Beautiful Secret (Beautiful Bastard #4) (32 page)

The I-love-you-You’re-lovely tic was nothing. It was
us. This is what we did: I dove straight in; he dipped a toe in and then pulled it out to give himself time to consider whether the water was too cold. It’s why we worked, and there was no point questioning it.

I also needed to calm down about the way he’d brought up Portia, and then slinked off into the other room to take her call. To be honest, my brain actually stuttered more on that last one and I searched wildly in my thoughts to explain it away. He’d only been with one person, and married to her for over a decade. Of course it would be weird, right?

Pippa met me in the hall with wide eyes that scanned me from head to toe before saying, “Here,” and handing me her cup of coffee.

“That bad?” I asked.

“Have you seen yourself?”

“Well, that answers that,” I said, continuing on to our shared desk and setting down the coffee. “Thanks for this.”

Pippa nodded and took the chair opposite me. “Everything going okay?”

I nodded as I slipped out of my coat. “Yeah everything’s fine.” I looked up to see the message indicator light blinking on my phone. Picking it up, I punched in my pin and then covered the speaker, telling her, “It’s not even nine and today has done a
lot
. I just had a mental meltdown so epic it was like something out of a bad sitcom . . .” I paused, listening to the message and then
swearing as I hung up the phone. “Anthony wants to see me as soon as I get in.
Shit
. Why is he here so early?”

“It can’t be that bad. I saw the email congratulating the New York team. And that bridge redesign you worked up went off without a hitch. He probably just realized it’s still raining and hasn’t seen you in that top before.” She grinned and rolled her eyes. “Hoping for a little wet T-shirt action, if you know what I mean.”

“Gross,” I said, dropping down into my chair. I reached into my bottom drawer for my cosmetics bag and emergency cardigan. “Okay, I’m going to clean up a little and then get this over with.”

“Go get ’em,” she said.

“You wanted to see me?” I asked, peering in through Anthony’s door.

He’d been arranging something near the bookcase, and turned to look at me. “Miss Miller, yes. Come in.”

Miss Miller?

I stepped inside the office and he added, “Close the door, please.”

My stomach dropped.

I did as he said and crossed the room to stand in front of his desk, stopping just on the other side of the extra chair. “Yes, sir?” I asked, the sentiment setting off a shudder down my spine.

“I need to talk to you about something very serious,
I’m afraid.” He pushed a heavy, leather-bound volume back onto the shelf and crossed to the desk. “You have a bit of a choice to make here.”

I’d seen Anthony like this before: serious in an oddly coy way, trying to get me to draw the answer out of him.

I stood across from him, smiling. “What is it, Anthony?”

He looked up at me, eyes narrowed. “ ‘Mr. Smith’ is probably best.”

I choked on the words I wanted to say,
On my first day here you stared at my tits and told me to call you Anthony
, but instead said, “Sorry. Um, Mr. Smith.”

Anthony unfastened the buttons of his suit jacket and took his seat, pulling a stack of papers toward him, contracts that had been flagged with red and yellow tabs where he should sign. “Given your rather unprofessional behavior in New York and since . . .” he began and my stomach evaporated. “Rather, given your
long-term
fascination with a vice president of the firm and your recent pursuit of him—”

“My
pursuit
?”

He flipped through some files, not even bothering to look up at me as he spoke. “I am required to ask you to either keep your relationship with Mr. Stella purely professional, or leave your internship with Richardson-Corbett.”

“What?” I gasped, lowering my shaking body into the chair across from him.
“
Why?
”

“It is clear to several of us in management that you’ve behaved unprofessionally,” he said, reaching for a pen. “You’ve been distracted, and your efforts have been mediocre at best. Beyond that, I needn’t elaborate.”

“But that’s not f—”

Fair
, I almost said it, but snapped my mouth shut tight. I wouldn’t add
behaving like an adolescent
to my growing list of transgressions.

Trying again, I said, “Would you please explain why on earth this has been a topic of discussion beyond just between myself and Mr. Stella? We haven’t broken any rules!”

“Miss Miller, please do not presume you have the right to question any decision I make regarding this firm, and whom I choose to employ.” He scribbled a signature across a page and the sound was enough to put my nerves on edge. “As an intern, you qualify as a temporary worker in the UK, and therefore I am not obligated to explain anything to you. But seeing as you’re young”—and
there
was that thing he did, where he packed a gut punch worth of insult into a single word—“I hope this might be an opportunity for growth. Your conduct of late, though not necessarily qualifying as gross misconduct, has been lacking. Having had this latest . . . distraction with a vice president of the firm brought to my attention—”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” I repeated. “Not smart, I’ll admit. But not outright against the rules.
I do not report to Niall.”

