Promised
Page 84

He gasps. ‘Fucking hell, Livy!’
‘I’m sorry!’ I blurt, not knowing whether to resume my attention of Miller or hide under the desk.
I can see the pain on his face as he pushes himself up from the chair and tries to get his laboured breathing under control. ‘Well, that’s just f**king perfect, isn’t it?’
I press my lips together as I watch him quickly tuck himself away and refasten his trousers and belt. ‘I’m sorry,’ I repeat, not knowing what else to say. He’s still rock solid and it’s obvious through his trousers.
‘So you should be,’ he grumbles, and I lose my attempts to hold back my smile. ‘Look.’ He points to his groin and cocks his eyebrow when he catches my amusement. ‘I have a bit of a problem.’
‘You do,’ I agree, looking to one of his screens and seeing two people standing outside his office door, just as a knock sounds again. ‘Should I let them in?’
‘This is going to be agony.’ He adjusts himself on a groan. ‘Yes, please.’
I jump up and leave Miller settling in his chair, finding my own hyped-up state easy to control with the distraction of Miller’s clear discomfort. Swinging the door open, I come face to face with a lovely looking woman, who immediately gives me the once-over on a frown.
‘You are?’ she says, waving to a man behind her with a camera.
I step back to give her access before I’m barged from her path. ‘Livy,’ I say to myself because she has already passed me and is on her way to Miller’s desk, all smiley and gushy. I’m delighted when I see his mask slip right into place, his cool, business persona replacing his despairing pre-climax state.
‘Hi!’ she sings in his face, practically throwing herself over his desk to get to him. ‘Diana Low.’ She puts her hand out, but I can tell she’s dying to kiss him. ‘Wow, this place is just amazing!’
‘Thank you.’ Miller is as formal as ever, shaking her hand before indicating a chair opposite his desk and discreetly adjusting his groin area. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
She parks her tight arse on the chair and lays her notepad on the table. I’m immediately picking up on the unease emanating from Miller as he looks at the pad. ‘Oooh, I’m not supposed to drink on the job, but you’re my last call of the day. I’ll have a martini on the rocks.’
The photographer passes me, clearly exhausted.
It’s only now I wonder if Miller actually wants me here for this, so I look over to him and gesture to the door, but he starts shaking his head, then nods towards the sofa as he takes Miss Low’s pad and hands it to her. He wants me to stay.
I shut the door and watch the photographer take a seat beside the gregarious woman, dumping his camera on his lap.
‘Drink?’ Miller looks to the man, but I see his head shake from behind.
‘Nah, I’m cool.’
‘I’ll get the drinks,’ I pipe up, opening the door. ‘Martini and a Scotch?’
‘On the rocks!’ The woman swings around, giving me another once-over. ‘Make sure it’s on the rocks.’
‘Rocks,’ I confirm, looking to Miller, who nods his thanks. ‘I’ll be back.’ I slip out, grateful to be free from Diana Low’s irritating voice.
I find the lights have been dimmed and the blue illuminations activated, restoring the bar to the glow I remember. With more than one bar to choose from, I finally plump for the one where Miller met Tony, making my way over and finding a young guy crouched behind, restocking the glass front fridges.
‘Hello,’ I say to get his attention. ‘Can I get a martini on the rocks and a Scotch straight?’
‘For Mr Hart?’
I nod and he flies into action, pulling down a tumbler and giving it an extra polish before pouring a few inches and sliding it across the bar. ‘And a martini?’
‘Please.’
While the barman prepares the drink, I stand feeling a little self-conscious, knowing I’m being regarded with interest by Tony. I look over and receive a small smile, but it’s a poor attempt to make me feel comfortable. His round face is thoughtful.
‘How’s it going down there?’ he asks, breaking the difficult silence.
‘I just left them to it,’ I answer politely and accept the martini.
‘Miller doesn’t appreciate fuss and attention.’
I try to detect a double meaning to Tony’s abrupt declaration. ‘I know,’ I answer, because I suspect he’s implying that I don’t.
‘He’s happy in his own little organised world.’
‘I know,’ I repeat, turning to leave the discomfort of the conversation. He’s not being particularly unfriendly, but I don’t like where this chat is heading.
‘He’s emotionally unavailable.’
I stop and turn, watching the thoughtful look on his face for a few moments before I speak. ‘Is there a purpose to this?’ I ask outright, finding my annoyance advancing my poise. Miller has told me the very same thing, but I’m finding emotions in him. Maybe not the regular way, but they’re there.
He smiles, and it’s a sincere smile, but it’s also a smile that suggests I’m blind, naive and way out of my depth. ‘A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be getting caught up in this world.’
‘What gives you the impression that I’m sweet?’ I ask, my annoyance growing. And what does he mean by ‘this world’? Clubs? Drinking? He shakes his head and returns to his paperwork, not giving me an answer to my question. ‘Tony, what do you mean?’
‘I mean . . .’ He pauses and sighs, looking up. ‘You’re a distraction that he could do without.’
‘A distraction?’
‘Yes. He needs to focus.’
‘On what?’ I ask.
Tony lifts his stocky body from the barstool and gathers his papers, slipping his pen behind his ear and taking his bottle of beer. ‘This world,’ he says simply, turning and wandering across the club.
I stand motionless as I watch the distance between us grow, feeling completely perplexed. Maybe distraction is exactly what Miller needs. He works hard, he’s stressed and he needs me to de-stress at the end of the day. I want to do that. I want to help him.
Looking down into the two glasses I’m holding, I notice the heat of my palm around the martini glass has melted the ice somewhat, but I don’t replace it. Diana Low can have a martini on melted rocks. I head back to Miller’s office.
His eyes are on the door as I enter, and Diana is pacing his office, doing an amazing job of swaying her arse, while the photographer just looks plain bored, slumped in his chair.
I take Miller his Scotch, placing it in his hand, rather than on the desk, because I have no clue where on his desk I should put it. ‘Thank you,’ he almost sighs, patting his lap for me to take a seat. I’m a little stunned by his casual demand in a business meeting, but I don’t protest.
I follow his cue and lower my bum to his knee and watch in silent amusement as Diana Low takes in the situation. I can’t help a little power play of my own, holding her martini out so she has to come to me to get it.
As soon as the glass leaves my hand, Miller has his arm around my waist and tugs me back against his chest.