by Ally Blake
His voice was no more than a rumble as he said, “I have some bad news.”
“Oh?”
“It’s about this weekend.”
Angus’s words took a moment to register, said as they were in a deep, rough voice that sent trickles of heat down her spine.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“This weekend. I know its last minute, but a conference opportunity has come into play. I need you and your 2B pencils there with me.”
And just like that the trickle of heat turned into an inferno, sliding into her belly and radiating out to the ends of her extremities. No, no, no, no, no!
With tingling fingertips, Lucinda pushed back her chair, shoved her handbag over her arm, rummaged under her desk for the Foxy Lady bag and gripped the handle tightly in her fist. “Not happening. I’m on holiday. As of right now.” Well, an hour from now, but a girl had to do what a girl had to do. “Take someone else. They can even use my pencils.”
Lucinda looked at the jar filled with freshly sharpened nibs and felt a small jolt of disloyalty.
Until Angus said, “It’s for Remède.”
And just like that the raging inferno of self-will turned to ash.
Any other account and she’d have told him to suck it. But Remède?
For, just as Louis Fournier meant a great deal to Angus, the Remède brand meant so much to Lucinda. Her father had bought her mother a bottle of Remède’s Someday perfume every year for Christmas.
She continued to keep a bottle nearby, rarely wearing it but liking the fact that she could open it up every now and then, dip her toes into the past and bring up so many more lovely memories of her parents long after they were gone.
And now that she’d met Louis Fournier her love for the brand was even more personal.
She knew how precarious things were with Remède. She’d been in the room that morning when Angus, Fitz and Charlie had called a special partners-only meeting to address the fact that even a successful rebrand might not be enough to save the company.
“Where is it? The conference?” she asked through gritted teeth.
Angus glanced past her a moment. “You won’t believe me if I tell you.”
She barely believed him as it was.
“It’s at Hanover House.”
Her eyes whooshed to his so fast they nearly rolled back in her head. “You have to be kidding me.”
Angus shook his head. Slowly. Hypnotically. And she’d never before felt a stronger urge to smack him.
She barely managed to grit out the word, “How...?”
“Curious as to where you were heading, I looked up the place online. When I stumbled onto the business centre page, there it was. A conference the likes of which we’ve never attended before. A conference that may be just the thing we need.”
Lucinda hardly heard the last words over the sound of her heart rattling around in her chest. All week long he’d acted as if he hadn’t even remembered her telling him she was going away, yet he’d remembered the name of the resort. And he’d looked it up.
“You were there, Luc. In the Remède meeting. Things aren’t looking good.”
“With the company, yes. But that’s why he came to us. Your rebrand, the social media, the print ads, the website—Angus, it’s all gorgeous.” The campaign was lush, elegant and aspirational while using hip, young influencers in an attempt to draw a younger, fresher audience to the brand. “It’s some of the best work you’ve ever done. And it’s launching next week. Surely there’s nothing more that can be done.”
He held her gaze a moment, then a few more, till she found herself drowning in the dark hazel depths. Then his gaze dropped to the bag in her hand. The bag they both knew contained a sexy black negligée.
Angus cleared his throat. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have asked. I’ll be fine. I can function without you.”
She felt every strand of the cord handle in her tight palm, hoping her bravado covered up the fact that Angus had unwittingly just poked her greatest fear: that she was inherently dispensable. Her ex had certainly thought so. Not even their beautiful boy enough to keep him around.
Angus said, “Velma can organise a temp.”
Before she even felt the words welling up in her throat, Lucinda countered with, “No. Don’t.”
And for a second, a flash, a smile lit up his face, one that made her knees turn to jelly and her head come over all woozy. She shook her head. Cleared the cobwebs. Made plans.
Okay. With the Remède relaunch imminent she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t do all she could to help.
But this weekend was important. If it went well, if she and Jameson had the time and space to see if there was a spark amongst the rapport, it could change everything. For her and for Sonny.
Despite the little glitch in self-confidence as Angus had blithely claimed he could function without her, she knew she was not defined by the moment her ex-husband had left without a second glance. She was defined by decisions she had made since—raising a fantastic, healthy, loving kid and being the best damn executive assistant in town.
“I can do both,” she said.
“Hmm?”
“I can have my weekend and I can help you out when you need me at the conference. That’s it. That’s the deal I’m willing to make.”
While Angus considered, Lucinda held her ground. She imagined running from Jameson to Angus, Angus to Jameson, and felt a little ill. But it was what it was. She only hoped he didn’t come back with a counter offer, as deep down in places she preferred not to visit she knew if he asked her to choose there was a good chance she’d choose him.
Then Angus nodded once. And Lucinda turned on her heels and walked away before he could change his mind. Or she changed hers.
Over her shoulder she called, “Have someone flip me the conference details.”
“Will do,” he called back. Then, “Until tomorrow,” mirroring Jameson’s exact words.
Until tomorrow, Lucinda repeated in her head. Wondering if two such innocent words had ever felt so ominous.
CHAPTER FOUR
WHAT THE HELL were you thinking?
