After Hours.... Christy McKellen

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       CHAPTER TWO

      SHE WAS A terrible liar.

      The expression on Max’s face had been sceptical at best when she’d reeled out the line about leaving her last job, but Cara thought she’d pulled it off. At least he hadn’t told her to sling her hook.

      Yet.

      She got the impression he was the type of person who wouldn’t tolerate any kind of emotional weakness—something she was particularly sensitive to after her last boyfriend, Ewan, left her three months ago because he was fed up with her ‘moaning and mood swings’. So she was going to have to be careful not to let any more momentary wobbles show on her face. It was going to be happy, happy, joy, joy! from here on in.

      After slipping the last document into the filing cabinet, taking care not to let him see how much her hands were still shaking, she grabbed her coat and bag and, after taking a great gulp of crisp city air into her lungs, went to the café to pick up some lunch for them both, leaving the door off the latch so she wouldn’t have to disturb Max by ringing the bell on her return.

      Inevitably, she bought a much bigger selection of deli wares than the two of them could possibly eat in one session, but she told herself that Max could finish off whatever remained for his supper. Judging by the emptiness of his cavernous fridge, he’d probably be glad of it later.

      This made her wonder again about his personal situation. Poppy had told her very little in the email—which she’d sent in a rare five minutes off from her crazy-sounding filming schedule in the African desert. Cara didn’t want to bother her cousin with those kinds of questions when she was so busy, so it was up to her to find out the answers herself. For purely professional reasons, of course. It would make her working life much easier if she knew whether she needed to take a partner’s feelings into consideration when making bookings away from the office.

      Surprisingly, Max didn’t put up much resistance to being dragged away from his computer with the promise of lunch and came into the kitchen just as she’d finished laying out the last small pot of pimento-stuffed olives, which she hadn’t been able to resist buying.

      ‘Good timing,’ she said as he sat down. ‘That deli is incredible. I wasn’t sure what you’d prefer so I got just about everything they had—hopefully, there’ll be something you like—and there should be plenty left over for tomorrow, or this evening if you don’t already have dinner plans.’

      Good grief—could she jabber more?

      Clearly, this had occurred to Max too because he raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say a word.

      Trying not to let his silence intimidate her, Cara passed him a plate, which he took with an abrupt nod of thanks, and she watched him load it up with food before tucking in.

      ‘So, Max,’ she said, taking a plate for herself and filling it with small triangular-cut sandwiches stuffed with soft cheese and prosciutto and a spoonful of fluffy couscous speckled with herbs and tiny pieces of red pepper. ‘How do you know Poppy? She didn’t tell me anything about you—other than that you’re friends.’

      He gave a small shrug. ‘We met at university.’

      Cara waited for him to elaborate.

      He didn’t. He just kept on eating.

      Okay, so he wasn’t the sort to offer up personal details about himself and liked to keep things super professional with colleagues, but perhaps she’d be able to get more out of him once they’d built up a rapport between them.

      That was okay. It was early days yet. She could bide her time.

      At least she had some company for lunch, even if he wasn’t interested in talking much. She’d spent all her lunchtimes at her last place of work alone, either sitting in the local park or eating a sandwich at her desk, forcing the food past her constricted throat, trying not to care about being excluded from the raucous group of PAs who regularly lunched together. The Cobra Clique, she’d called them in her head.

      Not to their faces.

      Never to their faces.

      Because, after making the mistake of assuming she’d be welcomed into their group when she’d first started working there—still riding on a wave of pride and excitement about landing such a coveted job—she’d soon realised that she’d stepped right into the middle of a viper’s nest. Especially after the backlash began to snap its tail a couple of days into her first week.

      Fighting the roll of nausea that always assaulted her when she thought about it, she took a large bite of sandwich and chewed hard, forcing herself to swallow, determined not to let what had happened bother her any more. They’d won and she was not going to let them keep on winning.

      ‘It’s a beautiful house you have, Max,’ she said, to distract herself from the memories still determinedly circling her head. ‘Have you been here long?’

      His gaze shot to hers and she was alarmed to see him frown. ‘Three years,’ he said, with a clip of finality to his voice, as if wanting to make it clear he didn’t want to discuss the subject any more.

      Okay then.

      From the atmosphere that now hummed between them, you’d have thought she’d asked him how much cold hard cash he’d laid down for the place. Perhaps people did ask him that regularly and he was fed up with answering it. Or maybe he thought she’d ask for a bigger wage if she thought he was loaded.

      Whatever the reason, his frostiness had now totally destroyed her appetite, so she was pushing the couscous around her plate when Max stood up, making her jump in her seat.

      ‘Let me know how much I owe you for lunch and I’ll get it out of petty cash before you leave,’ he said, turning abruptly on the spot and СКАЧАТЬ