“I have no idea what you mean,” I answer coolly, unable to say any of this.
“You think we can just carry on with this thing while you’re here, and I’m telling you we can’t. It’s not right, and it’s unprofessional. You can’t mix business with pleasure.”
“I assure you, it can be done.”
“Not by me, it can’t.”
“Fine. You’re fired.” I adjust my posture, lounging almost.
“What?” Holland slouches back in her chair as though I’d pushed her there.
“Effective immediately. You’ll be paid for your notice period, but you no longer work here. Now, can we get back to discussing—”
“It doesn’t work that way,” she says with a sad shake of her head. “I’ve told Isla I’ll continue to work here until she finds someone else, and I will. But if you want to fire me, I guess Mari will run the education centre. Then I’ll just have one job to do. And when Isla finds a replacement, I’ll leave.”
“And then where will you go?” I ask, suppressing the way my stomach cramps at the thought of her no longer being here as I allow my attention to shift to the fireplace as I try to digest my new reality.
“Someplace else,” she answers simply, divulging nothing else. Not an emotion. Not a clue. Not a fucking thing.
“Come to London with me,” I find myself demanding suddenly, wondering why I hadn’t thought of it sooner.
“I can’t—why?” Her response is promising, despite her denial.
“Because I want you to. Because you want to.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “It just wouldn’t work between you and me.”
“How do you know?”
“We’re too different. I’m me—and just look at you!”
I look down. “I don’t see what the problem is.”
“Exactly!” She holds out her hands, palms facing up.
“Flattery has no place in this discussion. Unless you weren’t meaning to flatter. Perhaps you meant to point out the differences in our ages.”
“No, but—yes!” she almost yells, latching onto something else.
“You think you’re too young for me? That I’m too old.”
“That sounds like the same thing.”
“You worry that I won’t be able to keep up. Hm.” I rub my chin consideringly. “I don’t remember any complaints last night. You know, when you were crying out my name as I worked my tongue between your legs.”
“That’s not—”
“Perhaps you think I’m a grumpy, irritable old man.”
“I didn’t—”
“Out of touch. Too staid and strait-laced?”
“Says the man who made reference to jamming his cock up my ass!”
“I thought it was jelly? Neither, I imagine, are a suitable lubricant.”
Her mouth snaps shut, and she glares at me, unimpressed.
“Holland, I can guarantee you that my flaws are many and varied. And while you already seem to have your mind made up regarding my motivations, I promise you, I am sincere. I want you, Holland. I want you for more than just a weekend fuck.”
“No, this is madness. I can’t do it. I have the boys and my responsibility to Isla. Besides,” she adds flippantly, “I’ve already lived in London. When I move on from here, I want to go someplace else.”
“We can go anywhere you like. Or we can stay here, but I’m sorry, I’m just not willing to let you go.” Not yet.
She presses her hands to her face and laughs. “Again, that’s not how this works. You might be used to getting your own way, but in the real world, you can’t always get—”
“And you think I don’t know that?” I ask, suddenly leaning forward, my hands tightening on the edge of the desk. “Do you honestly think I get to live my life for myself? That I regularly do what I want, consequences be damned?”
Her sigh is a weary wisp in the air.
“I like my job here. Having a relationship with you, having sex with you, would change how people see me.”
“You’re assuming they’d be able to tell. Do you really think they’d say unkind things to you?”
“Of course they’d be able to tell. I can barely look at you as it is without turning red. And if you think last night went unnoticed, you’re an idiot.”
I certainly feel like an idiot, grasping at straws as I am.
“And no,” she adds, “they wouldn’t say unkind things to me. They’d say them behind my back. So, thank you, but no. I won’t come to London with you, or anywhere else. Remember what you said when Griffin offered to help me find work. Being your whatever would be no different. It’s not a reference I need on my resumé.”
“Do not confuse me with Griffin,” I grate out.
“As if I even could.”
“I’m not offering to pay you to come with me. I’m asking you to take a chance on this. To explore what it is between us because I have never—” I halt right there before I say too much. Before I frighten her off, the truth is, I have never felt this way about anyone else. I’ve never behaved like this before, offered to change my day-to-day existence to be with someone.
“I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me,” she says, stealing away her gaze once again. “Whatever the reasons were, I’m glad I got to come to Scotland. And I’m glad we had last night.” As though in prayer, she presses her hands together, slotting them between her knees. “I’m not going to lie, I am so unbelievably attracted to you, and while I’d like to be able to say that I’m a grown-up, that I won’t act on those impulses, it seems that I can’t trust myself.”
“I can’t see a problem with that.” Especially as it appears to be behaviour not limited to her.
“But I won’t lose the respect of the people I’ve met here. I like my job.”
“So, we’ll get you another. A better one. Somewhere else.” And now I sound like the aristocratic arse I just insisted I wasn’t. “I have other estates if you don’t want to live in London and an apartment in Manhattan. I’m sure—”
“No,” she says softly.
“What about somewhere with a cottage. A place you can do what you want.”
“No.” Her denial is stronger now, and I know I have to stop because I’ve gone from denying I’d pay her to make it sound exactly like I’d be willing to offer her the position of my whore.
“I don’t want to let you go.” And I won’t.
“Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear because I heard what you had to say last night. You’re not looking for a relationship. The fact of the matter is, if I hadn’t insisted I take you for a coffee all those months ago in London, I wouldn’t even register on your radar.”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” I growl, pushing up from the desk to lean over her—to loom over her—my hands gripping the arms of the chair. “Do you think I fell on you last night in the library because you’re not my type? That I trembled like a boy with his first woman because you’re just one of a number. You’re all I’ve been able to think about for fucking months.”