The Morning After the Night Before: Love & Lust in the city that never sleeps!

by Nikki Logan

  Cobalt, piercing eyes.

  Smug eyes.

  Ugh.

  Izzy stumbled just slightly but caught herself and continued on to stand beside the vacant chair on her side of the table. She greeted Kevin and Darcy with warm handshakes, then steeled herself and turned to reach to her left, her eyes steady.

  ‘Mr Mitchell, how are you?’

  * * *

  Better the devil you know. Wasn’t that what she’d thought all those agony-filled minutes ago?

  That was before she’d realised she knew one of them in the biblical sense, but she’d soldiered on and delivered the presentation she’d practised on her flatmates until their ears bled.

  Darcy and Kevin both looked mildly surprised.

  Harry just looked bored.

  ‘Otters.’ He studied the glossy printout in front of him. ‘Aren’t they a kind of rodent? Feeding off the river bottom and skulking around in people’s back-yard pools?’

  ‘You just described half your social circle. You’re still happy to do business with them.’

  Darcy gasped but Harry’s bark of laughter ricocheted off the fine panelled walls. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you really think, Ms Dean?’

  Ah, sarcasm. She knew how to deal with that.

  ‘Bottom line, the money The Lutra Trust needs to do great things on the ground would barely pay the stationery bill of anyone out in your foyer. Broadmore Natále would be a major sponsor with us instead of just one of a multitude with them. You’d never have to share logo space.’

  Blah blah blah. She was clearly boring him.

  ‘I’m going to be honest with you, Ms Dean—’

  ‘That would be refreshing.’

  He ignored that. ‘You’re not in our top five.’

  The carefully schooled surprise on Kevin’s and Darcy’s faces suggested he hadn’t yet polled them, which meant Lutra Trust weren’t in his personal top five. Then again this wouldn’t be the first time that he’d overruled his staff. It also meant she was screwed.

  But she would be damned before she begged. ‘Disappointing. But I’m just getting warmed up.’

  ‘Really?’ Only the slightest flick of his eyebrows gave her any clue that he’d not expected that. ‘Not letting the moss grow, huh?’

  ‘You’d be astonished what I can achieve when I’m motivated about my work.’

  Tssss! Burned.

  But he didn’t even blink, damn him. ‘I don’t have to be astonished. I’m going to see it.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘When we cut you a cheque for fifty thousand pounds.’

  Her respiration seized for shocked moments, but she had just enough left to stammer, ‘I thought we weren’t in your top five?’

  ‘You’re not. But you are sixth, fair and square. And, as you rightly point out, it doesn’t cost a mountain extra to have you. I’ll just shave ten grand off each of the others. They’ll barely feel it.’

  ‘I…um…thank you.’

  ‘Don’t thank me. You’ll be working for it as our UK domestic focus. You’ll cooperate with Darcy on possible media exposure and with Kevin on a style guide for all your visual material. We’ll expect multiple public relations opportunities every year and invitations to any significant otter-based events.’

  Wow. Had she been this much of an autocrat when approving previous recipients?

  Her smile stretched. ‘Of course.’

  And just like that she found herself working for Harry Mitchell again.

  Crap.

  * * *

  ‘Ms Dean, a word?’

  Ugh…so close. She’d even called the lift already.

  On a careful lungful of manners, Izzy turned. ‘Mr Mitchell.’

  He glanced around them to ensure they were alone. ‘Nicely played.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean exactly that. Well played.’

  ‘It’s not a game. The Lutra Trust has as much right as any other group to petition Broadmore Natále for support.’

  ‘Is that why you didn’t put your own name on the application? Because it’s all so transparent?’

  Heat threatened at the back of her neck. Only some of it was embarrassment at being caught out, because she had thought putting her own name on the application might have lessened the trust’s chances, given how she’d left things with the company.

  ‘The trust’s EO signs off on all our pitch submissions. I wasn’t trying to hide it.’

  Much.

  ‘I made it my business to check into the whole shortlist,’ he said. ‘Just to be sure.’

