20. Lara

Chapter 20

Lara

I ’m fixing myself a cup of tea when my phone buzzes to life on the bench. Glancing over, I see my mother’s name and a picture of us from my birthday on the screen.

“Hi Mum!” I answer cheerfully, placing the call on speaker and walking into my bedroom.

“Hi honey.” I find myself smiling just hearing my mother’s soothing voice on the line. It’s odd how you can be around an accent your whole life, and yet it sounds so different when you hear it for the first time in a while. “How was your first week at the law firm?”

“It was pretty great. There’s a lot to learn and many people to remember, but everyone is so kind and welcoming, so that made it a little less overwhelming.”

“That’s great to hear, honey. I’m sure you’ll be thriving in no time.”

Even from half a world away, Mum always knows what to say. My heart squeezes a little, wishing I could give her a hug.

“Thanks, Mum.” Smiling to myself, I continue. “How’s everything at home?”

“Oh everything’s good, nothing too exciting to report. Your brother is being his typical painful self; he’s too busy with work to catch up for coffee lately,” she says, tutting her disapproval.

I asked one thing of my older brother before I left for England, and that was to make sure he made time for Mum. Spencer had given his standard “Yeah, yeah, I will” response, which didn’t instil a lot of confidence. Despite this, I hoped he’d at least try . I love my brother, but work is definitely his number one priority. It would certainly benefit him—and Mum—if he spent a little less time on the field and a little more time with his family.

“Speaking of boys, have any nice British ones caught your eye?” The change of topic isn’t exactly smooth, but she gets points for trying. I make a mental note to send my brother an admonishing text later.

“Mum, I’m 27. I’m hardly looking for boys .”

“Oh, alright.” There’s a longer-than-necessary exhale on the other end of the line that has me stifling a grin. “What about men?”

The word ‘men’ comes out as though Mum hated the taste of it. She often hates acknowledging I’m no longer a child, mostly because it’s a less-than-gentle reminder that she’s not in her 20s anymore.

I huff out a laugh. “Unfortunately not.”

It’s as though Mum can hear the lie in my voice. “Are you sure about that, Lara Jane?”

Rolling my eyes as though my mother can see me through the phone, I continue. “Okay, fine. There’s one attractive yet infuriating man who frequented the bookshop.”

My mother lets out a high-pitched eep at my confession.?

“He also happens to be the executive I assist at the law firm.”

“Oh, how wonderful. Why don’t you ask him to get a coffee sometime, honey?”

Apparently, the boss part fell on deaf ears.

“Mum, did you hear the part about him being my boss? As in, he’s the person I work for, not just with.”

“Oh Lara, you say that as if no one’s ever fallen in love in the workplace.”

“Love?!” I half shriek, half yell, repeatedly tugging off and sliding on the gold rings permanently adorning my middle finger. “I’m not looking for anything serious over here Mum, and certainly not love .”

“Why shut yourself off from something without even trying? I thought I raised you better than that.” Her tone is teasing, but the words still stand to reason.

“I’m only here for a short while; what’s the point? I’d rather not go through the ordeal of it ending.” I take a sip from my mug as I wait for her to respond.

“How could you possibly know it’ll end if you’re not even willing to let it start? Plus, you and I both know you only bought a one-way ticket, meaning technically , you don’t have plans to leave at present.”

Well, she’s got me there.

Despite everything she went through with my father, Mum has always been a romantic at heart. Not even a cheating husband could dampen her spirit permanently, and that’s something I’ve always admired in her. I wish I could say the same for myself.

I’ve been cynical since the day I found out that nothing lasts forever; the day I learned my father might as well have ripped my mother’s heart right from her chest. I imagine it would’ve hurt less than what he did.

It took years of asking until my mum finally told me the truth behind the breakdown of their marriage. The official story, at least whilst I was growing up, was sometimes things weren’t meant to be, and sadly their marriage was one of those things.

As I got older and had a better knowledge and understanding of the crueller parts of the world, I quickly realised there had to be something bigger at play.

When Mum sat me down and told me the heartbreaking truth, my first question was why. Why would he do that? Why didn’t she tell me the truth before now? Why was he now happily remarried? Just plain why ?

She’d looked at me then, and I saw years of sadness, hurt and anger within the small wrinkles around her eyes and in the way her brows sat lower above her lids. But there was something else too; acceptance. It was slight, and you’d miss it if you weren’t looking for it, but it was evident nonetheless.

Her words have stuck with me since that moment. “Some things aren’t meant to be.”

