In the Boss's Castle

by Jessica Gilmore

  Kit didn’t take his eyes off her, his face utterly expressionless. ‘Have you read it? The book?’

  Had she what? ‘I...of course.’

  ‘Could you do a better job?’

  She flinched at the cold words, then tossed her head up and glared at him. ‘Could I write an introductory speech that sounds like I value the author, think the book is worth reading and convince the room that they need to read it too? Yes. Yes, I could.’

  ‘Great.’ He pulled his chair back to his desk and refocused his eyes on his screen. ‘You have an hour. Let’s see what you come up with.’

  * * *

  ‘Great speech.’

  Kit suppressed a sigh as yet another guest complimented him. It had been a great speech and he’d delivered it well, a nice mingling of humour and sincerity. Only he hadn’t written it. Embellished it, ad-libbed a little but he hadn’t written it. Maddison had been annoyingly right: his own effort had lacked passion.

  Kit knew all too well why that was. Three years ago he’d lost any passion, any zest for life, any hope—and now it seemed as though he’d lost the ability to fake it as well.

  Which was ridiculous. He was the king of faking it—at work, with the ever so elegant Camilla and her potential replacements, with his friends. The only place he couldn’t convincingly pretend that he was the same old Kit was with his family. Especially not with his family and with the wedding looming on the horizon like a constant reminder of all that he had lost. He needed to sort that out and fast. He knew he had to RSVP. He knew he had to attend. He just couldn’t bring himself to commit to it because once he did it would become real. Thank goodness for his new project. At least that helped him forget, for a little while at least.

  Forgetting was a luxury.

  He caught sight of Maddison, gliding through the crowds as untouchably serene as ever. Kit’s eyes narrowed as she stopped to murmur something in a waitress’s ear, sending the girl scurrying off with her tray. As usual Maddison had it all under control. Just look at the way she glided around the office in her monochrome uniform of black trousers and perfectly ironed white blouse like some sort of robot: efficient, calm and, until today, he could have sworn completely free of any emotion.

  It was a shame. No one whose green eyes tilted upwards with such feline wickedness, no one with hair like the first hint of a shepherd’s sunset, no one with a wide, sweet mouth should be so bland.

  But she hadn’t been so bland earlier today. Instead she had been bursting with opinions and, much as she had tried to stay calm, not let him see the exasperation in those thickly lashed eyes, she had let her mask slip a little.

  And then she had written that speech. In an hour. Yes, she definitely had hidden depths. Not, Kit reminded himself, that he was planning to explore them. He was just intrigued, that was all. Turned out Maddison Carter was a bit of an enigma and he did so like to figure out a puzzle.

  Kit excused himself from the group of guests, brushing another compliment about his speech aside with a smile and a handshake as he slowly weaved his way through the throng, checking to make sure everyone was entertained, that the buzz was sufficient to ensure the launch would be a success. The venue was inspired, an old art deco cinema perfectly complementing the novel’s historical Jazz Age setting. The seats had been removed to create a party space and a jazz band set up on the old stage entertained the crowd with a series of jaunty tunes. Neon cocktails circulated on etched silver trays as light shone down from spotlights overhead, emphasizing the huge, jewel-coloured rectangular windows; at the far end of the room the gratified author sat at a vintage desk, signing books and holding court. The right people were here having the right sort of time. Kit had done all he could—the book would stand or fall on its own merits now.

  He paused as Maddison passed by again, that damn list still tucked in one hand, a couple of empty glasses clasped in the other. He leaned against the wall for a moment, enjoying watching her dispose of the glasses, ensure three guests had fresh drinks, introduce two lost-looking souls to each other, all the while directing the wait staff and ensuring the queue for signed books progressed. A one-woman event machine.

