When I get back to my studio I fire up my laptop, fetch a coffee, and get on with submitting a planning application and emailing building control before sifting through piles of e-mails and cleaning up my inbox. I sip my coffee and jot down notes in my diary as I go, confirming a few potential client meetings. The weeks ahead are full-on, and I’m relieved. I need to keep busy.
As it approaches midnight my eyes are beginning to glaze over. I flag my final e-mail and guide the curser to the top right-hand corner to shut my e-mail down, but the ping of a notification stops me and a new message icon appears in the bottom right-hand corner. My heartbeat dulls to an uncomfortable pulse as the sender’s name glows brightly at me:
[email protected]
I move away from my laptop slowly, placing my mug on the desk and my hands in my lap, trying to psych myself up to open it. It’s just a damn e-mail, just words. I click the message open.
Annie,
Please find attached the schedule of works detailing the four phases of Colin’s project. Any questions, just shout. Richard and I have been over the revised drawings. He has a few questions. Are you available to meet him on site tomorrow to go over them?
Best,
Jack
CEO, Jack Joseph Contractors
I sit back in my chair, reading over his e-mail once more. It’s nearly midnight. I question what he’s doing working this late until I remind myself that I’m working, too. His e-mail is formal. So formal. Just how it should be, so why is my heart thrumming nervously?
My fingers shake when I start composing a reply, making me constantly hit the wrong keys over and over again. “Damn it,” I curse myself, pulling my hands away and taking some steadying breaths. This is so stupid.
Jack,
Many thanks for the schedule. I’m available at 10:00 if that suits?
Regards,
Annie
A.R. Architects Ltd.
“Best”? “Regards”? It’s utterly ridiculous considering what Jack and I have done together. We’ve explored every inch of each other’s bodies, shared the most intimate parts of each other, and here we are acting like it never happened. My e-mail dings again.
Annie,
I’d ask what are you doing working so late, but that wouldn’t be keeping it business, right? Tomorrow at ten is good. I’m currently looking over the landscapers’ designs for the garden area. I found these giant glass cases online (link attached) and thought a few hung on the brick wall adjacent to the extension could look amazing, and they’d complement your roof perfectly. Let me know what you think before I put forward the suggestion to Colin.
Best,
Jack
CEO, Jack Joseph Contractors
I raise a sardonic eyebrow at his light joke and click the attachment open, immediately thrown back by the beautiful simplicity of the wall-hung glass cabinets with aluminum trims. “Wow,” I murmur, scanning the details and dimensions.
Jack,
Right.
Regarding the glass cases, I love them, and I’m certain Colin would too. A great idea. I’ll see Richard on site tomorrow.
Regards,
Annie
A.R. Architects Ltd.
I close down my laptop and take myself to bed, happy that I got through my day in one piece and managed to keep it business. But no matter how professional I act on the outside, on the inside I’m still in fucking chaos over Jack Joseph.
Chapter 8
I’m a bag of nerves when I arrive on site the next day. I’ve psyched myself up for this meeting all night, telling myself that I can do it. I can do it. I’m meeting Richard. Not Jack. I just hope I get to deal with him for the most part on this project.
Colin meets me as I’m walking up the sweeping driveway, a broad smile on his face. “Here’s the lady of the year,” he says, collecting his briefcase from the steps leading up to the building. “I have a meeting to get to, so I’ll leave you with Richard.” He points past me, and I look back to see a tall, fair-haired guy in a high-visibility jacket guiding a skip lorry off the road. My heart jumps a few beats when I recognize him.
“Richard,” I parrot back to Colin.
“He’s Jack’s right-hand man.”
He’s also the guy who was with Jack in the bar the night I met him. “Okay,” I breathe, trying to settle down my building heart rate. “No Jack?” Please say no!
“Not that I know of. Richard’s up to speed on things, so you should be able to get on. Oh, watch your back.” Colin takes my arm and leads me to the side, out of the way of the reversing lorry.
Richard slaps the side of the wagon when it grinds to a stop, then makes his way over to us. I know he’s recognized me when he cocks his head. “Hey. I know you.”
I manage a smile, my mind whizzing. Has Jack told him the sordid details, or am I just a girl he was chatting with in a bar? I don’t know, so I wipe my face of all guilt, or I try, and turn on my professional switch—the one that’s getting harder and harder to find. “Hi, I’m Annie.” I offer my hand and he takes it, giving me a solid, manly shake.
“Nice to meet you. Officially, anyway,” he adds. His friendliness tells me that he has no idea about Jack and me, which would make sense, since he’s married.
Colin smiles and makes off down the driveway. “I’ll leave you guys to it. Call me if you need me.”
“Have a great day,” I call, going to my bag to get my car keys. “I just need to grab my hat and vest.”
Richard wanders over to a nearby car and pops the boot. “Here, you can use these.” He pulls out a high-visibility jacket and a matching hard hat. “Probably a bit on the large size, but they’ll do you for now.”
“Thanks.” I accept and put them on. “So you have the drawings?”
“Yes, I’ve just been going over them.” He motions to the entrance of the derelict building that will soon be transformed into a beautiful art gallery. “I have a few questions. Shall we?”
“Sure.” I start to make my way up the steps to the front door with Richard, stopping at the top when I hear wheels skidding up the gravel of the driveway. Both Richard and I turn to investigate, but I bet it’s only my heart that punches its way out of my chest when we see where the noise is coming from: a silver Audi S7 with Jack at the wheel. Oh fuck. I swallow and immediately start breathing through my rising anxiety. Be calm, I tell myself. I’m here for a reason, and it isn’t Jack.
He seems to sit at the wheel forever, staring forward at me on the steps.
“Finally,” Richard mutters. “Is he going to sit there all day and watch us?” Richard’s rhetorical question goes right over my head, my files beginning to jump in my hands. Yet when I know I should be moving onward, going inside and getting on with things, I find my legs simply will not cooperate.