Angus stood at the edge of the foyer of Hanover House’s business centre, peering into its conference room to find women as far as the eye could see.
But no Lucinda.
He’d asked an unimpressed Velma to forward her the itinerary. And had heard nothing since. Forcing him to wonder if she was still on her way to the hotel, or if she’d arrived the night before. Alone. Or with Jameson Whatsit-Whatever...
“Hey, honey. You looking for your wife?”
Angus turned to find an older woman with a gravity-defying silver coif, a skirt suit so pink it burned his retinas and a name badge boasting a bright yellow gerbera and the words South Victorian Regional Beauticians’ Organisation written thereon.
A conference dedicated to cosmetics happening in this hotel, this weekend, had felt like a sign, right when he was struggling with the Remède account and Lucinda’s announcement. Now faced with the reality—booths draped in gauze and lace and velvet, tables covered with bottles and tubs and tubes, signs promising a life of no frizz, spot-free skin and youthful nails—he wondered what the hell he’d been thinking.
For a moment he considered going along with the woman’s assumption, jumping in his car, heading back to Melbourne and leaving the future to fate. But in his experience fate was a mischievous, interfering dirt bag who made a habit of putting hardship in the way of good people.
Angus held out his hand. “Angus Wolfe, conference attendee.”
The woman’s eyes widened to the size of ten-cent pieces before she gathered herself ably. “Elena Zager, conference organiser.”
She held out her hand for a shake. Or a kiss. Angus went with a shake and a slight bow, which went down just fine.
“Well, a
ren’t you going to be a cat amongst the pigeons? Shake things up a little. Just what this conference of ours needs.”
Soon, two other women approached. One had long, red dreadlocks down to her waist and what looked like henna tattoos winding from her neck to her wrists. The other was small—even in her sharp-as-a-blade black heels—and bone-thin with straight black hair that stopped a knife’s edge before her chin.
Each wore badges showcasing their business names and how many years they’d attended the conference. Both looked him at him as if he was a hot lunch.
“Ladies,” said Elena. “This here is Angus Wolfe. He’s here to attend our little shindig.”
“Happy day,” said Ms Henna.
“Amen,” purred Ms Black Heels.
Angus gave them each a smile, wondering how long it might take for Lucinda to swoop in and do the peopling for him so he could get to work. For, if they were going to save Remède, they would need more than the best branding revamp he’d ever pulled off—they would need a miracle.
Yet he had quipped that he could function without her so...“Not sure if you can tell,” he said, “But I’m a first timer. I’d be grateful if someone could show me the ropes.”
Elena muscled her way forward when it looked as though Ms Black Heels was about to leap in. “Mr Wolfe, I’m the president of this fine organisation, so I will make it my mission to take care of you this weekend. Let’s go find your name tag and a map and then you can tell me what brings a tall drink of water like yourself into our oestrogen-laden midst.”
After one last glance over his shoulder in the hope Lucinda would appear, Angus held out an elbow and Elena sneaked a possessive hand into the crook. “Let’s do it.”
* * *
Lucinda lay back on the sumptuous bed in her king suite with its glorious mound of velvety soft pillows on luxurious sheets.
Only problem was, she lay there alone.
For, when she’d rung Jameson late the night before to explain the turn of events, he’d been...fine. So fine he’d suggested they simply postpone. And, while she’d told him he was a saint and a gentleman and a star, in the back of her head she felt more than a little wounded.
She hadn’t expected Sir Galahad but she’d have liked him to put up a little fight.
Maybe he was purloining mood-suppressors from the pharmacy at work.
Or maybe... She closed her eyes and shook her head but it wasn’t enough to stop the little doubt demon from finding a way in.
Maybe she was effortlessly dispensable after all. As always, the sentiment made her flinch like the fast, shallow bite of a paper cut.
But maybe it was simpler than all that. Maybe she’d built this weekend up into something bigger than it was.
She liked Jameson. He was good and kind and handsome and successful. He didn’t press claims on her time. He was easy to be around. He was comfortable.
He was the kind of man she’d be happy to have in her son’s life. Sonny was of an age where he noticed how many people in his life loved him. Where he needed a father figure.
He has Angus, a little voice piped up in the back of her head.
And he did. Sonny adored Angus. And Angus adored Sonny. They wrestled. They had a secret handshake Sonny flat out refused to share with her. And Angus always got Sonny the wildest presents for his birthday and Christmas. And just because. Volcano kits, Nerf guns, two hours with a reptile handler—things Lucinda would never consider as they were too messy or dangerous.
But, for all that she allowed herself the occasional fantasy of imagining how it might be if that was her life—for real, every day, every night—it was just that. A fantasy.
She and Angus were friends. Real friends. They bickered, they forgave, they had in jokes, they felt comfortable in their silences. They’d developed a shorthand, a trust.
But a romance? No.
Not least of all because it would change everything at work. Unlike the wild west that was single parenting, and the absolute quagmire of dating, work was the one part of her life in which she felt secure, in control.