  How did she do it? She looked utterly calm, still in her favourite monochrome uniform although she had changed her usual well-tailored trousers for a short skirt, which swished most pleasingly around what were, Kit had to admit, a fine pair of legs, and there was no way the silky, clingy white blouse, which dipped to a low vee just this side of respectable, was the same as the crisp shirt she had worn in the office. Her hair was no longer looped in a loose knot but allowed to curl loosely around her shoulders. She looked softer, more approachable—even though she was brandishing the dreaded list.

  She was doing a great job organizing this party. He really should go and tell her so while he remembered.

  By the time Kit had manoeuvred his way over to Maddison’s corner of the room she was deep in conversation with an earnest-looking man. Kit rocked back on his heels and studied her. Good gracious, was that a smile on her face? In fact, that dip of her head and the long demure look from under her eyebrows was positively flirtatious. Kit neatly collected two cocktails from a passing tray and watched as the earnest man slipped her a card. Did he know him? He knew almost every person there. Kit ran through his memory banks—yes, a reviewer for one of the broadsheets. Not a bad conquest, especially if she could talk him into positive reviews.

  ‘Flirting on the job?’ he said quietly into her ear as the earnest man walked away, and had the satisfaction of seeing her jump and the colour rush to her cheeks, emphasizing the curve in her heart-shaped face.

  ‘No. I was just...’

  ‘Relax, Maddison, I was teasing. It’s past eight o’clock. I think you’re on your own time now. This lot will melt away as soon as they realize that these are no longer being served.’ He handed her the pink cocktail before tasting his own blue confection and grimaced as the sweet yet medicinal taste hit his tongue. ‘Or maybe not. Is this supposed to taste like cough syrup? Anyway, cheers. Great job on the party.’

  ‘Thank you.’ It was as if a light had been switched on in her green eyes, turning them from pretty glass to a darker, more dangerous emerald. ‘Hope started it all. I just followed her instructions.’

  ‘The party favours were your idea, and the band, I believe.’

  Her eyes lit up even more. ‘I didn’t know you’d noticed. It just seemed perfect, nineteen twenties and a murder mystery.’ The guests’ goody bags contained chocolate murder weapons straight out of a golden-age crime novel: hatpins and candlesticks, pearl-handled revolvers and a jar-shaped chocolate labelled Cyanide. The cute chocolates had caused quite a stir and several guests were trying to make sure they went home with a full set. Turned out even this jaded crowd could be excited by something novel and fun.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  Kit looked around, an enquiring eyebrow raised, only for the young man hovering behind him to ignore him entirely while he thrust a card in Maddison’s direction. ‘It was lovely to meet you earlier. Do give me a call. I would love to show you around London. Oh, and happy birthday.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She accepted the card with a half-smile, sliding it neatly into her bag. Kit tried to sneak a look as the card disappeared into the depths. How many other cards did she have in there? And what had the young man said?

  ‘It’s your birthday?’

  Maddison nodded. ‘Today.’

  ‘I didn’t realize.’ Kit felt strangely wrong-footed. How hadn’t he known? He’d always remembered Hope’s birthday although, come to think of it, that was because she made sure it was in his work calendar and lost no opportunity to remind him that flowers were always acceptable, chocolates even more so and vouchers for the local spa most acceptable of all. ‘I’m so sorry you had to work. I hope you have exciting plans for the rest of your evening and weekend?’

&
nbsp; Maddison paused, her eyes lowered. ‘Sure.’ But her tone lacked conviction.

  ‘Like?’ Kit cursed himself as he pushed. She’d said she had plans so he should take her word at face value and leave her in peace. He didn’t need to know the details; she was a grown woman.

  A grown woman in a new city where she knew hardly anyone.

  Maddison took a visible deep breath before looking directly at him, a smile pasted on to her face. ‘A film and a takeaway. I’m going to explore the city a little more tomorrow. Low-key, you know? I don’t know many people here yet.’

  ‘You’re staying in alone, on your birthday?’

  ‘I have a cocktail.’ She waved the glass of pink liquid at him. ‘It’s okay.’

