by Anne Oliver
Jez fidgeted beside him, obviously not used to being kept waiting for anything. ‘So, she’s gone then,’ he blurted, unable to maintain the silence. ‘Did she give you much trouble?’ His tone was belligerently offhand, as if he hadn’t doubted for a second that she’d be fired and not him.
Tristan’s skin prickled with annoyance. There was something inherently unpleasant about the guy.
He didn’t look up from his tablet. ‘I’ve dealt with it. She’s clearing her desk.’
Jez put his hands behind his head and stretched further back in his chair. If he got any more relaxed he’d be horizontal soon. ‘Cheers for sorting it so quickly,’ he said, yawning so wide Tristan could see his tonsils.
He was a handsome man, Tristan reflected; he could see why women might want to sleep with him, but surely they found his overconfident yapping a turn-off?
The thought of him and Tallulah together made his stomach roll unpleasantly.
‘While I’m here, I’ll take a look over the accounts,’ he said to the side of Jez’s head.
The guy seemed to stiffen and swivelled back to face Tristan, pinning him with an affronted expression. ‘No need; they’re all in order,’ he drawled.
The attempted brush-off made Tristan wonder what he was hiding. ‘I’ll need to use your office while I go over them,’ he said firmly, and was gratified to see a flash of annoyance on Jez’s face.
Maybe it was childish, but he was enjoying seeing the guy shaken up.
‘Okay, then,’ Jez said, dropping his feet to the floor and standing up, apparently keen to be out of there now. ‘I’ll be out for most of the day—business to attend to—so it’s all yours,’ he muttered, not giving Tristan time to respond before he strode out, slamming the door closed behind him.
Tristan leaned back in his chair, a deep sense of foreboding invading his consciousness.
Something felt very wrong here.
* * *
‘You have to sue the arse off them!’
Lula winced as Emily’s voice bellowed down the phone at her. After stumbling home in a daze, she was now curled up on her overstuffed red velvet sofa wearing her tracksuit bottoms and a Take That T-shirt that she’d had since the early nineties. An empty packet of biscuits and a cold, half-full coffee mug sat on the table in front of her.
‘It’s not my style, Em; I couldn’t take the stress of it. Anyway, I don’t have money to spare to hire a lawyer and I’d probably do my professional reputation more harm than good by dragging this thing through a court.’
Emily snorted in disgust, but didn’t push it. Her friend knew how much she hated confrontation.
‘So what are you going to do?’ Emily asked more gently.
‘I’ve already been in touch with Scott Wendell. His long-standing job offer to present a show on his radio station in Melbourne is still open.’
‘What? You’d really leave me and move all the way to Australia?’
Lula sighed, a thread of guilt tugging at her insides. ‘Not everything revolves around you, Em.’ She attempted to make a joke of it but it came out sounding more snippy than witty.
‘I know, but I’d miss you like crazy.’ Em’s voice was quieter now and, behind the exaggerated sulk, Lula detected a real twang of hurt.
‘I don’t want to go. I loved my job at Flash, but I have to be realistic. Even if by some miracle they gave me my show back, there’s no way I could ever work for Jez again.’ The thought of having to pander to him made her feel physically sick.
‘Surely there’s another station in London you could work for?’
Lula twisted her ponytail around her hand then let it slide through her fingers, finding comfort in the silky strands brushing against her skin. It was a move she’d done in times of stress since she was a little girl, especially when her parents had been having one of their screaming rows. ‘I put my feelers out when things started getting sticky with Jez, but there’s nothing out there at the minute. Not unless I want to take a big pay cut and work the graveyard shift, which would be a huge step backwards, career-wise.’
‘Ugh! I can’t believe they’d just fire you like that. The world’s gone mad!’
Lula listened to her friend chunter on about the injustice of the situation with the pain in her chest and throat getting harsher by the second.
She hadn’t even told Emily the whole story yet. She was afraid she’d totally lose it and burst into tears if she so much as mentioned Tristan’s name. The fact he’d been so cold towards her had almost been worse than losing her job.
She’d really liked him last night.
So much so that she’d even entertained the notion that if she’d met him under different circumstances they could have made something of their connection. How unlucky was she to pull the one man she really needed to stay away from that night?
When she thought about it, it wasn’t such a coincidence that they’d met, though. That pub was the closest one to the radio station, so of course they’d both naturally gravitated towards it. Her because it was her local from work and him because it made sense to stay close to where he was working the next day.
What bloody bad luck, though.
It had taken all her willpower to walk out of the station with her head held high and make it home without shedding the hot tears that burned at the back of her eyes. She knew that once she let the anger and panic get hold of her that would be it for the rest of the day—she’d be an emotional wreck. She’d wanted to get the practical stuff out of the way first so she could have a good old wallow without being disturbed.
‘Look, I’ve got to go,’ she told Emily, cutting her off mid-rant. She needed to get off the phone and finally let the growing hysteria free. ‘I’ve got a whole tub of ice cream to scoff and many more hours of daytime TV to glom.’ The effort to sound glib and in control almost made her choke. ‘I’ll speak to you tomorrow when I can formulate a coherent thought again, okay?’
