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‘He’s coming in at ten. He’s changed his mind.’
‘He has?’ She could scarcely breathe; it was the worst news, then. The agency was losing the business and she’d lose her job. There’d be no money for—
‘About having you as the client liaison.’
What? Did he use those words exactly? Amanda felt the colour fire into her face.
Bronwyn looked at her closely. ‘He’s happy to have your contribution on the ads, but he does want someone more experienced to manage the project.’
‘We still have the contract?’ Amanda fought back the dizziness, tried to understand. ‘I haven’t ruined it for you?’
‘Quite the contrary—he’s expanded the brief. But he wants the benefit of the full team.’
Right. In other words, no more one-on-one time with Amanda.
‘For what it’s worth I think this is for the best,’ Bronwyn said softly. ‘It was a lot for someone as inexperienced as you to have to manage.’
Jared was a lot for someone as inexperienced as her to manage. Yes. She knew that. But she was still ticked off.
She left the building at a quarter to ten using coffee as an excuse, not trusting herself to be within a hundred metres of him without screeching at him like a banshee. Half an hour later she slunk back to her desk, hoping he’d have been and gone already.
‘Amanda.’ Bronwyn appeared. ‘Jared has a few questions.’
Her heart sank—no such luck. It had been a remote chance anyway.
She went into the meeting room, casting a glance to the side of him rather than right at him. But her retinas captured his image anyway—another suit—and every fantasy flicked through her head again.
Rats.
She sat and refused to look at him as she answered the couple of questions relating to the logo. Stared at the pages on the table between them as he and Bronwyn wrapped up their chat.
‘A lot of great progress has been made.’
Yeah right.
Bronwyn stood and Amanda leapt up too, moving swiftly to the door.
‘One moment, Amanda.’ It was a command and in front of her boss she couldn’t ignore it. She stopped but she stayed standing.
Bronwyn went out anyway. Clearly they’d discussed it—him having a private word with her.
‘Are you OK, Amanda?’
‘Oh, sure.’ She turned to face him. ‘You have sex with me and then you pull me from the contract. I’m just fine.’ She attempted a laugh. ‘And you’re the one saying to keep the personal separate from the professional.’
‘That’s exactly what I’m trying to do,’ he said in an annoyingly reasonable tone. ‘The agency still has my business, Amanda. But I don’t want to hold you to ransom over it. No matter what happens between us, Synergy will be doing that work. But I don’t want you doing whatever with me because I’m the one with the power over your job. I want you free of that to make your own decisions.’
Whatever with him? His words slowly sank in. ‘Decisions about what?’
He paused. Stood from the table and moved that touch closer. ‘Have dinner with me.’
‘Is this because you feel guilty?’ She wished he wouldn’t come closer; it made it difficult to concentrate. But he took another step.
‘Do you think I have anything to feel guilty about?’
‘No. I think we can share responsibility for what happened.’
‘Yeah,’ he said softly.
She could feel his attention—despite refusing to meet his eyes. She’d be sunk if she did. ‘Don’t feel you have to—’
‘I don’t feel I—’ He broke off. ‘Just have dinner with me.’
She stared straight ahead at his broad chest and the remnants of her rage disintegrated. She could no more say no to him than she could stop breathing.
Hopeless.
And he knew, didn’t he? Because she didn’t even have to voice her answer. He just made the plan as he walked out the door. ‘I’ll pick you up at six.’
He was ten minutes early. Sent a text to let her know and she left her desk immediately.
He pulled away from the kerb as soon as she was in. ‘Are you hungry?’
She hadn’t felt hungry in days. Not since she’d walked onto that plane and found herself next to him. The gnawing inside had nothing to do with food.
‘I’m cooking.’
‘Really?’ She glanced into the back seat and saw a couple of shopping bags. She smiled but couldn’t work up more enthusiasm—too aware of other things. They were going to his place? Why did he want to do this—was it some sort of apology? Some kind of obligation? A belated dinner-date bit seeing how she’d delivered herself as the dessert yesterday?
