“I don’t tell my assistants everything,” Erica replied coldly.
Phoebe wanted to mention that she had arranged all of Erica’s health check-ups and reminded her to take pills but didn’t say a word.
She thought back, only now realising that Erica never explicitly said where she was going when she holidayed. She only said that she was visiting ‘the house’. Phoebe had naturally assumed it was the summer cottage in the south of France. Maybe Erica kept her house in Lanzarote a secret because she like the peace and quiet. Or because she wanted people to assume she meant France, as it was certainly considered a more upper-class destination than a Canary Island where Brits were often drunk and red as lobsters.
Shouldn’t make assumptions, Phoebe told herself. Like you shouldn’t assume your hotel has been built.
They’d quickly left the town centre and were now driving down a motorway with dark volcanic ground on either side of the road. There seemed to be nothing for miles, and Phoebe wondered if Erica would just dump her somewhere in the scrub. It would serve her right for walking away like she did.
You’d deserve that, she told herself.
After a while, Erica turned down a road heading towards the sea. The sun was setting, and the last rays sparkled hypnotically on the ocean.
Phoebe felt sick with nerves.
This was what she had wanted, peace and quiet to watch the sun glinting on the waves. She had just thought she’d be alone and not with the one person on the planet that made her feel one centimetre tall.
The car approached some large, metal gates, and Erica removed a remote control from her bag, pressed a button, and waited for the gates to part.
When they had opened enough, Erica drove into the beautifully paved carport of a traditional Spanish villa with a modern twist.
A stairwell went up from the carport to the main entrance, and, judging from the road they had arrived on, the villa would have a perfect, unspoilt view of the ocean.
It was idyllic. A perfect getaway.
Erica silently parked up the car, flung open the door, and set about getting her case and bag out of the car.
Phoebe followed suit.
At the top of the stairs, Erica’s fingers blitzed over the door’s keypad. She entered a code that Phoebe immediately recognised as Erica’s birthday. She bit her lip, wanting to tell Erica how unsafe that was, but she knew that her presence was very much not welcome, so her insight would be even less welcome.
Erica dropped her bags by the door and marched through the large lobby.
“Follow me.”
Phoebe did. They walked through an open-plan living room with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out towards an infinity pool with the sea just beyond. Phoebe had to remind herself to close her mouth when looking at the beautiful vista.
They walked through the large kitchen and then into a hallway that led to a number of doorways.
Erica opened one of the doors and gestured for Phoebe to go inside.
The guest room was beautiful. Better than the never-been-built hotel that Phoebe had been due to stay at. She had her own sea view, an en-suite bathroom, and an enormous bed that Phoebe found she couldn’t look at with Erica in the same room.
“You can stay here until you find a hotel,” Erica explained.
Phoebe swallowed. “Erica, thank you so much. I—”
Erica held up her hand to silence anything else that was forthcoming. She turned and walked away. “I’ll make some dinner for us, and then I’m having an early night,” she called back. “The Wi-Fi password is lanza-zero-one.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes at the lack of security Erica surrounded herself with. She’d often lectured her on such matters when she worked for her. She wouldn’t complain now, though, as she entered the password onto her phone and started to search for hotels.
Her heart was beating out of her chest. She was in Erica’s house, something that, six months ago, she would have signed away her firstborn for. But now she had struggled long and hard to get over Erica, breaking her own heart in the process.
She needed to get out of there as quickly as possible. And hope that Erica wouldn’t want to talk about the elephant in the room that they were both so diligently avoiding.
Condemned to Share a House
Erica smashed the saucepan down onto the hob. She knew she was tearing through the kitchen like a bull in a china shop, but she couldn’t control herself.
Why did she bring Phoebe to the house? Why?
Phoebe Baxter was not her problem. She should have left her somewhere or even paid for a hotel room for her. Anything but bring her to the house.
You wanted her here, a small, internal voice spoke up.
She opened the cupboard and got some dried pasta, then slammed the door shut again.
Anger raced through her because… it was true. She did want Phoebe there. If she had dumped her somewhere with some cash, she would have worried about her. Was she safe? Would those disgusting young men come back?
The big problem was that Phoebe clearly hated Erica with a passion. From leaving, to ghosting her, to the horrified expression she’d worn when Erica saw her on the street less than an hour ago.
Phoebe very clearly wanted nothing whatsoever to do with Erica. And now they were condemned to share a house for at least the night.
It was a terrible start to her holiday. Erica had half a mind to call her budget airline and go straight back home. Phoebe could have the damn house to herself.
She stopped and leaned on the countertop, sucking in a deep breath as she did. She needed to calm down and relax.
You wanted her here, the small voice repeated. You wanted to make sure she was safe.
Erica sucked in another long, deep breath.
All those months ago when Phoebe had vanished from her life, her first reaction had obviously been anger. But anger had very quickly morphed into concern and then into outright fear.
Had something happened? Was Phoebe okay?
Of course, it wasn’t Erica’s place to ask. Or to care. She was her boss—ex-boss—and nothing more. But that message didn’t get through to her heart which had fretted daily.
Human Resources had been unable to get through to Phoebe after she walked away, or at least that was what they had told Erica.