There was a pause on the other end of the line. ‘Okay, sweetie. You know where I am if you need me. I’ve got a couple of days off filming after tomorrow so I can come over in the blink of an eye and glom with you.’
‘Thanks, Em. I really appreciate you being here for me. You’re the only person I wanted to speak to, you know.’
‘I know.’ Emily did know. She’d been witness over the years to exactly how flaky Lula’s parents were. From experience, they both knew neither of them would have returned a phone message from Lula for days. They were always too busy with their new families to get involved in the life of the daughter they’d had together. Neither of them wanted to take responsibility for her any more.
‘I’ll call you soon,’ Lula said, keeping her voice as bouncy as she could manage.
‘You do that.’ Em’s tone was kind now, which somehow made things worse.
Lula’s throat tightened even more. ‘Bye,’ she squeaked and ended the call, finally letting her bravado slip and the long-held-back tears slide down her face.
* * *
Four hours after he’d first sat down at Jez’s desk and begun to work his way through the files on his computer, Tristan knew why he’d been right to be worried about how the station was being run.
It seemed Jez had been playing fast and loose with the expenses account. Not only that, but there appeared to be a freelancer on the books—who was collecting an unusually high regular wage—that no one in the station had ever heard of. After doing some more digging, Tristan came to the conclusion that Jez had been paying himself a double wage by syphoning off the ‘freelancer’s’ wage into his own account.
When he eventually caught up with Jez and interrogated him about it all, it was clear from the man’s blustering anger that he realised he was busted. After playing the ‘I’ve been working my arse off here for pathetic wages’ card and bellowing the ‘This st
ation is going to die a terrible death without me’ soliloquy, he finally gave Tristan enough air time to tell him he was fired.
‘Your father’s going to have something to say about this when he gets back,’ was Jez’s parting shot before he stormed out, leaving Tristan’s ears ringing with the sound of his histrionic ranting.
It was the second time that day that Tristan had been accused of playing second fiddle to his father and his blood thumped in his veins as he waited for his annoyance to abate. He couldn’t believe his father had been so lax as to let someone like Jez have free rein with one of his businesses, even if he was the son of a friend. He’d be furious when he found out how much money Jez had been embezzling from him.
Although maybe it served the fool right for not paying more attention to his business affairs.
When Tristan finally felt calm enough, he called a meeting with the rest of the employees working at the station that day. They all filed into the conference room with pale faces, clearly expecting the firing spree to continue.
‘Jez has been relieved as Station Manager,’ he told them all once they’d taken their seats around the table.
There was a tense silence as they waited for him to continue.
He cleared his throat. He hadn’t made much of a plan other than to get rid of Jez as soon as possible, but it was clear he was going to have to step in as a caretaker manager until he could find someone to take over full-time.
‘I’m going to be here taking care of things until I can replace him so I’m going to need your cooperation,’ he said, moving his gaze over the assembly.
The woman who had brought him the bacon sandwich that morning cleared her throat and raised a tentative hand.
He nodded for her to ask her question.
‘Who’s going to take over the Breakfast Show?’
‘Er...’ Tristan searched around wildly, his whole body growing hot with discomfort. In his rush to get rid of the guy, it had slipped his mind that Jez was a presenter here as well. ‘Who would normally cover that show when he’s away?’
The woman gave him a steady look. ‘Tallulah Lazenby. She’s the only one with enough experience to pick up such a tough show on short notice.’
Every single person around the table nodded their agreement.
‘That’s going to be a bit tricky,’ Tristan said, smoothing an agitated hand over his hair. ‘Because she doesn’t work here any more.’
There was a stony silence, during which Tristan wondered what he’d done to deserve such an abysmal day.
The same woman spoke again, this time with a determined edge to her voice. ‘Look, I don’t know what Jez told you about Lula, but I can pretty much guarantee it was a pack of lies. She’s the hardest working, most dedicated, most professional DJ we have at Flash. She should have been presenting the Breakfast Show ages ago, but Jez and his ginormous ego couldn’t—or wouldn’t—give it up.’ Her face was flushed and she seemed to be trembling after her outburst, but she didn’t break eye contact.
It was clear she meant every word and the fact the rest of the table was nodding along with her made him wonder whether he’d made a terrible mistake this morning firing Tallulah. Perhaps he’d let his humiliation at losing control of his actions get in the way of his usually dispassionate business thinking?
The sinking feeling in his gut made him think it almost certainly had. How could she have got under his skin in such a short amount of time and caused him to act so out of character?
He had no idea, but clearly she had.
And now it seemed he needed her in order to stop his father’s pet project from crashing down around his ears. He had to find her and make things right.
He’d never been the type of man to run away from a mistake he’d made and he wasn’t about to change that now.
Sighing, he ran a hand over his tired eyes.
Judging by the death stare Tallulah had given him on departing this morning, he suspected he was going to have his work cut out convincing her to come back.
