Tuesdays at Six (Sunday Love Book 3)

by kj lewis

  © 2018 by KJ Lewis Books

  ISBN: 978-0-9976414-8-6

  All rights reserved. No part of this novel may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or actual events is entirely coincidental.

  Editing by Anna Esquivel

  Cover Design by: K Yarwood and KJ Lewis

  Interior Design by Champagne Book Design

  Proofing by Monique Tarver

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Also by KJ Lewis

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  About the Author

  Also by KJ Lewis

  Taylor Made

  Taylored to Perfection

  Sunday Love

  Mondays with You

  To my KellBell.

  “Excuse me,” I murmur impatiently, bumping into the person in front of me. My customary curt disposition prods me to ask why they feel the need to stop directly in the doorway. By now, one would think I would have come to anticipate it. This lobby is a showstopper after all. “A new and oxygenated breath of fresh air,” I believe were the words Architectural Digest used to describe our newest building in its coveted September edition. Since my name is one of two on the building, I bite my tongue and make my way around the obstruction. I pull up short some steps later when, in my haste, I realize I have forgotten the little hand gripping mine. Unable to match my 6’ 3” stride, Poppy’s little legs are barely hitting the Italian marble tiles as I drag her across the lobby. God, I’m a daft prick.

  “Sorry,” I grumble. It’s the first time I’m acknowledging that I’ve practically slogged this poor girl across several parts of the city, and it’s only nine o’clock in the morning. This is not the first time she’s had to run to match my haste. She looks up when I apologize but doesn’t give me the pass I’ve grown accustomed to—the sweet look telling me I’ll get it right one day. I wonder briefly if it’s because she’s not feeling it or if she finally realizes what I’ve known all along: I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.

  Her brown curls bounce haphazardly around her round face; her small hand is wrapped securely in mine to ensure she doesn’t trip. I slow my pace, but it’s no longer necessary. We’re at the private lift my brother Finn and I use to access our offices and our residences.

  What Poppy is feeling today is a fever and a sore throat, which means a trip to work with me instead of the elite school where I have her enrolled. Fever. I mean, unless you had an appendage hanging from your body and were losing copious amounts of blood, you didn’t stay home when we were growing up. I’m certain I never missed a day of courses until I was in university and even then, it wasn’t because I was sick, but because I was arseholed from the night prior. British stoicism for the win.

  The lift doors close and Poppy and I ascend the twenty-seven floors up to my office. Our routine, as are our rituals, are smashed this morning. Usually I am on my mobile already checking emails and Poppy is dancing from one corner to the other, commandeering the lift as her own personal ballet studio. Today her head rests against my lower thigh, her hand still encased in mine.

  The doors slide open onto my brother’s office. Finn and I have an impossible day scheduled that began with a teleconference with our affiliates from China a little more than an hour ago. My instinct is to hurry about, but I make an effort to slow down, conscientious of the infirm little one at my side.

  Nelson Financial has been our family business for decades. Our grandfather started Nelson Financial in 1953. When he passed away a few years ago, our father should have taken over, but rather abruptly decided he didn’t want to die like his father, an old man who never lived. So, he opted for the backseat and became Chairman, making me the CEO and Finn the President of the company after he graduated from Oxford. Dad and mum have since been traveling, taking art classes, and learning to speak German. They even started a small farm together. I thought he had gone barmy when he greeted me in overalls on my last visit. Overalls. This man, who ruled the financial world and wore ten-thousand-dollar suits every day of the week. Our parents are very different people now than the ones I knew growing up.

  Poppy and I enter the holding area outside Finn’s office. Par for the course his PA is not at her desk. I honestly don’t know why he keeps her on the ledgers. She’s never where I think she should be. Helga, his PA at our home office in London, is the epitome of structured efficiency. I’m pretty sure the changing of the guards at the palace is set by her watch.

  Rolling my eyes in frustration at Samantha’s absence, I push open the heavy lacquered door, finding his private office empty. As I expected, he’s not in here. Based on the clock on the wall, he should be leading a tour of our facilities right about now. A tour I was originally slated to conduct.

  “Poppy, I’m going to leave you here while I locate Finn.” She coughs, and I cringe at the sound, like sandpaper against metal. I deposit her on the couch and pour a glass of water from the bar cart. She takes a small sip, wincing as she swallows, and sets it on the table. Her deep blue eyes implore me to stay, but she doesn’t say anything, and I despise the part of me that is grateful she chooses to stay quiet. She tilts her head in what I think is censure, like she knows my thoughts and is disappointed by them. I’m still learning to read some of her cues. She’s pretty easy to forecast most of the time, but the look she’s giving me is new and I’m not sure what she really wants. She knows I won’t stay. I can’t. Instead she sits back like a trooper. I feel like a prize idiot, once again reminded that I have no idea what Everett and Jenny were thinking.

