Unlucky for her, she’s not out of my system, either.
The gloves are off.
I power on with work, glancing at the clock frequently, counting down the minutes until everyone has left for the day. And once I know the coast is clear, I leave my office, but I don’t head for the elevators. I head for Gina’s desk.
And turn on her computer.
Then scowl at the prompt for a password.
“Motherfucker,” I breathe, resting back in her chair. I like to think I know my Gina inside out. So . . . what password would she use? My fingertip strokes over my Cupid’s bow as I ponder that. “Ah.” I fly forward and tap in GORGEOUS, mentally crossing my fingers as I hit enter. Her home screen appears. “Yes,” I yell, pulling myself closer to the desk. I comb through the files for anything Lainey related, not giving much thought to what I’ll do once I find the information I’m looking for. I just feel like I need it. But I can’t find it. “Fuck it,” I curse, grabbing my mobile and calling Gina.
“What’s happened?” she asks urgently when she answers.
“Nothing. Nothing’s happened.”
“Then why are you calling me?”
I throw my mobile a dirty look. “I need something.”
“Sense,” Gina tells me. “I sense you need some sense.”
She isn’t wrong. “Employee files, where will I find them?”
“Why?”
“Gina, don’t question me, just answer my question.”
“No.” She’s adamant.
I don’t like an adamant Gina. “Can I remind you who’s the boss?” What’s wrong with people, for the love of all things boss-like?
“No, you can’t. You always pull that card when you’re about to do something stupid and want my help.”
“I never do anything stupid,” I retort, offended.
Gina snorts. I won’t ever admit she’s perfectly within her right to. The woman has seen me through some pretty hefty scrapes over the last seven or so years. Not to mention my fuck-up a few months back after I got myself arrested. I’m blaming that on Gina. She shouldn’t have put my bitch of an ex-wife through, not that I could have expected her to know it was Annabella, since the conniving cow told Gina she was my GP. But still. “No.” She laughs. “No, Ty Christianson is the consummate professional.”
“I am.”
“Of course.” She laughs louder, and I scowl.
“I’m a businessman, for Christ’s sake. Good businessmen do what it takes.”
“You’re missing the point.”
“No, you are missing the point. I’ve never overstepped the mark. I’ve been pulled over the mark.”
“Oh, Ty.” Gina is bordering hysterical now. Then she quickly gathers herself. “The answer is still no.”
“Gina.”
“I suspect I know what you’re doing, and I’m not going to let you.”
“Who’s the boss?” I yell down the line, my frustration uncontainable.
“Me, that’s who.”
I hunch over the desk and clench my fists, pushing them into the wood. “Tell me where to find the file.”
“It’s on my computer, and I’m not giving you the password.”
“I already figured out the password,” I answer, sounding all too smug for a man at a woman’s mercy. “Gorgeous.”
She inhales loudly. “You hacked my computer?”
“It’s my fucking computer, Gina.” I roll my eyes. “Now tell me where to find the file.”
“No. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“No, you won’t, because you’re fired.”
She hangs up. She fucking hangs up on me.
“God damn you, Gina,” I yell, slamming the phone down. But I’m a man on a mission. I start clicking through every file on the desktop, scanning keenly for anything to give me a hint. It’s not long before I spot a file that’s labelled “HR.” Ooh, that’s promising. I click it and find a list of departments within Christianson Walker. I smile, excited, and click on Sal’s name. And then Lainey’s name glows at me like a beacon wanting to be found. “Bingo.” Smiling smugly, I open the icon.
And it all appears in front of me—her name, her date of birth, her address, and lots of other stuff that I don’t care much for. A quick calculation tells me she’ll be thirty-six next month. What? I fall back in the chair. Thirty-six? I’m stunned. I wouldn’t have put her over thirty.
I grab a pen and quickly scribble down her address, before shutting down Gina’s computer and flying out of the office.
And what now? I wonder, as I sit in my car across the street from the complex in Maida Vale, staring at the communal entrance past the arched driveway. I must have lost my mind. Shaking my head in disbelief at my own actions, I get out of my car and wander over the road, looking for the instruction I need to get me out of here. There’s no instruction to be found, but there is another question. A question I hate: Did she bring that man I saw her with at the tennis club home on Sunday night? Did they wake up together yesterday morning? Is that why she was so happy at work yesterday? God, is he here now? Or even another man? Did she find solace in different arms last night after I was a total arsehole to her? Did they convince her to skive work and spend the day in bed?
Fuck me, the questions. My racing mind only makes my feet move faster, and when I make it to the door, I see the intercom with an array of buttons for the various apartments. But rather than press the one for apartment number eight, I wait, hoping that someone will come or leave and I can get in without the need to ring up to her. Because I know she won’t let me in. And definitely if a man is tucked up in her bed. I growl under my breath.
Thankfully, I’m only loitering like a weirdo for a few minutes before a young woman appears, laden down with tons of bags. She’s cute, if a little alternative, her peroxide cropped hair a little haphazard and her lips almost illuminous pink. Not my type at all, but still. I slap on my most dashing smile. “Here, let me take those for you.”
She instantly flames red, struck dumb. So I widen my smile, knocking her back a few more paces.
“Thh . . . thank you,” she stutters, going to her purse and retrieving a key. “You new around here?” she asks, opening the door.
I don’t dash her hopes. “Yes,” I reply simply, indicating for her to lead the way. “Just moved in.”
She flashes me a smile that’s definitely tinged with delight. “Hope you settle in well.”
“I’m sure I will,” I reply, as she goes to take her bags. I shake my head. “Lead the way. These are heavy.”
She laughs. It’s quite cute. “Thanks. I’m working on a project and needed some props.”
I start to follow her up the stairs, looking around a little warily. “What do you do?”
“I’m a fashion student.”
Makes sense. “Sounds good.”
“I’m in my final year. All that stuff you’re lugging for me is for my final examination piece. It’s been a great course, giving me a new start in my life. New work opportunities.” She rounds the corner, me tracking her, while I half listen and half try to figure out what I’m going to do once I lose my new friend and find my way to apartment number eight.