  ‘Sure of what?’

  ‘That they genuinely earned their spot. A couple of them have been in our top ten for years.’

  ‘Because they’re worthy and deliver a guaranteed return, not because anything dodgy was going on with their selection.’ Too bad if she was defending the competition. She’d chaired that selection panel the past five years.

  God, twenty seconds back in his company and he’d questioned her integrity and capabilities in close succession. ‘Anyway, if it offended you so much why did you shortlist us?’

  ‘Because you are a recently departed staff member with an axe to grind. Not shortlisting you could have been made to look like sour grapes.’

  If she was that kind of a person, sure. And, naturally, he assumed she was.

  ‘Then why did you grant the submission? You would have been quite within your rights—and within your policy—to draw your line at number five, as usual.’

  The lift arrived empty and he herded her into it.

  ‘I felt a certain amount of pressure.’

  ‘Because I’m an ex-staff member?’

  He smiled and then murmured between his teeth, ‘Because we’ve slept together.’

  It was only then she realised that he’d strategically positioned his tall self between her and the lift’s surveillance camera. And that his casual palm-down lean on the little speaker/microphone above the emergency phone wasn’t as casual as it appeared. He didn’t want this conversation monitored.

  If she didn’t know him so well, she’d have guessed he was protecting her.

  But Harry Mitchell only prioritised one person.

  Offence surged through her body and fired her up. ‘You think I would use that to my advantage?’

  ‘I would.’

  No doubt. ‘I’m not you.’

  ‘You used your inside knowledge to pitch your submission straight to our operational priorities.’

  ‘I could have gleaned any of that information from your annual report. What you’re suggesting is…’

  ‘Is what?’

  ‘Immoral.’

  ‘What’s moral about business?’

  God, she’d found that cynical little snort quite sexy the night of her party. ‘In your world, maybe nothing. But in my world I have this little thing called values.’

  ‘Please. You’re not trying to suggest you weren’t hoping your professional relationships with your fellow panel members would have boosted you across the line.’

  ‘The operative word there is “professional”.’ What she and he had done was personal. Extremely personal. ‘Anyway, how could I possibly know you’d be on the panel? It wasn’t in the appointment letter your office sent out.’

  His eyes narrowed at the inconvenient truth of that.

  ‘Why were you on the panel, Harry? You’re normally the final approval before it goes to the board. Why are you doing your own grunt work?’

  ‘Because my previous panel chair left the company rather suddenly and with no notice.’ Criticism saturated his words.

  ‘Your previous panel chair had nearly three months of accrued leave to serve out.’ Leave pay that still hadn’t come through since HR were dragging their feet on finalising her cessation. Probably thanks to him. ‘But don’t avoid the question.’

  He shrugged, but his eyes didn’t quite meet hers. ‘If you want something done right…’

  It could have been anger flooding
in or the lift’s sudden deceleration as it approached the ground floor that weakened Izzy’s legs but, either way, she had to grip the ornate handrail behind her.

  ‘Charming. I’m not even on your staff anymore and you’re still finding ways of suggesting I’m incompetent.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re incompetent in all areas.’ The charm sleazed out of him.

  But as her fury escalated something about his lack of direct gaze struck her. He was lying. So she pushed harder, right there.

  ‘You’re getting dangerously close to a statement I could use against you.’

  ‘You wouldn’t, not now you’ve got what you wanted.’

  Again with the assumption that this was all strategy on her part. The lift doors began to open so she pressed the door’s close button and kept her finger down hard. Blank eyes found hers.

  ‘For the record, I approached Broadmore because I knew your system and your priorities and, yes, because I hoped that the people I’d worked with on the panel would help the trust get across the line. But not because I expected favours, simply because I knew Darcy and Kevin were open to new ideas and a persuasive, professional presentation. I had no idea you’d be on that panel and I certainly had no intention of using either my past employment or our brief…whatever…to boost my chances. In fact, I’ve been trying hard to put both behind me.’