Growing up, those around me had always considered me a Daddy’s Girl. I’ve heard stories of how I’d follow him around the house, not worried about his attention but wanting to be in his presence. These stories made me smile in earlier years; I’d thought it was so sweet. Once I’d heard the full story of the divorce, I found them less sweet—my dad didn’t have time for me. He had his daughter as his permanent shadow despite not being able to give me the time of day.

Over the recent years, my relationship with my father has become strained. We speak occasionally, but the conversation lacks substance. He gives me updates on his family without asking about me, so I find myself giving him the bare minimum in return—whether or not he realises this, I don’t know. Nevertheless, I often find myself looking in the mirror, seeing only the little girl who longed for more, wondering why we weren’t enough, why I wasn’t enough.

On my 21st birthday, Mum had gifted me two of my most treasured possessions: her princess-cut emerald engagement ring and matching gold wedding band. In the almost seven years since, I could count on one hand the number of days I haven’t worn those rings. While some may find it odd I wear rings representing a marriage that ended the way it did, they provide me with a level of comfort I can’t quite explain. They also serve as a physical reminder to not let myself get attached.

The conversation turns to updates on other family and friends and general chit-chat. After we’ve said our farewells, I’m once again alone in my bedroom, left to ruminate on our earlier topic of conversation.

Sure, it would be lovely to have someone to come home to, someone to kiss me good morning and night, someone to hold me when I need it, and someone to laugh with . . .

But in saying that, my beautiful friends and roommates can offer me three of those four things. I wouldn’t put it past Mia to offer them all, now that I think about it. Bless her; the girl just wants everyone she loves to be happy.

The point is, right now there’s nothing any man can offer me that I can’t already get through friends or from myself. What they can offer me though is orgasms. With any luck, they’ll be better than the ones I deliver myself.

A face drifts into my mind, and I almost drop the ceramic mug I’m taking a sip from. Those pretty green irises of his flash a wink at me, tongue darting out to trace a plump lip.?

I blink once, hard, and he’s gone. My cheeks warm as I unclench my thighs, which I’d inadvertently squeezed together at the mental image I conjured of the Oxford Street Playboy.?

Instant gratification—that’s all this desire is for. I need to get this man out of my system, but do I really want to risk getting involved with someone with this level of media presence? I have no interest in that sort of attention, but my interest in the man himself might outweigh that.

The next day, as I stroll into the firm’s lobby, I’m trying my best not to look as exhausted as I feel. Once I make it through today, I’ll have officially been here for one week. It’s a short amount of time in the grand scheme of things, yet my brain is that full it might explode. It probably doesn’t help that I’m still dumbfounded about Carter.

He’s been a perfect gentleman; no trace of the Carter from the bookshop. Weirdly, I find this a little disappointing. I thought he’d be a man of his word.

I’d love to walk right up to his desk and ask what happened to this not being over, but I think that may cross some HR boundaries.

“Lara!”

Startled, I look around and find the barista holding out my iced latte. The look on his face says that wasn’t the first time he’d called my name.?

With a mumbled, “Sorry, thank you,” I grab my coffee, duck my head, and make my way to the lifts.

A ding from my coat pocket has me reaching for my phone, already knowing who it is. Did I give my boss a specific text tone so I’d know if a message was from him without looking at it? Perhaps. This is a great time to take some advice given by an old therapist of mine—don’t overanalyse everything, Lara.

Carter

Are you on your way up? My father wants to speak with us .

The man in question suggested we swap numbers earlier in the week. “Strictly for professional purposes, of course,” is what he’d said. And I’d agreed, of course, but that hasn’t stopped the intrusive thoughts from popping up late at night: what’s the worst that could happen if I sent him an un-work-related text?

I hadn’t yet decided if it was worth risking my job to find out.

His father? Wanting to speak with us? Oh, but of course, he’s the ‘ I’ve honestly surprised myself by recalling anything at all that happened on Monday. I guess it’s a little hard to forget that not only am I now working under the man who lingers in all corners of my mind, but I’m practically employed by his father too.

My first instinct was to assume nepotism when I heard the Managing Director’s son was the CEO, but Anna quickly dismantled that thought by detailing Carter’s extensive law background. It made me wonder why such a renowned lawyer would give that up to become a CEO? Perhaps I’d ask him one day.

Considering Frederick is Carter’s dad, and the head of the company, my initial reaction is to overthink—one of my many useless talents. What have we done that’s caused him to want to speak with us? Did someone find out about the bookstore encounter? Was I caught staring at Carter for longer than appropriate? I really need to stop doing that. Was he caught staring at me? It’s unlikely but also quite possible, considering I myself have caught him staring on more than one occasion this week.

Me

Coming now.

