Battle Royal

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Battle Royal Page 19

by Lucy Parker


  Considering that the rest of her body was six feet away under the truffle fridge, she was entitled to be a little peeved.

  Mabel pushed through the kitchen door, took one look at the mess on the floor, shot Sylvie a very pointed stare, and turned straight back the way she’d come.

  Sylvie lifted her head to meet the wide-eyed, naïve gaze of Penny.

  Even as she opened her mouth, the intern’s gray eyes started to fill.

  Oh no.

  “It was an accident,” she said hastily, but it was too late. The meltdown commenced.

  “I’m hopeless!” Penny wailed, flinging herself down onto a stool and scrubbing her hands over her face. She was still wearing her gloves, so green icing smeared all over her cheeks.

  With a massive internal sigh, Sylvie stripped off her own gloves and went to pat her on the back.

  “It was like sad Elphaba,” she said a quarter of an hour later, knocking back coffee in the office. “Tears streaking down her green face. Have you seen her when she’s crying? She has Disney eyes at the best of times. The slightest upset and she goes full-on Bambi.”

  Jay was leaning against the filing cabinet, arms folded.

  Before he could say the words obviously scrambling toward his tongue, she set down her mug. “Don’t say it. I can’t fire her over a dropped tray of biscuits.”

  Jay tossed down the papers he was holding. “It was an entire trolley of biscuits, and this is only one more catastrophe in an endless stream of incompetence.”

  She was tired and on uncertain ground about a lot of things right now, and she was really not in the mood to argue about this again. And it was admittedly becoming frustrating that however hard she tried with Penny, whatever angle she took, it netted no positive results at all. “I know you think I need to be tougher in this part of the business.”

  Jay seemed about to respond, probably in the emphatic affirmative, but when he took a closer look at her face, he sighed and came to sit on the edge of the desk. “Look, when it comes down to it, you can’t be anything other than what you are. And nor should you be. You’re almost entirely the reason this business is successful at all.”

  His eyes were very warm and affectionate on her, and she reached up to squeeze his hand. “The business is both of us. We built it together, and I couldn’t do it without you.”

  Letting her fingers drop, she sat up straighter with a sigh. “I think—I know—I’ve probably been a bit . . . softer on Penny because of her family situation.”

  “Her family situation?” Jay reached for the bowl of mints on her desk and unwrapped one, slipping it into his mouth.

  “Not having living family anymore. Like me.” It had been something of a bonding moment during Penny’s interview, after the other woman’s nervous small talk had veered into the area of Sylvie’s private life. There had been several candidates with roughly equal qualifications that day; if she were honest, it was Penny’s similar circumstances that had sealed the deal on the job offer. However, as soon as the words were out, Sylvie quickly touched Jay’s knee. “Biological family. I know I still have a family.”

  Something in his expression deepened, then. She couldn’t quite read it. And when he spoke, after a noticeable pause, his voice was gruff. “You and I will always be family, Syl.”

  Adamant. Obviously sincere.

  Yet something in the air was raising a tickling sensation down the back of her neck. Only a couple of times in her life, the most notable instance in the hours before Mallory’s death, Sylvie had experienced that creeping sense of foreboding.

  Jay pushed back a falling strand of his dark hair. His muscular chest moved with a long in-drawn breath. “Sylvie,” he said, and although their eyes met, she still couldn’t get a grip on what he was feeling, at all. “Can we talk? Not now. I know you have this meeting with the Albany team. But later. Soon.”

  “Yes. Of course we can.” She tapped the tip of her shoe against the chair leg. “Is something wrong?”

  “I . . . hope not wrong. No.” He exhaled, some of the stiffness leaving his frame as he smiled at her. “Don’t look so worried. It’s very un-Sylvie. I’m meant to be the family pessimist.”

  She smiled back, but that hard, tight feeling remained.

  Jay had been a rock in her life for a long time, so why did she feel like that foundation stone had just wobbled?

  He stroked her head as he straightened. “I have to go, too. Meeting with that supplier who’s gone rogue.” After grabbing another mint, he headed for the door, but suddenly turned back. “By the way, why did you think Penny doesn’t have family? I heard her talking to her mother on the phone recently.”