It was a couple weeks later, at a networking event, that she spoke to someone who had seen Phoebe. It was a chance meeting where she found herself conversing with someone who had recently interviewed Phoebe for an assistant role at their company.
Erica had a choice there and then to either help or hinder.
Should she admit that Phoebe was one of the best damn PAs she’d ever had, that she had proven to be truly irreplaceable, and that they’d be a fool to not hire her immediately, double her salary, and hold on to her for all she was worth? Or should she lie and say that the girl was unreliable, bad at her job, lacked intellect, and generally would be unsuitable?
After a few shocked seconds she told the woman that Phoebe was an excellent employee. She didn’t expand on that; it would have been too much for her. But she made a mental note of where Phoebe would probably be working just in case she ever dragged up the nerve to go and speak to her.
She never did.
Because in her heart she now knew why Phoebe had left. It wasn’t that anything had happened to her; it was that she had finally gotten sick of working for Erica. She’d been pushed away by Erica being cold and demanding, which was all Erica knew how to be, especially as a woman in her line of business.
It had become quickly apparent to Erica that nice women in business didn’t get very far. And so, every morning, she put on a mask of cold indifference and wore it rigidly throughout the workday. Of course, her assistant was front and centre for that persona she had to don.
Phoebe appeared in the doorway, looking sheepish and small. “I’ve… I’ve found a hotel. It’s available tomorrow at midday, so I’ll be out of your hair by then.”
Erica sighed. She
was surprised that Phoebe wasn’t asking for a tent to go out and camp on the beach rather than share a roof with her.
“Fine. Lay the table for dinner,” Erica ordered.
Phoebe walked blindly over to the dining table and looked around in confusion for the cutlery and the placemats. Erica didn’t help her, choosing to focus instead on cooking the meal that she would force Phoebe to share with her. It was petty; she could have suggested they eat separately, but she assumed that was exactly what Phoebe would want and Erica didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. No, she would suffer through one meal with Erica as punishment for walking away.
Phoebe cautiously opened some drawers in the sideboard and eventually found everything she required to lay the table. When she was done, she came a little closer and hesitantly asked, “Can I help with anything?”
Erica wanted to say yes, wanted to ask why she had left and how she could have done such a thing. She wanted to ask what it was, exactly, that had been the final straw. She’d replayed every single conversation and interaction over the days prior to Phoebe’s vanishing act and had been unable to pinpoint the reason.
“No. Sit down, it will be ready in a moment.”
Phoebe swallowed and turned and went back to the dining table, looking so small as she sat at the large twelve-seater.
Erica tried to not feel sorry for her.
But it wasn’t easy.
Not Quite Sure of the Protocol
Phoebe picked at her meal of pasta in a creamy sauce. It was excellent, better than any meal she’d had in a restaurant or even that one time she went to Italy with her mother, but she had no appetite at all.
Nothing had been said since Erica bought the two bowls over and Phoebe had thanked her. The silence was stifling, and Phoebe couldn’t focus on anything but Erica.
Suddenly she was back at the height of her crush. Aware of the rich, floral perfume Erica always wore. Watching the way Erica held the lower part of her wineglass between her thumb and her finger, slowly stroking the length of the stem.
Every little movement caused flashes of memory to ignite like fireworks in her mind.
“You’ve picked a good week to be here, weather-wise,” Erica commented casually.
Phoebe swallowed. “Yes. I… I saw it was going to be… nice.”
Silence filled the air again, and Phoebe wanted to kick herself for missing the opportunity to converse with Erica rather than sit in uncomfortable silence. Why hadn’t she asked a follow-up question? Did she not know how talking worked anymore? It was obviously an olive branch, but she’d ignored it.
“The… beach here looks lovely,” Phoebe said.
The sun had nearly set, and the beach and the ocean were now barely visible.
“Do you have any recommendations for beaches?” Phoebe continued. “Like, do you have a favourite one?”
“That one.” Erica pointed out of the window with her fork. “Clearly.”
Phoebe resisted the urge to sigh. Out of everything she could have asked, that was what she chose. Of course, Erica preferred the beach outside the house she’d bought. She wouldn’t buy a house ten miles away from the beach she preferred, would she?
“Do ensure you try some local food while here,” Erica said, surprising Phoebe with her sudden willingness to spark another conversation. “Not just places in the tourist resorts.”
“I will,” Phoebe promised.
The second the words were out of her mouth, she sighed softly. She’d had the perfect opportunity to start the conversation up again, but she’d simply shut it down.
Erica often had the power to unsettle her, but this was far worse than usual. Obviously, it didn’t help that the huge, black cloud of the events from a few months ago still hung over them.
The silence dragged on and on while Phoebe tried desperately to think of something to say, hoping that Erica would make another attempt at conversation.
“Just go,” Erica finally said. “You clearly don’t want to be here. So, just… go to your room.”
She got up and grabbed both of their half-eaten bowls of food and took them to the kitchen. Phoebe felt horrible as she watched Erica shaking her head and throwing the remaining food into the bin.
“Couldn’t stand to be near me then, can’t stand to be near me now,” Erica mumbled under her breath.