The elevator ride seems to take longer than the build-up in a slow-burn romance. What if all of the above has happened and I’m being let go as a result, and his father is the one who’s requested it? What if I’m walked out by security?

“Nice day, isn’t it?” I blurt out to the woman next to me, whose name I’m yet to learn. I’m not typically one to engage in small talk with near strangers, but I’m not exactly firing on all cylinders right now. She hesitantly side-eyes me before muttering her agreement and dashing out of the elevator at the next floor.

Oh my god, does she know what Carter and I did? How could she possibly know? Does everyone know?

Taking a shaky breath as the elevator doors open on my floor, I rub my slick palms on my trousers, wiping away the anxious sweat.

Relax, Lara. Just relax.

As I walk into our office, I’m treated to a version of Carter I’ve not yet seen: relaxed. With his father sitting casually in the chair opposite him, Carter has an easy smile on his face. His gaze flickers toward me, his smile widening so that his dimple is on display, and the gesture has my insides warming.

Please stop reacting to him in ways like this; not cool.

The calm settling over my nerves is unexpected in the best of ways. Surely he wouldn’t be so at ease if his assistant was being fired or if we’d been found out by his father, so I’m taking this as a good sign.

His father turns in his chair, standing when he sees me, giving me a friendly smile.?

“Ah, Miss Matthews, lovely to see you.” The pleasantness he directs at me helps to calm my irrational thoughts, if only a little.

“Mr Lawrence, hi,” I respond, beaming at him in return.

Carter’s father, Frederick, is easily one of the sweetest men I’ve ever encountered. If you could capture the essence of a ray of sunshine and mix it with that of a Golden Retriever, it would be Frederick Lawrence. He’s certainly not what I expected from a former CEO and lawyer.

Charisma isn’t the only thing these two have in common. I’m not one to gamble, but I’d put money on Carter being the spitting image of his father at his age.

“Oh, none of that Mr Lawrence nonsense dear, Freddie makes me feel younger.” He chuckles lightly as he gestures to the seat beside him. “Have a seat, Lara.”

Freddie asks me all about how my first week has been, how I’m settling in, and if his son has me wanting to pull my hair out yet. Strangely enough, the last question has Carter glowering at his father.?

“Pay no mind to his dramatics, Lara; he gets that from his mother.”

We continue like this—Freddie engaging me in an unexpected game of 20 Questions and listening animatedly to each response I give, and Carter sitting quietly, observing the interaction—until his father realises he’s yet to mention why he called us here.

“Right, I imagine you both have a lot on, so let’s get to the point.” Freddie rifles around in his trouser pockets. Phone in one hand and glasses in the other, he lets out a triumphant “aha” before continuing. “Son, Mason Devereux has requested to meet with you and a few other board members out in Norcaster. Lara, you’ll also need to be present for note-taking.”

Freddie pauses, no doubt awaiting some form of response from his son. I use the moment to wrack my brain for where the heck I’ve heard the name Norcaster.?

Of course! It’s only been on my UK bucket list since I touched down at Heathrow. Norcaster is one of many quaint countryside towns within the Cotswolds region. It would look right at home in a Hallmark Christmas movie, which is precisely why it’s on my list.

Honestly, is there anything better than a stereotypical cheesy Hallmark Christmas Classic? No, I don’t think so.

“Mason would like to meet the Friday after next for a few hours.” Carter’s expression shifts; his brows furrow together, and a small grimace replaces his smile. At his son's evident displeasure, Freddie continues, “I know, Friday isn’t ideal for a trip like this, but Mason is an integral member of the board, and it would serve you well to make a good first impression as our new CEO. Plus, it’s a lunch meeting, leaving plenty of time for the both of you to return home that evening.”

Carter begins tapping a finger on his deep mahogany desk, contemplating.?

“Think of it this way; it’ll be an excellent chance for the two of you to get acquainted with one another.”

I stiffen at the mention of Carter and I spending time together in close, forced proximity.?

Why has every word out of his father’s mouth only caused Carter’s furrow to deepen??

It hits me like a smack on the back of the head. Carter isn’t displeased about the Friday meeting, but rather the fact I’m to accompany him.

Ouch .

I am to accompany him .

Unbeknownst to Freddie, this is easily the worst idea he’ll ever have. The sum of Carter, me, a small enclosed space, and two hours can only equate to one of two things; disaster or desire.

Although I don’t think I’m ready to put that equation to the test, it doesn’t seem as though I have a choice.

Schooling my facial features into a look of nonchalance, I find myself fiddling with my rings as I think about the things Carter and I already know about each other. More specifically, the intimate ways in which Carter already knows me.