Page 32 of If We Were Young

God. Gah.

“Oh my, Ronnie, why didn’t you warn me? I would have got my make-up finished and put on my fuck-me-now heels.”

“It’s nine forty-five, Natalie, I think your make-up should be done by now.” I glanced down at her five-inch nude-toned stilettos that matched her dress, and then at my own flats. My toes had screamed at me when I’d attempted my navy heels again this morning. It was a row I didn’t have the energy to win.

“He’s, he’s…”

“Good looking, is he? I didn’t notice.” I straightened my shirt and pretended like I’d been able to think of anything other than how he looked in Red’s on Friday. That crisp white shirt, the imprint of his fingers on that glass, the sweep of his signature on the contract… that scowl he’d had.

No, I hadn’t thought about it at all.

“You didn’t notice.” She frowned, her concern for my sexual limbo momentarily overriding the prospect of her future husband pacing in the reception area. And he would be pacing. I could almost feel the vibrations through the closed door.

“Well, I mean, sure, he’s got that tall, dark, and handsome thing going on… but, really he’s not all that.” I trailed off, not wanting to get into the ins and out of how we once knew each other and the fact I’d already fallen for his ‘tall, dark, and handsome’ once before.

So instead I shrugged.

“I worry about you.” Her face was marred with just how much she worried about me.

“I don’t pay you to worry about me.” Her gaze fell and my chest tightened in response. I scrambled to make her feel better. “Sorry. Listen, put on your lipstick and then go out there and offer him a drink for me. We need to wait for his colleague, anyway.” I almost growled at the thought of smiley Amanda and her long eyelashes and that look she’d worn when she spoke to him. Like he was the sole source of every beautiful thing in existence. He was, but she didn’t need to know about it.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot. He said…” she swooned a little. “God, his voice.” I ignored the shiver she made as she closed her eyes and hummed for a moment, spank-banking the memory. “That he would be by himself. A finance meeting has held Amanda up.”

I gripped the desk. Just the two of us. In a meeting? No Amanda? No long lashes and gushy voice? Just Matthew and me, alone?

“Ronnie, are you okay?”

My head spun a bit. No, I wasn’t okay, I couldn’t sit there and pretend that we didn’t know each other.

“I’m fine. Go do your thing.” I waved her away and as soon as the door shut placed my head on the desk. Breathe, Ronnie.

I picked up the phone to ring Angela for some effective and concise bitch slapping but I didn’t really have time for it.

He was waiting now. She’d need to light a cigarette before she came up with any good advice. It would take ages.

Glancing down at my hands, I focused on the gold band on my left ring finger. Funny that so many years had passed and I’d never thought I should maybe take it off. It just sat there like furniture on my hand.

Running my thumb along the smooth metal, I remembered the promise that Paul had made that he’d keep my heart safe, make me laugh, that I would love him.

Closing my eyes, I focused on the excruciating pain of my ripped and broken heart, being stitched back together until it was almost whole, if not in an odd shape like a re-stuffed cushion.

“You can do this,” I muttered to myself.

He’s just a client.

Forget the past.

Standing from my chair and pushing it back under my desk I strode for the door and yanked it open with brute force.

My determination lasted the whole six steps until I saw him under the bright lights of the reception area. Hell, he was gorgeous. He smiled at something Natalie said as she leant across her desk, scrunching her cleavage up. The smile faded as he turned to face me, a scowl erasing its warmth.

“Veronica.” He nodded.

“Mr Carling.”

I offered him my tightest smile and extended my hand.

Once I’d survived shaking his hand and touching him, ignoring the painful dart that slipped along my spine, I turned and held my hand out to my office. “Shall we?”