  She looked up from where she’d been frowning at the desk. “I don’t think so. She definitely said at her interview she doesn’t have family.”

  He made a noncommittal gesture. “Maybe I got it wrong.” He touched a finger to his temple in a glancing salute. “See you later. Good luck with the princess’s pompous PA.”

  It was a relief to fall back on irony. “Darren Clyde would like to inform you that the title of Asshat Alliterator is already filled.”

  Which reminded her that she needed one more unenthusiastic trip to the Starlight Circus. She was missing one ingredient in the Midnight Elixir, the linking note that brought everything else together. It was suitably elusive, slipping away into the darkness every time she thought she had it.

  Jay’s low laugh followed her as she grabbed her coat and went out the back door into the side alleyway. It was freezing outside, and she pulled her woolly gloves from her coat pocket as she walked.

  Freezing, but busy. After almost five minutes of waiting for a break in the traffic, and a quick selfie with a passing Operation Cake fan, she managed to cross the road safely, and stood looking at the classy frontage of the love of Dominic’s life.

  Even with the constant gray drizzle of rain, his windows were perfectly polished under their awnings and the gold fittings gleamed.

  With a small smile, she pushed open the door. Immediately, a rush of warm, delicious air hit her in the face—the most welcome knockout blow she could imagine. She breathed deep. Interesting how two businesses with similar wares could smell so distinct. Sugar Fair was caramel, candyfloss, popcorn. De Vere’s was dark chocolate and bourbon—deep, indulgent, sensual.

  The front rooms of the salon were beautiful and not her personal taste at all. White walls with just the smallest hint of mint, oak accents, and a general vibe of Paris. The expensive end.

  A kind-eyed assistant smiled at her from behind a massive glass cabinet of chocolates. “Welcome to De Vere’s. May I help you find something?”

  “Bring forth the siege engines. The enemy walks amongst us.”

  At the dramatic pronouncement, Sylvie turned, startled—and grinned. Pet De Vere was sitting on the window seat, perched amongst the cushions with an open laptop on her knee.

  Pet winked at her. “Just straight through the front door. No army. No unicorn bombs. Not even a concealing cloak. Bold. Very bold.”

  Still smiling, Sylvie walked over and leaned against a wooden beam that was crying out for some fairy lights. “You look busy.”

  Pet picked up the hot chocolate at her side and took a sip, looking as if she were bracing herself to continue an unpleasant task. “Job-hunting. Always a blast.”

  “He hasn’t given you the sack?”

  “Amazingly, not yet.” Pet waved a hand at her laptop screen. “But it’s only a fixed-term contract, until his permanent assistant can come back.” She lifted a shoulder in an incredibly Dominic-esque gesture. “And at some point, I need to find my own place, you know? In the world, I mean,” she added, in a way that could have come across naïvely, but didn’t.

  “I do know,” Sylvie said quietly. She tilted her head at the laptop. “If I hear of anything—”

  “Thanks. I’ll know the right thing when it comes along.” Pet set the computer aside and stood, smoothing down her top and skirt. Her silk blouse wa
s neatly pressed and tied in a jaunty pussy bow under her chin. “I’m guessing you want Dominic?”

  There was a slightly wicked glint in her eyes, but Sylvie worked on a daily basis with Mabel. It was a far higher bar than that to discompose her with subtextual innuendo. “We have a meeting, and I thought we might as well share a ride.”

  Now that the cat was out of the bag between them regarding the Albany tender—and as they were currently colleagues on set—the palace had directed one big cozy Super-Secret Cake Meeting. Bit of a switch-up from last time, but it saved everyone some time and subterfuge, she supposed.

  Pet shot a quick glance around and leaned close. “The atmosphere suddenly went very sly. Is this a meeting regarding a certain commission, or is ‘meeting’ a complete euphemism, in which case, I’d like to put up a hand and say I both highly endorse this and also don’t want to know any details, ever.”