But also because Angus wasn’t a “for ever” kind of guy. Too many ghosts. Too many walls. If they tried and failed Sonny would never understand. Sonny loved Angus so much she quietly worried that he’d take Angus’s side.
So for all that Angus had the ability to make her shimmer, writhe and yearn with a simple look—more than any other man, including the good doctor, had ever come close to—she had to shove it all down deep, deep, deep inside.
Growling out loud, she dragged herself to sitting, the bed so big she had to wriggle her way to the end before she landed on her feet.
Either way, no romance for her this weekend. Just work. She’d do it and she’d do it well.
Still, the thought of having to go out there, find Angus and tell him Jameson had happily told her to go ahead without him was crushing.
She glanced at her watch.
Assuming Angus had made it inside the business centre doors for the Market Stall Day, he’d have been there a good hour by now. On his own. At the South Victorian Regional Beauticians’ Organisation Bi-Annual Conference. Without her to run interference. To look after the small talk. To be his bodyguard.
Meaning he’d have to talk, listen and engage with what she imagined would be a couple of hundred women in excitable first-day-of-conference mode as they talked about make-up.
Let him see how it felt to function without her.
The thought of it made her feel a little bit better.
* * *
Based on the bones of a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old mansion, Hanover House’s sprawling extensions touted a perfect mix of country comfort and purposeful elegance.
After getting lost—twice—in search of the meeting place Angus had texted to her, she was in desperate need of a strong coffee when she saw the gilt sign reading Bean and Brew Bistro.
The cosy booths were already taken and a bunch of boisterously loud women sat huddled around a few tables that had been pressed together.
Lucinda moved to the counter to order as she waited for Angus.
A voice—an all too familiar male voice—rumbled behind her. “And then Fitz tried to convince us it was his date’s stay-fast lipstick. But, as any who visited Maude’s booth this morning will know, the only way it would be on his mouth was if he put it there himself!”
A cacophony of feminine laughter followed.
Slowly, so slowly she could all but see the dust motes floating around her head, Lucinda turned as someone, presumably Maude, said, “Exactly! It’s the lack of wax that makes all the difference.”
And, as if a ray of sun had poured through a gap in a cloud, Lucinda spotted a head of curly dark hair amongst the flock of female heads. Shoulders of Adonis. A blue suit she herself had made sure was back from the cleaners the day before because he’d needed it for that weekend.And it hit her. That meant he’d known about the conference days ago.
Before she even felt her feet moving, Lucinda was at the table. “Angus?”
As one, the women looked her way, each of them sporting a look somewhere between curiosity and suspicion.
Then her boss turned, his gaze landing lazily on hers. “Lucinda, hi. Nice of you to join us.”
Don’t you “Lucinda, hi” me, you self-serving, stubborn, interfering...
When Angus realised that she was struggling to speak, he glanced back at his flock of fans. “Everyone, this is Lucinda, my executive assistant extraordinaire.”
She gave them a group smile, even as her skin felt as if it was stretched so tight over her face it was about to snap.
As one, the group exhaled. And then the questions came her way, thick and fast. “Oh, she does look smart. You never said she was so pretty! Is that your natural hair colour? It’s gorgeous. Maybe a little dry. Have you tried a deep condition? Max-hydration would help
too. Here’s my card. But your skin! It’s like a baby’s bottom. What do you use?”
The talking suddenly stopped, the entire group waiting for answers.
“Oh. Uh...” she said. “Yes, it’s my natural hair colour. Um...sure. Max-hydration sounds smart.” Once she found out what max-hydration entailed. “And...goat’s milk soap and water.”
A collective gasp went around the table like a Mexican wave. Was that good? Bad? Ought she to be concerned?
Before anyone had the chance to tug her deeper down the rabbit hole, Lucinda planted a hand on Angus’s shoulder, her thumb digging into the tendon between neck and shoulder, the place she knew he sent all his tension when the ideas didn’t flow as fast as usual.
“Sorry ladies,” she said. “Do you mind if I borrow him for a second? Boring work stuff.”
Angus slowly pushed back his chair and sent the table a smile that had them all melting into puddles before holding out an arm and ushering Lucinda out of the café with a subtle roll of his shoulder as he went.
Finding they couldn’t go ten feet without someone saying, “Hi Angus.” “Having fun, Angus?” “See you soon, Angus.”, Lucinda grabbed Angus by the arm of his suit and dragged him out of the bistro, around the corner and behind a lush, eight-foot-tall, fiddle-leaf fig tree that had been planted in a pot big enough to hide in.
He looked at a big broad leaf curling over his shoulder, then at her, one eyebrow lifting.
“Put that eyebrow back down. I’m the one who should be giving you the single-eyebrow-lift treatment. Angus, I am so angry with you right now I can’t even... How long ago did you know about this conference? Days, right? It didn’t occur to you it might have made my life easier if you’d let me know earlier? Or were you afraid if you gave me too much time I’d organise that temp for you after all?”
“The short answer: yes.”
Oh. Okay then.
“Right. Next time you might want to give me a little more credit. Okay?”