  Five years apart, Finn and I sometimes struggled to have the same interest, but I knew the moment my brother was born that he was mine to protect and look after. If I hadn’t known it from my parents engraining it into me from the moment they found out they were expecting, I would have known it the moment he was placed in my arms. This was my baby brother. I’ve adored him ever since. Not that it’s difficult or taxing. Finn is nothing if not lovable. I quite believe he’s the only one that needs reminding of that.

  I remember the conversations my mum had with her friends. They had tried to have another child for years after I was born, but they never thought it would happen again. When it did, they were determined to appreciate that one. As early as primary school, I first understood Finn was the favorite and I was not living up to my potential.

  Or so I felt.

  I can chart my life based on my parent’s disapproval. In year six, I was caught smoking be
hind the field house. In year ten, my buddies and I dropped our trousers during a rugby match, each cheek with a letter telling the other team they were daft pricks. Countless more times where I seemed to disappoint them, but none like the ones playing out now.

  University came easy to me. Numbers have always been my first language. I see equations and formulas in my surroundings. Because learning was easy for me and I didn’t have to work at my courses, I had plenty of time to get into misadventures—a feat made definitively easier with the Oxford Five.

  We shared a flat together starting our first year. I was the rugby captain. Pierce, the American, the hard-core guy who seemed aloof to everyone but us. Quade, the Canadian, grew up playing hockey and would cut his arm off to give to a mate in need. Colin with the panty-dropping Scottish accent. And Everett.

  Everett was the other Brit. Nicest lad I knew. Everett was genuine, intelligent, caring. He met Jenny, an American, our second year and despite all our merrymakings and the revolving door of women in our flat, Everett never strayed. Never so much as glanced at another girl after Jenny.

  They found themselves pregnant their first year. I had to give it to Jenny. She stuck with university, even when it wasn’t easy. She was determined becoming pregnant at nineteen wasn’t going to keep her from the life she had mapped. Her parents stepped up and Everett was a great father, even without an example of one growing up.

  They married when Zinnia was two, finished their education and made a life for themselves in New York. Poppy was born several years later. There are exactly ten years between the girls. Everett’s life was simple: he loved Jenny, he adored his girls. He had achieved his life’s calling before we all turned thirty.

  It was Everett who convinced me and Finn to consider a second office in the states. We were already partnering with him and several other companies, and after a little research we went bi-coastal. Until four months ago, Finn and I were mostly in London, spending only a couple of months a year in New York.

  Four months ago to the day, Everett and Jenny were killed on their way home from a customary Oxford Five dinner. It was late, and we tried to persuade them to stay in the city. We wanted to go dancing, but they didn’t want to leave the girls alone overnight. Just over the Connecticut state line, a driver crossed into their lane. We were still gallivanting when I received the call that our group of five was now four.

  The days following were a blur. They still are. I hardly remember anything over the last four months. The four of us shifted into autopilot and ensured things were handled the way we knew Everett would have expected.

  Until the attorney contacted me, I had no idea I was the one he and Jenny chose for the girls. In fact, I didn’t believe it at first, convinced Everett was pulling one final prank. His mom died a couple of years after they were back in the states, and he had no father to speak of. Jenny’s parents love the girls and would have taken them in without question, but said Jenny had a long conversation with them about their wishes when she and Everett made the decision. And while they would step in and help if and when they were needed, they wanted to honor their decision. It was only then I realized this wasn’t a prank.

  Within those days since, I have picked up my mobile no less than a dozen times a day to ring them to tell them it’s not going to work. But the letter on my dresser and my desire to honor my friend keep my thumb hovering over the button, never connecting the call.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I tell Poppy. “Try to rest. If you need anything, push the button on your bracelet, alright?” I point to her panic button disguised as a charm. She nods, and I feel like a heel leaving but my options are limited. I pull his office door, ensuring it latches. No one without fingerprint access will be able to open it. It’s not ideal, but she is safer here than she would be anywhere. Our office security rivals the Queen’s.

  I fall back into my usual brisk stride and report Poppy’s location to my security team. I locate Finn on the 18th floor trading room. Most of what we do is kept under lock and key, but we have an area for prospective clients that showcases each of our projects.

  “I apologize gentlemen.” Finn cuts his eyes in my direction, irritated but relieved. I greet our clients in Mandarin and Quade raises a brow. The businessmen are his clients; he is the one that brought them to us. Quade can speak Chinese better than I can. In fact, he can speak at least a dozen languages fluently, but you’d hardly know it, he doesn’t seem like the sort. And it’s all self-taught. He’s had more than one client unknowingly reveal their hand by assuming Quade didn’t understand the language.

