss. Try not to shit on your own doorstep. Also—”
“There’s another also? I don’t think I need another also.”
“No, listen, Flors, I’m not sure you’re his type . . . OMG, speak of the devil. And I think he might literally be the devil. Uh, I’ll let you make your mind up about the type.”
Flora had glanced up then, and sure enough, crossing Broadgate Circle, at the very heart of the City law firms, there he was, confident and commanding looking, his nut-brown hair shining in the sun, smoothly escorting a giraffe of a blond girl who clopped across the slate wearing bright pink, a color that would look bizarre on anybody else but simply made her look like the most ravishing thing ever. Nothing like Flora could ever be in a million years. She was a bird of paradise, a completely different species.
Flora watched them and groaned.
“No,” she said. “You’re right.”
“You are very good at filing, though,” Kai had said encouragingly. “I mean, that’s got to count for something.”
She’d grinned, and they’d ordered another bottle.
That had been a couple of years ago, and Kai’s career had come on in leaps and bounds. While hers . . . hadn’t. Of course she’d gotten more used to London, more cynical about her office, and she’d had dates and dalliances and various misadventures with guys here and there, not all of which she could recall without getting embarrassed, and one nice boyfriend, Hugh, who had lasted a year and who had wanted to take it further but she hadn’t felt . . . well. It. Whatever it was meant to be. She’d never been there. She’d known, even as they parted (with wonderful manners; Hugh was a darling), that in about ten years, when everyone else was settled and happy and she was still bouncing about being single, she might entirely regret doing this. But she’d done it anyway. She had had long dry spells too. And she was fine. Mostly. It was just a crush, a silly thing that had faded into the background as she’d gotten on with building a life in this huge machine of a town, getting away from everything that had happened before.
Except that now, at 10:45 A.M. on a broiling Thursday in early May, her crush, for the first time in history, suddenly wanted to see her in his office.
Chapter Four
Flora had to rush, but she had to nip into the bathroom too and redo her makeup. Flustered, she realized she was bright pink. That was the problem with being so pale. Well, that and not being able to go out in bright sunlight without turning the color of a lobster and starting to smoke slightly.
She stared at herself and sighed. She hated looking so washed out; she felt completely colorless, even as her friends talked about how unusual she was. She wasn’t at all unusual in the island she’d come from: tall and pale, like the Viking ancestors who went back hundreds of generations. Her mother’s hair was almost pure white. It was only down here, where people would let her talk and then at the end say, as if it was a compliment, that they hadn’t been listening to a word, they just liked the way she spoke. She was learning, slowly, to say “now” instead of “noo” and “you” instead of “dhu,” but sometimes she forgot even that.
She tried to quell her racing heart. Margo had sounded frosty, but she always bloody did. Flora hadn’t done anything wrong, had she? Even if she had, Joel’s office wouldn’t be in charge of dealing with that. Her time with Joel was limited to when she was minuting for Kai, who was studying for his legal exams and was being encouraged by the firm as a prospect for the future. Kai was pretty great to work for, and Flora would often take notes for him and do all the follow-up.
But Kai hadn’t mentioned anything this morning; he was due in court, in any case, leaving Flora with the usual mound of paperwork to sort out.
No, this morning it was just her.
She took a deep breath and headed for the lift.
Joel’s vast corner office was incredibly impressive, filled with flashy-looking artwork that didn’t seem to mean anything apart from proving that he was successful enough to be surrounded by flashy-looking artwork. He nodded as she walked in. He was wearing a dark gray suit, a fresh white shirt, and a navy tie that contrasted with his hair. Flora felt a blush starting even before she was through the door, and cursed herself for it.
There was also a tall man with an oddly light beard—by the casual way he dressed, he was obviously very important—and a couple of other people milling around in the background, taking calls and more or less pretending to be busy. Flora wasn’t sure if she should sit or stand.
“Hello,” she said, trying to sound brave.
“I can tell where you’re from before you say a word!” said the bearded man, coming forward to shake her hand. “Look at that hair! You’re Mure stock, that’s for sure.”
Flora wasn’t at all sure she liked being referred to in the same way her brothers referred to the cattle, and simply stood there.
“Where are you from, um . . .” Joel glanced down at his notes. “Flora?”
Flora’s heart started to beat faster. Why did this matter? Why was it important? Why were they talking about her home? That was the last thing she’d expected. Or wanted.
“Oh, it’s a small . . . I mean, you won’t have heard of it.”
She didn’t want to talk about Mure. Never did, always changed the subject whenever it came up. She lived in London now, where the world came to reinvent itself.
“She’s from Mure,” said the bearded man proudly. “I knew it. I’ve heard all about you.”
Flora looked at him.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m Colton Rogers!”
There was a long pause. Joel was looking at her, bemused.
“You know who I am, right?”
Flora hadn’t been home for some time. But she knew. She nodded quietly.
Colton Rogers was the American big shot who’d bought up a lot of the island and was, according to rumors that changed daily, about to concrete over the entire place, turn it all into a golf course, throw everybody off so that he could make it his own private sanctuary, or take over their homes in order to breed wild birds.
The rumors had been huge and mostly unsubstantiated, mainly because nobody had ever met him. Flora now felt very, very nervous. If he wanted the firm to represent him, what had he done?
“Um . . .” She glanced at Joel, unsure what he wanted her to do, but he was looking as confused as she felt, drumming a pen against his teeth.