  It took a second to untangle that stream of words. The genetics gods had clearly forgotten to give any garrulous genes to Dominic and stuffed a few extra into Pet instead.

  “The former,” Sylvie said emphatically, eyeing her.

  A rear door opened, and she sensed Dominic seconds before he appeared. Like a personal Bat-Signal. He was wearing a navy peacoat, strands of silver at his temples glinted under the lights, and her stomach did a dizzy little flip-flop.

  All the surrealness and confliction aside, she’d forgotten how—fun it was, to feel that little leap of excitement, just from someone walking into a room.

  When he saw her standing with Pet, his dark gaze moved slowly between them before coming to rest on her. “Hello.”

  Typically guarded, but she could have sworn that a little inner light appeared in his eyes when he looked at her. As it had multiple times overnight, the sight and sound of his laughter yesterday returned to her mind.

  Obviously, Dominic was handsome. He’d lucked out genetically where his face was concerned. But when he had laughed, properly laughed, for the first time ever in her presence, he’d made her want to draw in close in every way. Physically, sexually, emotionally.

  As she’d said. Knee-weakening.

  “Hi.” She unnecessarily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “I just need to stick these in the office.” Holding up a couple of files. “And we can go.” He shot a glance at the Baroque clock near the counter. “That’s running fast again, but traffic’s horrific today, so we shouldn’t cut it too fine—”

  “I can do that,” Pet said at once, snatching the files from him. “You get going.”

  “I haven’t signed them yet—”

  She was already gone.

  “Well, she’s efficient,” Sylvie offered.

  “That’s one word for it. Come on back. It won’t take a minute.”

  With avid interest, she followed him back into the inner sanctum. She’d never been farther than the kitchens of De Vere’s. Unsurprisingly, even their back rooms were decorated in polar-opposite styles.

  Dominic’s office was spacious, highly equipped with tech, and surprisingly messy. She was envious of the large plushy couch. She only had space in her own office for her desk chair. On the rare occasions she had time for a breather—or tiny nap—she usually lay on the floor in the Dark Forest and looked up at the fairy lights in the trees.

  As she stood near the door, he signed his papers, and Pet hovered by the desk, chewing on her lip. When Sylvie had first spoken to her out front, she’d been sparkly, confident, teasing.

  In here, in the quiet, it was much more apparent how Pet and Dominic changed around each other. The vibe became wary. Not at all combative—quite the opposite. Trying, but battle-wounded. She knew he wanted to connect with Pet, but it was crystal clear how badly Pet, too, wanted that bond back.

  She spoke instinctively. “We’re allowed to involve our most trusted inner circle in the final bids for this contract. Why doesn’t Pet come to the meeting today as part of yours?”

  Pet’s head jerked around, and Dominic looked up from the document he was signing.

  Neither said a word. Sylvie realized how presumptuous the suggestion was. She still didn’t regret making it. “I’m sure she has good insight for your team.”

  Pet’s eyes darted to her brother.

  Dominic raised his brows. “How altruistic of you to give the competition any advantage.”

  Sylvie smiled at him. “Wasn’t it?” Then, ever so slightly, she inclined her head toward Pet, who was still standing silently. The younger woman was starting to twist her fingers around her pen.

  Dominic put down his own pen. “You do have good instincts, Pet, and you’re an excellent judge of character. If you could spare an hour or two and come to the meeting, I’d appreciate it.”

  Her lips parted and moved silently, before an actual word emerged. “Okay.”

  He nodded. “Okay.”

  She hesitated a few seconds longer, and then seemed to reanimate as if she’d come off a battery charge. “I’ll just get my coat!”

  The door slammed behind her, and the walls of that large, spacious room seemed to close in. Sylvie was very aware of the rhythm and sound of her own breathing.

  “I should have involved her myself.” Dominic’s voice was low and deep. “Thank you.”