Phoebe stared at Erica in shock. She’d never considered what the older woman would think of her sudden departure. She certainly didn’t think that Erica would care, never mind think that Phoebe actually disliked her so intensely that she left. Not when the exact opposite was the case.
“That’s not what happened,” Phoebe said, standing up.
“I don’t care what it was. Just… go to your room,” Erica said again, throwing the bowls into the sink.
“I’m not a child,” Phoebe argued, raising her voice and putting her hands on her hips.
Erica laughed. “Oh, you’ve developed some courage, have you? How adorable.”
“Don’t patronise me,” Phoebe said, a flicker of anger racing through her.
She hated when Erica belittled or patronised her; it sparked the acknowledgement within her that she wasn’t Erica’s equal, cemented the fact that there could never be anything between them. Phoebe was a lowly assistant, just twenty-eight, and pathetic in comparison to the powerhouse that was Erica Johnstone.
Erica put a hand on her hip and stared at Phoebe. “I’m terribly sorry,” she said sarcastically. “I’m not quite sure of the protocol. How does one treat an assistant who left with no notice, no communication whatsoever? Vanished one night, missing, presumed dead by most.”
Phoebe balked. She had never considered that. When she’d finally made the decision to leave, she’d never once thought that anyone at the company would think something bad had happened to her. Her primary thought was that Erica would be in a rage that she had to find a new assistant. Not that Erica would give a damn about Phoebe, just be angry at her for throwing out her schedule.
“Inconsiderate child,” Erica muttered.
“I am not a child,” Phoebe repeated.
“Immature, then,” Erica countered. “Yes, that suits you very well. Immature.” She drawled the word in way that made Phoebe go weak at the knees. She’d never been around someone who could insult her and turn her on in equal measure. And that was exactly why she’d had to leave.
“You were scared of me, and you ran away. Couldn’t even put your big girl boots on to come and speak to me,” Erica taunted. “Just ran away. You know, you’re not the first assistant who’s walked out, except the other ones were all under nineteen. Didn’t know any better. I know I’m not easy to work for, I’m not completely out of touch.”
Erica smirked at her, and Phoebe knew she was attempting to hurt her, to wind her up and provoke a reaction. But Phoebe wouldn’t shout back, wouldn’t confirm Erica’s suspicions that she was a terrible person. Because Erica wasn’t a bad person. Phoebe knew it was a persona; she’d seen through it a thousand times over.
But it did nag at her that Erica thought Phoebe was scared of her.
“I saw the way you looked at me,” Erica said.
Phoebe’s eyes widened. She’d done everything she could to not be obvious. Was Erica aware of the crush to end all crushes?
The thought made Phoebe feel sick to her stomach.
“Terrified,” Erica added, a hint of pride in her tone.
Phoebe let out a breath of relief.
“So, go on, run away. Run away from the Big Bad Wolf. Coward.”
Phoebe clenched her fists. She hated that word. She’d once refused to throw pebbles at a cat, and her friends had called her a coward. She’d been too young to defend her actions, didn’t have the vocabulary to explain that she was being kind and empathic rather than cowardly, so she’d remained silent and the name had stuck. She’d lived with the ‘coward’ label for six years through her first school.
“You’re an idiot,” she announced.
Eric
a blinked in shock and stood a little taller.
“You think I left because I’m scared of you?” Phoebe asked, stepping closer to Erica. “You think I left because I didn’t like you? That wasn’t it at all.”
Phoebe threw caution to the wind and grabbed Erica’s face and planted a solid kiss on her lips. Erica went stiff under her touch, and Phoebe quickly let her go.
“I didn’t leave because I disliked you. I left because I liked you too much,” she admitted, feeling the hot tears of shame falling down her cheeks.
Before Erica had a chance to speak, Phoebe did exactly what Erica had wished of her. She ran to her room.
A Locked Door
Erica heard the sound of the door slamming echo throughout the house. She raised a shaky hand and touched her lips. Her lips that had just been in contact with Phoebe’s in a soft, warm, and gentle kiss.
Erica had been kissed before but never in the way Phoebe had just done. For the first time in her life she had felt a strength of emotion in a kiss. Not sexual, not passionate, just feeling and… love.
“What on earth?” she whispered to herself.
The surprise kiss had scattered her thought process to the wind.
Shy, sweet Phoebe Baxter had just kissed her. And meant it.
Erica scrambled to consider what that meant. She frowned, remembering what Phoebe had said after the kiss. She hadn’t left because she disliked her, but because she liked her… too much.
Of course, Erica thought she knew what that statement meant, but she needed clarity. She needed certainty. Phoebe may have run away from the conversation, but Erica wasn’t about to let her get away with not talking about the situation.
Not again.
She raced down the corridor and knocked on the door to the guest bedroom.
“Phoebe?”
She waited a second before knocking again. Deciding it was ludicrous to knock on a door in her own house, she tried the handle. The handle moved, but the door didn’t. Phoebe had locked it with the key that was permanently kept in the lock, from when Erica’s sister visited the house with her children and needed some alone time.
Summer Loving Page 21
