It's one thing to listen in to your boss's conversation, another to hear him talking about you. I'm about to cough loudly and slam a few books on my desk when Callum replies.
“She's... interesting.”
My fingers freeze. What the hell does that mean?
“Interesting how?”
Callum is quiet for a moment, and I'm picturing him rubbing his chin. He seems to do that when he's in deep thought, something I've noticed when he doesn't realise I'm watching him.
“She's mouthy and opinionated and doesn't seem to know when to shut up. But when I asked HR to move her somewhere else they showed me her test scores.”
I have to bite my lip to stop myself from breathing, because I'm scared he might hear me groan. I knew he was going to ask to move me, but I didn't think he'd do it so quickly. I'm torn between wanting to hit him and wanting to run away.
“Were they bad?”
“Her scores? No, they were amazing—almost perfect. Which is strange because she's from some shitty university in East London.”
“You're sounding very elitist, Oxford boy.” The other man chuckles. “So, she's a clever girl with a rough exterior. Interesting.”
“And off limits,” Callum growls. “Remember?”
“Hey, there's no rule against looking.”
The door swings open and the man walks out—the same one I saw with Callum in the cafeteria yesterday. He looks around the same age as Callum, with dark, closely cropped hair. His skin is tanned, and his cheeks redden as soon as he sees me.
“Hello.” He flashes me a smile. “We didn't hear you come back.” He looks at me as if he's trying to work out how much I've overheard.
“I just walked in. Is everything okay? Can I get you a coffee?”
He shrugs. “I was just leaving, actually.” Leaning forward, he takes my hand, shaking it vigorously. “Jonathan Cooper. I work with your boss.”
“Amy Cartwright,” I reply, smoothly. “It's nice to meet you.”
Callum appears, leaning on the doorframe. “Have you been here long?” There's a hint of alarm in his expression.
“She just came in,” Jonathan replies. “Isn't that right, Amy?” He turns his head so Callum can only see the back of him, and sends me a wink.
“That's right.” I ignore his attempt at conspiring.
“Good, good.” Callum rakes his fingers through his hair. “I'll leave you to it, then.”
With that, Jonathan leaves and Callum closes the frosted glass door that leads to his office, leaving me alone in the outer vestibule. I can't help thinking about the way he called me 'interesting'. It's a word that could be an insult as easily as it could be a compliment, and I still can't quite decide which. But more importantly, I'm itching to know who the hell Jane is, and why the mere mention of her name was enough to make him angry.
As I log into the network and go through my emails, I realise I'm starting to find Callum Ferguson as intriguing as he's finding me.
6
“Don't be angry, okay?” Sophie takes my bag as I step into her flat, taking in the familiar silver-papered walls, lined with hundreds of fairy lights that blink on and off. “This wasn't my idea. All right so it was totally my idea, but I only did it because I love you.”
I walk across the thick shag pile rug that covers the sanded wooden floors. Since she and Nick bought this flat in August last year, she's spent every penny on making it into a hairdresser's paradise. Ellie calls it the Kitsch Palace, which describes it very well.
“Why would I be angry?” I inhale the aroma of lamb curry. Sophie may have terrible taste in decor, but her culinary skills are second to none, which is why I jumped at the chance of dinner at hers when she texted the offer.
As soon as I’m in her kitchen I realise exactly why I should be angry. Sophie guessed correctly; I'm bloody furious. Luke is leaning against the counter, chatting with Nick, holding a frosted bottle of Peroni to his lips.
“What's he doing here?”
Luke turns to look at me, his dark-blue eyes soft and appraising. He looks impossibly handsome with his perfectly-cut blonde hair, and the expensive designer jeans hanging from his hips. I feel a mess in comparison; still wearing my work dress and a pair of flat shoes that almost make the work commute bearable. But now all they do is make me feel short and dumpy, next to the tall and elegant arsehole.