* * *
Lula had finished all the ice cream, plus all the chocolate she had stashed in hiding places around the apartment and was just contemplating putting on a pair of sunglasses and her baseball cap to visit the local convenience store for more restorative refined sugar products when the buzzer went.
She sat stock-still on the sofa, hoping whoever it was would go away.
The buzzer went again, this time for longer, as if the person on the other side of her door knew she was holed up in there and was determined to speak to her.
Surely Emily wouldn’t have walked out on her filming early to come over and watch TV when she’d made it clear she needed space right now.
No, Em knew her better than that.
So that meant it was someone else. Someone from work perhaps, come to commiserate with her?
Sighing, she levered herself off the sofa and went to check her appearance in the mirror.
She didn’t look good. Her face was puffy after her crying fit and her eyes looked dull and small. Whoever it was would get a real shock when she opened the door to them. Hopefully, her wild appearance would frighten them off so she could go back to her day of mooching and pity eating. She was only giving herself today to get it out of her system though, then she was bouncing back up and moving on. Just like she always did.
The buzzer went again, making her jump. Stumbling over to the door, she yanked it open and stared at the person waiting impatiently on the other side.
It took her a moment to fully comprehend who the tall, fit-looking man filling her doorway was and her stomach did a double somersault as his handsome face registered in her brain.
Tristan.
Inappropriate pleasure at seeing him again mixed with a blood-boiling indignation that he would have the gall to bother her at home after the way he’d treated her today. Pulling back her shoulders and tipping up her chin, she fixed him with a contemptuous stare.
His gaze dropped from her face to her feet and he tipped an eyebrow. ‘You’re not wearing your heels.’
She screwed up her face in confusion at the conversational curve ball. ‘Of course not—I was relaxing on the sofa.’ If you could call being curled up in a foetal position, clutching a soggy tissue relaxed, that was.
She instinctively lifted up onto her toes to try and give the impression of more height and power than she suspected she was projecting right at that moment.
The twitch of a grin at the corner of Tristan’s mouth was the straw that broke her temper.
‘What the hell are you doing here? Not come to accuse me of more dastardly deeds, have you? Because if you have you can bugger off and go stick your head right up—’
He cut off her ranting by taking a step forwards and holding up a placating palm.
‘No. It seems I was a little too quick to judge the situation at Flash. Like you, I was a bit...er...tired this morning and it may have had an detrimental effect on my decision-making.’
Lula stared at him agog. ‘I’m sorry—did I hear you right?’ She shook her head and blinked hard, feigning the impression she must have misheard him. ‘It sounded suspiciously like you were admitting you were wrong to fire me.’
‘I think I may have made a mistake, yes, and I regret it.’
It looked as though it was causing him actual physical pain to admit he was in the wrong. Well, good.
She should drag this out, as revenge for his harsh treatment of her that morning.
‘That constitutes an apology in Tristan World, does it?’ she said coolly.
He frowned. ‘Look, can I come in so we can discuss this?’ he said, bracing one arm against the door jamb and dipping his head in a conciliatory manner.
Her body went up in flames as his wonderful scent hit her nostrils, bringing back memories of the e
nthralling feeling of his hard body beneath her only the night before.
Damn him for being such a low-down, dirty sex god.
She gave him a scrutinising look, playing for time while she attempted to get her head together. The thought of letting him into her sanctuary made her nervous. She was acutely aware of how bedraggled she looked—not to mention diminutive without her heels on—and she didn’t want to give him the upper hand by feeling self-conscious about her appearance as well as the questionable state of her living room. There were sodden tissues and chocolate wrappers littering the coffee table and a line of underwear drying on the radiator behind the sofa. It didn’t exactly shout, You have no power over me. I’m moving onwards and upwards.
‘I’d rather do it here, if you don’t mind. I don’t want to be accused of luring you in here to take advantage of you again.’
He let out a snort, but quickly reined in his mirth.
‘Okay, Tallulah, fair enough.’
‘So what prompted this revelation?’ she asked, folding her arms in front of her ancient, faded T-shirt, hoping he hadn’t noticed the adolescent boy band motif on the front.
Tristan frowned and rubbed a hand over his jaw, his fingers making a faint rasping sound against the beginnings of his stubble. His gaze flicked around her hallway before snapping back to her. He suddenly looked very tired and for a second she almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
He huffed out a breath. ‘It seems Jez has been misappropriating money from the station and, after talking with some of the other staff, it appears you were right about him taking certain other liberties with his position as well.’
Lula stared at him, dumbfounded. ‘Really? God. So you fired him?’ she asked hopefully. It would serve the idiot right if he’d been booted too.
‘Yes. He’s gone and I’m stepping in to manage the station until I can find a suitable replacement.’ He bit down on his lip as if he was keying himself up to add something else.
Lula’s gaze was drawn to his mouth as he uttered the next words.
‘We need you back at Flash. Now Jez has gone I can offer you the Breakfast Show slot. Apparently you’re the best and most experienced presenter at the station and the general consensus is that it should go to you.’