“I like the sea. Clears the mind.”
“Yes, it does.”
“How was your evening?”
I smiled. “A few too many wines. I’ll be fine in the morning.”
“I’ve had a few too many myself. Quite a few too many.” He smiled at my lack of response, seeming to read my mind. “Does that surprise you? You think I’m Mr Uptight, is that it?”
“I think you’re Mr Perfect. I’m not sure Mr Perfect gets drunk on a work night.”
“Mr Perfect?”
“That’s what they call you, in the office.”
“Do they?” His eyes dug into me, glinting in the shadows.
“Sure do.”
“Do you know what they call you?”
“No idea.”
“They call you Cat. Short for cat’s eyes.” He looked me right in the face, staring for long seconds. “It suits you.”
“Well, Mr Perfect kinda suits you, too.”
“I’m not perfect.”
“I dunno, you were perfect today… and perfectly intimidating,” I said, moving a little closer as the wind whipped my hair.
“You find me intimidating?”
I smiled. “Perfection is intimidating, is it not?”
“It’s easy to be perfect in office hours. It’s after that it gets a whole lot harder.”
“Yep,” I laughed. “Can’t say I’ve got the home shit nailed.”
“How are you doing, Lydia? Don’t insult me with fine. How are you really doing?”
I felt my throat tighten, willing me to clam up and slap on the professionalism, but the wine warmed through my veins, loosening my tongue. “Most of the time ok. Right now not so great. Bad wine.” I slapped my wrist.
“I thought a change of scene might do you good.”
“Is that why you invited me?”
“No,” he replied in a beat. “I’m really not that generous, I wanted you here because you’re good. I just considered it an additional benefit.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. It doesn’t seem to have worked.”
“The thought was there.”
“On the periphery.”
“All the same. Thanks.”
“I’ve had too many wines, Lydia Marsh, and so have you. We’ve got a big day tomorrow, we should sleep them off.”
“Yes, sir.” I mock saluted, sailing my hand out towards him over the balcony. He didn’t move a muscle, just stared me out so hard I felt almost uncomfortable underneath the haze. “Goodnight, James.”
In a blink he was away from me; stepping down from the railings and out of view. “Goodnight, Cat. Straight to bed.”
Turns out Mr Perfect was Mr damn fucking Bossy, too. It suited him.
***
By the end of day two I’d have sworn we’d been introduced to every single employee of White Hastings McCarthy, including the cleaners. Round upon round of handshakes and tours and polite conversation. I hoped James had a better recall of faces and names than I did, because after about the fourth new person they’d all become a blur. Somehow I expected he did. He didn’t seem the type to be lost for a name at a dinner party.
We’d been waved off with fond farewells from the senior management team, and the morning would see our final wrap-up session with the IT department. Then back to London, to more sofa surfing and shared fridge space.
“Tomorrow’s just a formality,” James said, as we wandered back along the front. “The hard work’s been done.”
“I think I’ve got everything clear in my notes. I may just need to reconfirm some of the case management stages.”
“Our main prerogative was to cement the relationship, and we’ve already achieved that. You were invaluable, Lydia, thank you.”
“We made a good team,” I smiled.
“We did.”
After my previous evening’s rebuttal I waved James away in the foyer without the suggestion of drinks. He didn’t make a repeat offer of dinner on his room tab, so I figured I was out for myself. No big deal. I made a mental note to tone down the wine consumption. Just a couple, nothing crazy.
The first glass slid down my throat like liquid happiness, and Stuart slipped from my mind as easily as he’d thumped his way back in. I was checking out the bar menu when I caught the delicious notes of musk. Musk and vanilla.
“I’m sorry, Lydia, I meant to join you sooner. I had calls to make.” James took a seat next to me, leaning in close enough to scan the mains. “Have you ordered?”
“Not yet.”
“Excellent,” he smiled. “Let’s eat.”
***
“What was he like?” James asked, refilling my glass.