  He’d heard the lady. She said she was okay—and, judging by the cards she was collecting, the room was full of men who would gladly help her celebrate any way she wished to.

  Only she was new to the country... Kit had thought his conscience had died three years ago but some ghost of it was struggling back to life. ‘What about the other girls at work? None of them free?’

  ‘It’s a little awkward, you know? Technically I’m at the same level as all the other assistants but they all sit in the same office and I’m on the executive floor so we don’t see each other day-to-day.’ She hesitated. ‘I think Hope didn’t really socialize so there’s this assumption I’m the same.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s fine. I just haven’t prioritized making friends since I got here. There’s plenty of time.’ She attempted another full smile; this one nearly reached her eyes. ‘I’m actually quite good at it when I try.’

  His conscience gave another gasp. He should have thought to check that she was settling in, but she had been so efficient from day one. Besides, the annoying ghost of conscience past whispered, if you had noticed, what would you have done about it? But she had put a lot of work in tonight and it was her birthday... Even Kit couldn’t be so callous as to abandon her to a lonely night of pizza and a romcom. ‘I can’t possibly let you go home alone to watch a film on your birthday, especially after all the hard work you put in today. The least I can do is buy you a drink.’ He looked at his blue drink and shuddered. ‘A real drink. What do you say?’

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHE SHOULD HAVE said no.

  The last thing Maddison needed was a pity date. Even worse, a pity date with her boss. But Kit had caught her at a vulnerable moment. Nice as it was to be flirted with by not just one, or two, but several men at the party, all of whom had their own teeth, hair and impressive-sounding job titles, she couldn’t help but remember this time last year and the adorable little inn in Connecticut Bart had whisked her off to. Three months ago she was reasonably confident that this birthday he’d propose—not break up with her two months before.

  Which meant she wouldn’t be married at twenty-seven and a mother by twenty-eight. Her whole, carefully planned timetable redundant. Somehow she was going to have to start again. Only she had no idea how or who or where...

  Happy birthday to me. Maddison sighed, the age-long loneliness forcing its way out of the box she had buried it in, creeping back around her heart, her soul. It wasn’t that she minded the lack of cards and presents. She’d got used to that a long time ago. But she couldn’t help feeling that at twenty-six her birthday should matter to someone. Especially to her. Instead she’d been in denial all day. She wasn’t sure why she’d mentioned it to the young sales guy, maybe some pathetic need to have some kind of acknowledgement, no matter how small.

  That’s enough. She wasn’t a wallower, she was a fighter and she never, ever looked back. Maddison pushed herself off the plush velvet sofa and paced the length of the room. If she did have to wait in Kit Buchanan’s house while he changed then she might as well take advantage and find out as much as she could about him. From the little she had gathered he was a constant source of speculation at work, but although the gossips were full of theories they had very few solid facts. A few juicy titbits could give her a way in with the social groups at work. She couldn’t just bury herself and her sore pride away for the whole six months like some Roman exile marooned on a cold and damp island.

  After all, the weather in London was much nicer than she had expected.

  At least it was just her pride that hurt. She’d never be foolish enough to give away her heart without some kind of security.

  Stop thinking about it, Maddison scolded herself, looking up at the high ceiling as if in supplication. She had five months left in London; she needed to start living again so she could return to New York full of European polish and fizzing with adventure. If that didn’t bring Bart back on his knees, diamond ring in one hand, nothing would. After all, didn’t they say absence made the heart grow fonder? Think how fond he could grow if word got back to him of just how good a time she was having in London...

  A piece of elaborate-looking plaster work caught her eye. Original, she’d bet, just like the tiles on the hallway floor and the ceiling roses holding the anachronistically modern lights. The huge semi-detached house overlooking a lushly green square was the last place she’d expected Kit to live; she would have laid money on some kind of trendy apartment, all glass and chrome, not the white-painted Georgian house. It was even more impressive than Bart’s brownstone.