  “I hope you didn’t give anything away, Walt,” he teases before he directs the clients to the next area. Finn and I hang back.

  “I was about to send out the guard.”

  “Poppy is sick,” I mumble. “I put her in your office. The school wouldn’t keep her. Zinnie scared off another nanny, so I didn’t have a backup.”

  “Camilla?” he asks. I roll my eyes. My fiancé isn’t exactly Mary Poppins. In fact, I’m surprised she’s been as patient as she has while I sort this out.

  Quade comes to a stop at the next project and I take over the meeting. I mistakenly assumed I would have the floor to discuss the A28 project. While I am the one speaking, the men in the room, which happens to be everyone in attendance, divert their attention to Samantha when she enters. Jotting a note down, she’s oblivious to her audience and comes to a stop in front of her boss. Her heels must be five, maybe six, inches high. I’ve never seen her in anything less. It occurs to me just now she does it to be within whispering height to my 6’3” brother. When she edges up onto her toes and he tilts his head, she can just reach his ear.

  I wonder if Finn is aware she does it. He probably is. While I have always felt Samantha wasn’t up to task, he only sees the good in Sam. Sam. What proper lady would want to be called Sam?

  Finn has always had a soft spot for his PA. Human Resources sent her up as a temp when we first opened our offices here. We weren’t here often enough for her to be a major consideration, but now that this is our primary location for the foreseeable future, I’ve tried more than once to have him hire someone with more education and ambition. Sam never finished university. At twenty-seven, I would say she’s had more than enough time.

  Seeing it’s no use, I halt my presentation to await the spell to which the other men seem to have succumbed. With her back to the room, her lithe legs flex as she raises onto her toes. Finn bends his head forward, their cheeks touching. He nods as she speaks. She sways slightly, and his hand gently but firmly lands at her waist to help her balance. He whispers back, her heels fall back to the carpet, and all eyes follow the path of her, admittedly pleasant, backside shifting into place. Other than the fact she has blonde hair, there is nothing about her features I can really speak to. This is the first time I’ve taken notice of her arse. I’ve had too many subjects needing my attention as of late.

  Finn nods for me to continue and I catch the barely perceptible tick in his eye. He doesn’t like it one bit that these men were eye-fucking his PA.

  I’m finally relieved of my misery when the meeting comes to an end ninety minutes later. Thirty minutes past schedule. The only silver lining is that we got the account.

  “We had another hacking attempt,” Finn tells me as we exit on the 13th floor, our IT department. Evidently, it’s common in the states to omit the “13” in the numbering of floors. There’s no lift button for this floor in our building either, but not because we are superstitious. Every piece of intellectual data is stored on this floor, so it’s only accessible to a select few.

  As expected with any organization of our caliber, we’ve dealt with nuisance attacks, but when an anonymous person started a run on our stocks, someone simultaneously started a cyber war with our IT team.

  “How much damage did they cause?” I ask, sliding my hand onto the pad outside of the main room and placing my eye against the scanner. When the yellow light comes on, I state my name; th
e voice recognition turns the light green. Finn and I enter and are immediately greeted by our head IT guy.

  “This one was sneaky,” Brad says.

  “Aren’t they all?” I ask.

  “They’re getting sneakier. We found the code only after it emptied an account. We were able to stop it and put the money back where it belongs.”

  “And if we hadn’t stopped it?” Finn asks.

  “It wouldn’t have tripped the system until all of the accounts in Malaysia were empty.”

  “An oversight I assume we’ve repaired?”

  “Yes. My team has a patch in place until we have the code written. That should be sometime tomorrow.”

  “Have they been anywhere else?”

  “No. Like I said, we were lucky.”

  “How soon ‘til our luck runs out?” I ask, even though I know I’m not going to like the answer.

  “It might have already,” he admits.

  “If there is anyone you need to bring in, do it. I don’t want us caught with our knickers down and our tallywhackers blowing in the wind. We’ve been chasing this fucker for too long.”

  Brad starts snapping his fingers as if I’ve said something intelligent. I haven’t, but he leaves without a word, like a man on a mission.

  “Are we sure he’s the best?” Finn asks as we leave thirteen and head into a meeting on twenty.

  “He is. Everyone else is underground.”

  “Maybe we should meet with Elise again, give her some more information. What good is it to hire her if we don’t give her all the data we have? We either trust her or we don’t.” Elise Donovan is a fixer. Some of the things she fixes are visible, others remain a mystery.

  “Fine. You’re right. I’ll ring her again. Who do you have to screw to get a sandwich around here?” I ask, taking my seat at the table. Less than a minute later, a plate of food is placed in front of me by a guy I’ve never met before. I lean over to ask Finn his name, but he’s too busy looking at his arse to answer.