  “She just wants time with you. To be part of your life.” She finally looked up. He was watching her very intently. “I . . .” She sought for something to say. “Um. I checked the public records for a Jessica Maple-Moore in the region of Oxford and I found her death certificate. She died almost twenty-seven years ago, of catastrophic injury. By the measure of Patrick’s age, that can’t have been all that long after the photograph was taken at Primrose Cottage.” She hesitated again. “I thought about it, and I think after the meeting with her team today, we should try to contact Rosie directly and see if the name means anything to her. I can’t shake the feeling that this is the key to—well, to understanding Patrick.”

  Even outside of the cake, setting aside the contract, she was drawn to that photograph in a way she couldn’t understand. Maybe it was the look in Patrick’s eyes, or the pure joy in Jessica’s face, the sense of two souls intimately connected.

  Or maybe it was pure nosiness. Either way, she felt compelled to follow the path a little further.

  “Okay,” Dominic repeated simply, still quietly.

  Her absurdly nervous gaze suddenly stopped skating around and returned to an object she’d just skimmed on his desk. It was a framed photograph, an old-fashioned shot of a youngish Sebastian De Vere standing outside De Vere’s in an earlier decade. At any other time, she’d be fascinated to see again how handsome he’d been—and how much his grandson resembled him. But it wasn’t the photograph that caught her attention. It was what was tucked into the frame.

  Dominic’s eyes followed hers. And a tinge of color appeared in his cheeks.

  Walking over, the butterflies skittering about her stomach, Sylvie reached out and touched the intricate little silhouette portrait of her own face. Her eyes lifted to Dominic’s in-the-flesh face, which was currently much stiffer than that paper.

  “Pet,” he said. “She cut a couple of portraits in here one day when we were talking about Operation Cake. Yours and Mariana’s.”

  “Yes. I saw Mariana’s after you gave it to her.” She ran her finger around the paper contour of her plait, dropped her hand to the desk. “You didn’t give me mine, though.”

  “No. I didn’t.”

  “Because . . . we didn’t get along? And you wanted to keep Pet’s artwork?”

  “I did want to have some of Pet’s art.” Dominic’s jaw ticked. “And somewhere along the line, I wanted that one in particular.”

  Sylvie swallowed.

  When he walked forward and slowly reached for her, sliding his hands around the curve of her waist, she touched his jaw almost wonderingly, feeling that increasingly familiar prickle of stubble. The softness of his lips when she ran her fingers over them, before his head lowered t
he short distance to hers.

  The coming together was quiet and searching, but as soon as their mouths met, the kiss was hard, urgent. He pulled her up into his body, and Sylvie wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tightly as they pressed closer to each other. His hand stroked up her ribs, his thumb lightly tracing the undercurve of her breast.

  Little whispers of kisses on each corner of her mouth and the tip of her nose, before he roughly caught her lips again, pushing deep, a shivering rush of awareness that echoed in her heart.

  If she’d rubbed a magic lamp and wished for the most head-spinning, gorgeous kiss, even a genie would struggle to top this.

  Dominic’s fingers slid into her hair, cupping her neck, and his teeth closed on her lower lip.

  “Oops,” Pet said from somewhere in the mists beyond Sylvie’s immediate consciousness.

  Her lashes fluttered open, and she looked into Dominic’s darkened eyes. His hand tightened on her and he tore his gaze from hers, turning his head.

  “Um. I’ll just wait at the car.”

  Sylvie finally clued properly into Pet’s presence. She was standing at the door, clutching its edge, and looking equal parts thrilled and squicked-out.

  She flitted away again, and Sylvie’s hand curled against the front of Dominic’s shirt, feeling the movement of his chest.

  “That was—” Her voice was a crackly mess.

  “It was.” Low and velvety, just one simple statement that made her shiver again. He ran the edge of his thumb down her nose. Touching her with an ease that would mean so much less from someone else. “Rain check?”

  She nodded, and their fingers brushed, briefly interlocked.

  As they left the office, Dominic rang ahead to the contact number they’d been given, to warn of an extra visitor.

  Sylvie sat in the back of the car during the long, traffic-stalled trip to the mystery office building, partly so Pet could talk to Dominic. Partly because she had a mind all over the place right now—and frankly, enough sexual frustration that she felt awkward even sitting in the same car as his little sister.

 

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