  She hadn’t seen much in the way of personal touches so far. A tiled hallway with no clutter at all, just a hat stand, a mirror and an antique sideboard with a small bowl for his keys. There was nothing left lying around in the living room either except a newspaper on the coffee table, neatly folded at the nearly completed crossword, and just one small photo on the impressive marble mantle—a black-and-white picture of two teenage boys, grinning identical smiles, hanging over the rail on a boat. She had no trouble identifying the younger one as Kit, although there was something about the smile that struck her as different from the smile she knew. Maybe it was how wide, how unadulterated, how wholehearted it was, so different from the cynically amused expression she saw every day.

  The sound of footsteps on the stairs sent her scuttling back to her seat, where she grabbed the newspaper and scanned it, carefully giving the impression she had been comfortably occupied for the last ten minutes.

  ‘Sorry to keep you. I spilled some of that green stuff on my shirt and didn’t fancy going out smelling like the ghost of absinthe past.’ Kit walked into the room and raised an eyebrow. Maddison had kicked off her shoes and was curled up in a corner of the sofa, the newspaper on her knee, looking as studiously un-detective-like as possible. ‘Comfy?’

  ‘Hmm? No, I was fine. Just finishing off your crossword. I think it’s Medusa.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Six down. Petrifying snakes. Medusa.’

  ‘Here, give me that.’ He took the paper off her and stared at the clue. ‘Of course. I should have thought...’ He looked back up and over at her, his eyes impossibly blue as they took her in.

  ‘Do you like puzzles, Maddison?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ It took all her resolution to stay still under such scrutiny. It was as if he were looking at her for the first time, as if he were weighing her up.

  ‘Puzzles, quizzes? Do you like them?’

  ‘Well, sure. Doesn’t everyone?’ He didn’t reply, just stared at her in that disconcertingly intense way. ‘I mean, when I was a kid I wanted to be Nancy Drew.’ When she hadn’t dreamed of being Rory Gilmore, that was. She swung her legs to the floor. ‘I believe you mentioned a drink.’

  He didn’t move for a long second, his eyes still focused on her, and then smiled, the familiar amused expression sliding back on to his face like a mask. ‘Of course. It’s not far. I hope you don’t mind the walk.’

  Maddison hadn’t known what to expect on a night out with Kit Buchanan: a glitzy wine bar or maybe some kind of private members’ bar, all leather seats and braying, privileged laug
hter. She definitely hadn’t expected the comfortable pub Kit guided her into. The walls were hung with prints by local artists, the tables solid square wood surrounded by leather sofas and chairs. It was nearly full but it didn’t feel crowded or loud; it felt homely, like a pub from a book. The man behind the bar nodded at Kit and gave Maddison a speculative look as Kit guided her to a nook by the unlit fire before heading off to order their drinks.

  ‘I got a sharing platter as well,’ he said as he set the bottle of Prosecco on the table and placed a glass in front of her. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m starving. I never get a chance to eat at those work parties. It’s hard to schmooze with a half-eaten filo prawn in my mouth.’

  ‘When I started out in events sometimes canapés were all I did eat,’ Maddison confessed, watching as he filled her glass up. ‘New York is pricey for a girl out of college and free food is free food. Some days I would long for a good old-fashioned sub or a real-sized burger rather than an assortment of finger food! Turns out a girl can have too much caviar.’

  ‘Happy birthday.’ Kit handed her a glass before taking the seat opposite her, raising his glass to her. ‘You worked in events?’

  She nodded. ‘After I graduated I joined a friend’s PR and events company.’ It had been the perfect job, working in the heart of Manhattan with the heart of society—until her friend had decided she preferred attending parties to planning them, being in the headlines rather than creating them. ‘After that I landed a junior management role at DL Media and then Brenda poached me. I’ve only worked in editorial for the last six months,’ she added. She still wasn’t sure how Brenda had persuaded her to leave the safe world of PR for the unknown waters of editorial. It was the first unplanned move Maddison had made in a decade. It still terrified her, both the spontaneity and the starting again.