Then, putting all thoughts of red lips and white lace aside, Angus got to work.
For the next hour, and even after Louis had said his goodbyes, Lucinda sat at her desk and vacillated between fuming and telling herself to stop being so ridiculously reactive.
But the moment Angus had said the words “Are you making a move on my girl?” something had snapped inside her.
She wasn’t usually so touchy. She knew it had been a joke. One she’d usually have played along with if it got the job done.
It was as if the conversation with Cat the night before had pried something loose. Then her earlier chat with Louis, in which he’d constantly joked about her being far too good for the likes of Angus, had further shifted whatever it was that now shook inside her.
The fact was, she was rattled. If she’d been in a mood like this at home she’d have found a way to distract herself while she got her head on straight. But, here, she couldn’t hide behind her desk all afternoon.
She was a grown-up who’d been through plenty worse. So, instead of sending an intern to clean away the cups, she did her best to shake it off and headed into Angus’s office.
“How’d it go?” she asked as she placed plates and coffee cups back onto the silver tray.
“As well as can be expected,” said Angus from his leaning spot, sitting on the wide shelf that ran under the long window, legs stretched out before him, gaze caught on some paperwork he held in one hand. “He kept reiterating that he has faith in us. In me.”
Words that would usually be music to Angus’s ears, but she could tell from his tone that they hadn’t been.
This, she thought, is what I need to find my equilibrium again.
Work talk. Pure, clear cut. Uncomplicated.
“But?” Lucinda said.
“He spent far more time talking about you. About how his perfume has never suited a woman more.”
And with that his eyes lifted to hers.
With the sun behind him he was little more than a silhouette, but she felt the glance all the same. Felt it hit her eyes, before tracing the line of her cheek and landing on her mouth.
She wished she hadn’t reapplied her lipstick as it suddenly felt too red. Too slick. And yet, conversely, as his gaze remained, she was also glad that she had.
Then he seemed to shake himself before he looked back down at the papers, lifted himself away from the window and tossed the papers onto his desk. “He also made it clear he believes that whatever I’m paying you it’s not enough.”
“He’s right, of course.”
“No doubt.” Hands sliding into the pockets of his suit pants, he rounded the desk towards her, those long legs eating up the distance between them in three short strides. “But it was a distraction. I get the feeling things are worse than he’s letting on.”
And there she was, caught up in some throwaway line, while Louis was in actual trouble. Gripping the tray harder, Lucinda said, “Could you convince him to let Charlie weigh in on his financials? Say it’s part of the service? No extra fee?”
Angus shook his head. “It was hard enough for him to come to me at all, and he could only do that by convincing himself he was doing me a favour.”
“Would you like me to put it to him?”
She saw Angus allow himself a moment to consider the offer. She wished Cat could see him in such a moment. For all his genius, and his self-belief, he was always open to her opinion.
But then he shook his head. Which was wasn’t uncommon either.
Yet, while any other time she’d have moved on, it turned out the rattle had not gone away. It trembled as she huffed out a breath filled with sudden frustration. “Seriously, I can sweet talk him into a meeting at least. I know I can.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“Louis respects me. And likes me. But he also doesn’t have to worry about keeping up appearances where I’m concerned. He won’t fear that I will no longer look at him like he’s my hero.”
Angus shifted uncomfortably. “Leave it, Lucinda.”
“But—”
“Enough.” Angus ran a hand through his hair, giving the ends a tug.
Lucinda stilled. The only parts of her that moved were her shoulders, inching back, and her nostrils, flaring gently as she put the brakes on her temper. Barely.
Until his eyes once more snagged on hers.
“Was there something else?” he asked, slowly leaning back against his desk and folding his arms over his chest.
While he acted as if he hadn’t just shut her down, as if they were in the middle of a regular conversation, the rattle inside her began to shiver and shake until it bumped against her ribs like a drumbeat. Like a call to arms.
“Actually, yes,” she said before she even felt the words coming. “It’s about this weekend.”
“What about it?”
“My plans. I am going away with…” She stopped there. As if her words had smacked up against a stone wall. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip in an attempt to loosen them.
“Is this a guessing game?” Angus asked, his voice now edged with impatience. “You’re going with… Catriona? The Easter Bunny? Elvis?”
And just like that the rattle stopped rattling. As if a storm inside her had stilled. And her voice was calm, even, as she looked her boss in the eye and said, “I’m going away with a man.”
She watched Angus closely. As closely as one person could watch another. She noticed the flare of his nostrils. The tightening of his jaw. The way the rest of his body went preternaturally still.
Then she did her very best not to read anything into it. To pretend she was simply an employee passing on a titbit of little interest to her boss.
“A man,” Angus finally managed.
“Yes, a man. Not just any man,” said Lucinda, the floodgates now wide open. “The man I’ve been seeing. For a few weeks now.” Off and on. When he hadn’t been called away to surgery. Or to phone calls with doctors in developing countries needing his advice stat. He was a doctor. Had she mentioned that?
“Sonny?” Angus asked, his voice a mite strained. But that part she understood. That part made her shoulders relax down away from her ears. Raised by a single mother himself, Angus took Sonny’s welfare nearly as seriously as she did.
“Hasn’t met him yet,” she assured him. “But if this weekend goes well…”
Her boss blinked at her and said nothing. And now she couldn’t get a read on him at all. Only the fact that he looked so utterly disinterested told her that he was trying too hard.
Which, in turn, brought the rattle back to life. With a vengeance.
“Would you like to know where we’re going?”
There, a flicker below his right eye.