  ‘Maybe it’s worth fifty grand to me to do the same.’

  She stood taller. Past the ache his words caused.

  ‘Maybe I no longer want your fifty grand,’ she risked, hoping like hell he didn’t take her up on it. That wasn’t toy money she was playing with. Fifty thousand pounds was future-changing for the trust. ‘If it comes with the constant requirement to genuflect.’

  ‘Ah, Dean,’ he purred. ‘Always such a team player.’

  Was he kidding? ‘Pot kettle black, Mitchell.’

  ‘I’m sure the otter people wouldn’t be thrilled to hear you’re trying to return their funding.’

  Okay, enough of this.

  ‘Your reasons for shortlisting and approving our submission, paranoid as they are, are your own,’ she said. ‘I know why I came back to Broadmore—’ though God knew that didn’t look like such a sterling idea with benefit of hindsight ‘—and I know it was a good submission because I’ve been on two other shortlists already in just a few weeks. So I’ll be able to sleep perfectly straight at night, thanks very much.’

  ‘In that tiny, lonely bed.’

  No question. He wanted her off kilter. He wanted her remembering how they’d flipped and turned and sweated together in that bed. And if he wanted it, she wasn’t giving it to him.

  ‘Eight straight, deep hours. When was the last time you achieved that, Harry?’

  With that, she punched the door’s open button and swept out of the lift ahead of him, resisting every urge to look into any of the building’s mirrored foyer panels to see if he was still behind her.

  ‘Looking forward to working with you, Izzy,’ he called just as the street doors silently parted.

  Yeah. Right.

  FIVE

  ‘Otter fanciers are a dedicated bunch,’ Harry murmured, casting a sideways look in the direction of the welly-boot brigade, criticism patent in his gaze.

  Umbrage burbled up right below Izzy’s skin. Sure, their volunteers were a motley bunch, and a little disorganised—and possibly only semi-effectual—but they were giving their time for free.

  Her parents would have fitted right in if she’d found the courage to invite them. But calling because she needed something wasn’t how she’d imagined getting back in touch with them after all this time. And this wasn’t the first time she’d quietly put the phone down again.

  Baby steps.

  ‘Your staff are the only people here today who are getting paid to re-vegetate this waterway,’ she reminded him with astonishing self-control considering what a jerk he continued to be whenever she was around.

  Another two weeks apart had clearly done little to improve things between them.

  ‘You don’t think my people would be here if we weren’t paying them to be?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Would you?’

  He considered her silently before changing tack. ‘You realise it was really only a few weeks ago that you would have been one of us, sloshing about with no idea what we’re doing and fixating on knock-off time.’

  Oh, she was very aware of that. And how much of a fraud she felt for pretending to be anything else, now. This was only her second re-vegetation trip. But it was amazing how fast her misspent childhood romping around the fields was coming back to her.

  ‘It’s a win-win. The Lutra Trust gets a helping hand on this stretch of wetlands and Broadmore Natále gets a good team-building activity.’

  At least that was how she’d sold it to them last week when she’d first conceived the idea.

  ‘A couple of pints at the pub is also good team-building,’ he pointed out.

  ‘But this is outdoors. In nature. On a beautiful day. And they’re doing something worthwhile.’

  ‘Everything they do at their desks is worthwhile.’

  Maybe for their shareholders.

  ‘Nothing they do at their desks will get Broadmore Natále’s name in the paper, though.’

  On the other side of the sodden bog they were clearing of weeds, a cadet journalist from the Butterforth Crier interviewed one of The Lutra Trust staff and one of Harry’s team while a photographer grabbed pictures of the muckiest weed-clearing activity. Sure, it wasn’t exactly a Sunday paper but it was a start. And he’d wanted grass-roots exposure.

  ‘I thought you’d have put yourself forward for the interview,’ Izzy commented.

  His eyes instantly grew cagey. ‘Not me. Better things to do than talk to the media.’

