I puzzled the implications of this sudden assignment as I turned the final corner in my short walk to the tube station.
Ethan
Becky?
As soon as the lorry pulled between us, I ducked into the bookshop, hiding from my past—hiding from her. I doubted she’d seen me.
“Can I help you find anything in particular?” a young woman’s voice said from behind me.
I turned and smiled back before picking up a thriller from the table. “Just browsing.”
Her smile grew. “That’s his latest. I quite liked it. Have you read him before?”
“Like I said, just browsing.” I held up the book and turned back to the window in time to see Rebecca make a call on her mobile. For a moment I pretended to be reading the back cover while I watched her continue down the road.
Even in the business attire, I’d have known Becky Sommerset anywhere. She wasn’t someone you forgot. It was the eyes—she had eyes that could look clear through me.
The bookshop lady was still nearby when I turned back.
I approached and handed her the book, even though I’d never read Michael Connelly. “I’ll take this.”
She beamed as she rang me up. “I’m sure you’ll love it, Mr.—”
“Ethan, just Ethan,” I filled in for her as I slid my card and paid.
She bagged the book and returned it to me. “I’m Claire. Stop in any time, Ethan.”
I nodded as I exited and, after a glance across the road, turned toward the tube station in the opposite direction Becky had walked.
She had once brought out the best in me, but this morning it was quite the opposite.
What was Becky doing in London?
I strode toward the tube without having to face my failings from years ago. A few blocks later, I escaped into the underground system, pleased that I hadn’t looked behind me once.
Instead of my usual hurry, I stood to the left on the long down escalator and let other fellows with less on their minds pass me by.
They said with time you forgot the one that got away. Becky had receded in my thoughts, but my reaction this morning spoke volumes. The saying was wrong. I’d not forgotten. I’d not recovered from her.
On the platform, waiting for the train, my mind drifted back to our time together—happy and carefree time before turbulence overtook my life, before I learned the truth about my parents. I dispelled the past from my thoughts when the voice over the speakers came alive. “Mind the gap.”
When the doors opened and the crowd surged onto the train, I rejoined the present and left thoughts of Becky and Imperial College behind.
I checked my watch as the train got up to speed. I’d still make it in time for my lecture.
Chapter 2
Rebecca
For the tenth time this year, I walked the short distance from the tube station to the tall building that housed our London offices.
After my ride in the elevator, I passed through the glass doors of Lessex Insurance.
“Good morning, Ms. Sommerset,” Ginny said cheerfully as soon as she looked up. “How was your flight?”
“Peachy,” was all the sarcasm I could manage after eleven mostly sleepless hours overnight in a noisy aluminum tube, followed by an immediate task for Smithers. I missed my bed in San Francisco.
The sarcasm rolled right off her. “Wonderful. Would you like a cup of tea to start?” The girl was nothing if not persistent.
The English were into tea, but give me a strong cup of java any day. “Nice try, Ginny.”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she said with her ever-present smile.
“I’m not so easily trained. Coffee, please.”
“Sorry. The machine is still broken.”
Of course it was. It had been broken last time I was here, and I seemed to be the only one in the office with good enough taste to want to use it.
“Hot water, then,” I told her as I plopped down behind the shared desk I used when visiting London. I tried all the drawers, but came up empty in my search for the jar of coffee.
My bags were in the corner of the office, but I’d forgotten to bring any coffee with me. As soon as I sat, the torture devices masquerading as my shoes came off. The chair had to be adjusted. The last person here had set it to recline easily, which didn’t suit me.
I needed the energy coffee would bring me before venturing upstairs—that and some makeup. I always flew without makeup, but that wouldn’t do for my first invitation to the managing director’s office and the bad news I would be bringing.
When Ginny returned, she held the jar of instant coffee I’d been unable to find, along with my cup of hot water. “I saved this for you.”
“Thanks a ton,” I sighed.
“Larry wanted to throw it out.”
“Of course he did.” Larry Falwell was still pissed that I’d beaten him out for the promotion. His male ego couldn’t handle being bested by a skirt, as the worm had called me behind my back.
“There is one other thing.” Ginny’s wary look could only mean bad news.
I shook my head. “Maybe later. I need to be up in Mr. Cornwall’s office right away.”
She ignored me. “Margaret, the new girl, well, she kind of let slip…”
I waited for the bad news.
“That you would be in the city this week.”
“To who?” I corrected myself a second later. “To whom?”
“Mr. Stroud,” she said sheepishly.
All I could do was hang my head and wish I hadn’t gotten on the plane last night. One word with my ex-husband was a word to many. “How? Even I didn’t know about this trip before yesterday.”
“He called this morning. I’m so sorry,” Ginny said. “She didn’t remember the rules.”
“Send her in.”
Moments later, Margaret slunk into the office.
“What is the number-one rule of answering my phone?”
Her shoulders slumped. “Don’t take calls from Mr. Stroud.”
“The second?”
“Don’t talk to Mr. Stroud.”
“And the third?”
“If I talk to Mr. Stroud, don’t answer any question about you.”
I waved her away. “Margaret, please remember them.”
“Yes, mum.”
She might not have deserved me treating her that badly, but I certainly didn’t deserve an interaction with my ex-husband, Weasley, because she had loose lips.
Just the thought made me shiver.
After the door closed behind her, I put any thoughts of my ex behind me and opened the envelope to read the letter again.
Miriam in the San Francisco Human Resources office had given it to me the day before I left. “I thought we should memorialize this conversation in writing,” she’d said after handing me the ugly envelope filled with mushy words that hinted at an ugly outcome.
I pulled an antacid from my purse to deal with the words. I’d created a hostile atmosphere at work, and needed to improve my interpersonal skills. The or-else was implied instead of stated. HR people were all about platitudes and soft mumbling words instead of the hard truths I dealt with.
How dare she.