“
Niall
,” he repeated, smiling down at his papers. “Yes. Well, regardless, this is the type of situation that has a tendency to run away from all of us, and we in management think it best if you end your relationship, or forfeit your internship.”

I could feel my face heat with angry tears.
Young
girls cry; I didn’t want him to feel justified in his insult. I blinked several times, determined that no matter what happened, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing what this was doing to me.

“Can I speak to Mr. Corbett?” I said as smoothly as possible. “I think I need someone else to explain what’s happening.”

“Richard has given me the power to make any and all decisions affecting my department.”

Fire lashed through my blood. I couldn’t hold it back. “So, to be clear, you urged Niall to
get a leg over
on me, and now you’re firing me because you think he has.”

Anthony’s head whipped up, eyes full of blazing authority. “I dare you to say that again.”

“Clearly,” I said, seething, “I choose to leave the internship. This has been one of the most unreal conversations of my
life
.”

“In that case,” he said absently, scribbling another signature, “I’ll put a letter in your file. I’ll see that you have a copy before you leave.”

The rain had stopped and I took a walk to clear my head, far enough away that I could hear the chimes of Big Ben in the distance. Out of instinct I reached into my pocket to find my phone, only to realize it wasn’t there. I’d left it on my desk before talking to Anthony, thinking I was just going down the hall but then rushing out before I could get it. I wondered if Niall had made it in yet, if he’d come looking for me, if he’d called.

And that’s when I realized how far this had gone, and that maybe there was a kernel of truth to what Anthony said. My first thought wasn’t about my job or the fact that I was five thousand miles away from home. It wasn’t where would I live? How would I buy food or pay the electricity bill? It wasn’t about my fucking spot at Oxford, either, or how long and hard I’d worked, or how much I’d sacrificed to get there.

It was about Niall Stella.

The object of my attention was pacing in his office when I returned and made my way down the hall toward my cubicle. He jumped when he saw me, reaching out to pull me inside.

“Where have you been?” he asked, closing the door behind us.

I must have looked even worse than I thought, because his eyes moved in a circuit from my wet hair and pale face, to my damp clothes and broken expression.

“That depends on what you mean,” I said. “First, I walked to work in the rain because I wigged out in your flat thinking I’d inadvertently manipulated you into having sex with me.”

He started to speak, eyes wide and incredulous.

But I held up a hand to bid him wait. “Then, I was in Anthony’s office being berated. And most recently, I was out for a walk.”

“We’ll talk about the manipulation thing later.
Honestly
, Ruby.” He inhaled, taking a step closer to me. “What’s this about Anthony berating you?”

“Nothing I want to talk about here. What I want is to go home, get a little day-drunk, nap, and then have dinner with my boyfriend.”

He winced. “About that . . .” Niall wiped a hand down his face and then met my eyes. “I’ll need a rain check, I’m afraid.”

I slumped down into one of his plush chairs near the window. I didn’t want to talk to him here about quitting, and
why
. And I most certainly didn’t want to be alone in my own head after all this. “Really? There’s no way you can cancel? I need to freak out, with your rational brain on hand.”

He sat opposite me, looking . . . okay, if I was being honest? He looked
petrified
.

“What is it?” I asked.

He swallowed, and looked up at me. “You left this morning when Portia called.”

“Yeah,” I said, wincing. “That was part of the freak-out.”

“Completely understandable, darling,” he began, leaning toward me a little. “It’s just that . . . it may have been a good thing that you left. The conversation went on for some time.”

“Is everything okay?”

He didn’t answer immediately and I felt my heart squeeze painfully. I’d initially been upset that he didn’t say he would call her back. He must have heard the front door close and he didn’t even bother to come after me. But it occurred to me only when sitting in his office that something awful might have happened while we were away in New York. Was Portia sick?

Licking his lips, he said very quietly, “She called because she wants to reunite.” He pulled a face—like maybe I should commiserate over the awkward unexpectedness of this . . .

But instead my world stopped, split in half, and then splintered into a million pieces.

I blinked, several times. “She what?”

“She wants to reunite,” he repeated, sighing heavily. “I’m just as surprised as you are, believe me. She said she’s had a lot of revelations and wants to talk to me.”

“And . . . ?” I started, feeling like my stomach was climbing into my chest, pushing my heart into my throat. “You
agreed
?”

“Not to reconcile,” he hedged. “But eleven years married
is a long time. We were together when we were teenagers. After my conversation with you last night, and hearing you ask whether we’d ever actually discussed any of this, I feel obligated to at least hear what she wants to say.”

He paused to give me time to reply but I honestly had no words in my head. None.

“Given how things are between you and me, I felt I needed to tell you that I would be having dinner with her tonight,” he continued carefully, “and make you aware that Portia wanted to talk to me about why she thinks she deserves another chance.”