  Was a village newspaper not worthy of his esteemed attention? ‘Saving yourself for your Time Magazine Man of the Year cover story?’

  His eyes narrowed and shifted, and not just because of all the natural light pouring down on them. ‘Media is not my preferred thing.’

  ‘Tsk tsk, Harry,’ she purred. ‘That’s no way to get to the big leagues.’

  His jaw tightened visibly. ‘I feel certain that there are plenty of paths to the top that don’t automatically involve public exposure.’

  ‘You’ve surprised me, Harry. I would have pegged you for a man who loves to get his face in front of the cameras.’

  In fact, she’d always thought him much more suited to a more public role than he had.

  One brow lifted higher. ‘Have you ever seen me do that?’

  It didn’t take much to get her Izzometer twitching. Something was off here. A man as arrogant and charming and…flashy…as Harry—even in that carelessly dishevelled Australian way he had—shouldn’t have been shy of media. He should have been right out there in front, loving the exposure.

  Hunting it. Playing up to it.

  ‘No, I haven’t. Why is that?’ Unless he had something to hide?

  ‘Media can be a circus.’

  ‘Personal experience?’ Because avoiding the media sure wasn’t in any How To Get Ahead In Business manual she’d ever read.

  ‘Direct observation,’ he hedged.

  ‘So any media leveraging you do off Broadmore Natále’s sponsorship will be done by someone else?’

  ‘Ideally.’

  ‘Okay. Got it.’ She pushed back a damp lock of hair and resettled her spade in the muck. ‘Any other unwritten rules I need to keep in mind?’

  ‘I’ll let you know when I think of them.’

  Before she could do more than open her mouth to quiz him further, the suck and squidge of gumboots sounded in the wetland behind them and Izzy turned towards a tense, interrupting voice.

  ‘Izzy.’ Alex rested one hand on his hoe and the other on her nape. ‘What’s next on the list?’

  Which was, of course, man code for ‘want me to hurt him for you?’.

  Alex’s perceptive eyes locked hard onto H
arry. And stayed there. Izzy hurried to mitigate any growing tension with introductions. ‘Harry Mitchell, Finance Manager at Broadmore Natále, our sponsor.’ She leaned extra heavy on that last word. ‘Alex Spencer, my…flatmate.’

  He hadn’t replaced Tori long enough for that to feel normal on the lips yet. In her head, Alex was still Poppy’s hot brother.

  ‘Another one?’ Harry grunted. ‘Just how big is that place of yours?’

  ‘Small enough to hear clean through the walls,’ Alex said evenly.

  Oh, God…

  She adored Alex, most days, even if he was far from perfect as flatmates—and even friends—went. But since an ex-soldier brought a heap more security to two women living alone on the fringes of Notting Hill, she’d made it her business not to complain when he moved in. Not about the toilet seat with obsessive orientation disorder, not about the stubble hairs that—like the sands of Afghanistan—seemed to get into everything in the bathroom she now shared with two people, and not about no longer being able to flit between the shower and her bedroom in her lacy smalls.

  But, every now and again, having a protective best friend with an ex-military rottweiler at her disposal twenty-four-seven became just a bit too much to bear. Like right now.

  ‘Alex had some free time today,’ she rushed on for Harry’s benefit, then turned back to him. ‘Thanks again for coming to help.’

  ‘I’m here on orders from HQ,’ he said. ‘I’d rather be sleeping.’

  Harry’s perceptive glance swung between the two of them, pausing for the barest moment on the gentle rest of Alex’s hand on her shoulder. ‘HQ?’

  ‘My sister, Poppy.’

  ‘Ah, yeah. Sisters.’

  ‘You’ve got one?’

  ‘I’ve got several.’

  Izzy’s head came up. That was the first vaguely personal titbit she’d ever had about Harry. If you didn’t count knowing the size of his—

  ‘Several?’ Alex said. ‘Jeez, I thought one was a handful.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  And just like that Alex’s allegiance shifted slightly—just slightly—in the direction of the only other Y-chromosome in the conversation.