Page 74 of The Work Husband

When the idea had occurred to me, it had seemed desperate – a last roll of the dice. But I had felt like it might just work.

Now I wasn’t so sure – I wasn’t sure at all.

‘You want me to what?’ Jamie laughed. ‘You want me to fess up to some kind of – what – inappropriate behaviour? Are you trying to tell me you didn’t enjoy it? Do you think I’m some kind of mug?’

‘I’m not accusing you of anything!’ I protested. ‘I promise. It would just be for Sam. Just so he knows what he thinks isn’t true.’

Jamie’s smile vanished like it had never been there. ‘No fucking chance,’ he said. ‘I’m all done trying to rescue you and your precious Sam. You’re on your own now, Georgia.’

He turned back to his screen and, biting my lip to stop myself from crying, I turned back to mine. It had gone worse than I could have anticipated – way worse. Not only was Jamie not my friend any more – not my work husband who’d always have my back – he was my enemy.

And far from having my back, I knew he’d stab me in it the first chance he got.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Somehow, I got through the rest of that afternoon.

I couldn’t look at Jamie. Just the sounds of him tapping his keyboard, twiddling his vape because he needed the nicotine hit but was too busy to go outside, even the rasp of his beard against his skin when he ran his fingers through it, sent shivers down my spine.

He had caught me off guard when he kissed me, and I was equally defenceless now. I’d hurt him in the place where he was most sensitive – his ego and his pride. And he wasn’t going to move on from that.

I didn’t know what form his revenge against me would take, but I knew it would come. I didn’t even fully understand why he wanted revenge – for rejecting his sexual advance or for not making one of my own in the first place; for knowing too much about him; for not choosing him even though I no longer had Sam – but I was sure he would.

And when it came, I would be caught unawares, unless I could think of a plan to strike first.

There was no point in going to Jasper and telling him what I knew. Jamie had already dealt with that, convincing Jasper that it was all happenstance, and I had no more proof than Jasper did anyway. Also, deep down, I suspected that given the choice between believing me – a woman from a different background to his own, with none of the social connections and savoir faire Jamie brought to Devereaux Partners, with only my years of experience of working hard and kowtowing to rich people enabling me to do the job in the first place – and believing Jamie, Jasper would pick Jamie every time.

I’d got it wrong, I realised. Not just recently, but when I first joined the company and Jamie had welcomed me with his best winning smile and said, I feel like you and I are going to be friends.

Right then, I should have made the decision to keep him at arm’s length, to work with him as a colleague but nothing more. But I hadn’t.

Sam had known, though. Right from the beginning, when I’d invited Jamie to our housewarming and Sam had said the next day, He seems a bit dodgy. I’d just laughed and brushed off his concerns, because I thought I knew better and I wanted to trust Jamie.

I had trusted him, and I hadn’t trusted Sam.

Big mistake, Georgia.

At last, I heard Jamie push back his chair. I heard the familiar click of his shoulder as he stretched – buggered my rotator cuff playing squash, he’d told me, years before – and the rattle of the buckles on his laptop bag as he closed it.

‘Knocking off time,’ he said, as he always did. ‘Nighty night, Georgia.’

Today, though, I was sure I could detect a hint of menace in his voice that had never been there before. Or was I just imagining it?

When his footsteps passed behind my desk and the scent of his aftershave faded from the air, I felt tension I hadn’t been aware was there leave my body.

This was the time when I should be getting ready to go home to Sam. I should be picking up my phone and texting him to say I was just about done, asking him if he fancied meeting for a drink or some food, or which of us would be cooking dinner at home. I should be looking forward to the moment when I’d see his face and give him a kiss hello, and we’d tell each other about our days.

I should be going to bed with him tonight and waking up with him in the morning.

But that wasn’t going to happen – not today and not ever again.

The realisation of what I’d had and lost hit me with fresh force. In no time, it would be autumn – Sam’s favourite season of the year. He’d get out his battered shearling aviator jacket, the leather worn away at the elbows, and the beanie hat that made him look like Cartman from South Park, but which he loved because his granny had knitted it. Then it would be Christmas, and he’d get excited about making mulled wine, which I’d pretend to enjoy because it made him happy. In January, it would be his birthday, and he’d buy himself a Colin the Caterpillar cake, just in case everyone else forgot, even though they never did.

And I wouldn’t be there to do those things with him. I wondered if he would do them anyway, and if he would think of me. He’d done them before we met, so presumably he would do them still. Presumably he’d done them when he was with Ava, and afterwards thought of her when the leaves on the trees turned, Christmas approached and he turned another year older.

I stood up, having shut down my computer and packed my phone and water bottle into my bag on autopilot, and found myself thinking of Ava, as I’d done so often over the past couple of months.

But I wasn’t thinking of her now with resentment or wariness, the way I used to. She had loved Sam and lost him too. She would have gone through all those firsts without him that had once been firsts with him. And she had survived, the way everyone does when their heart gets broken, even though it doesn’t feel possible at the time.