Page 7 of Bargaining

“It was from your old school. One of the teachers has passed away. Mr. Ackroyd. They’re informing the alumni about the funeral.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

The high-pitched whine of a vacuum invaded the silence, jarring me. My mind filled with memories.Rolling green fields. Endless summer days. Charlotte Ackroyd’s scrunch-nosed smile. Her laugh.

I stared past my reflection to the sea of soaring, faceless towers, and I had the strangest sensation that I was falling from the tallest skyscraper. Flailing through the night outside, bitter air rushing to meet me, sucking the breath from my lungs. Lucas and the assistant who should have been packing up her desk for dragging me to that surprise party bullshit were both staring at me. My chest hurt, like I’d taken a punch in the ribs.

“I should pay my respects.”

Confusion crossed Lucas’s face. The words hung in the air, strange and unbidden. They puzzled me as much as my brother. I had no time for trips up north. No time for funerals of teachers I hadn’t seen in over a decade. No desire to revisit enough dirty, rotten childhood trauma to fill a truck.

Lucas raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Well, look at you. You should tell the shareholders you’re taking time out to go to the funeral of a teacher you haven’t seen since you were a teenager.”

Not a bad idea. “Do you think it would work?” I pulled out my phone. “I’ll ring Beatrice and mention it.”

Lucas snorted and rubbed his beard. Charlotte invaded my thoughts again.The scent of her soft hair. The taste of her lips.She’d be devastated. She’d adored her father. Irritation prickled my shoulder blades. Why was everyone just standing around in my office? The room was closing in. Alone. I just needed a minute. Anything that wasn’t this terrible news.

“Go back to work. Both of you.” I sat at my desk. “Or fuck off. Either is fine.”

Lucas’s muttered words hung in the air after he left. “Verified arsehole.”

Chapter 4

Charlotte

Sympathetic eyes followed me as I moved through a host of familiar faces at the wake. Every inch of this pub was full of Dad. It was as bad as the house. I swiped clammy hands down the black shift dress my sister had lent me. It fell a little short above the knee and pulled too tight up top for a funeral. I didn’t own any decent dresses. No point. Caring for Dad hadn’t left room for wearing frocks.

Tiff held out her arms when she saw me approach. “You doing OK?”

I nodded and dived straight into it before I could chicken out again. “We need to talk about the house.”

She glanced around at the sea of mourners. “Jesus, Lottie? Now? Really?”

“I’d do anything to keep it, Tiff. Anything.”

She stiffened. The words soured my mouth. Now wasn’t the time, but she’d already contacted the estate agent and things were snowballing. We’d had this conversation a million times. Even before Dad had died. When his health had gone downhill, we’d had to have these conversations. This had been coming for a long time. It wasn’t a shock. It wasn’t fair to bring it up now of all days,but I couldn’t do what was being asked of me. I couldn’t just pack up Dad’s house and move on.

She sighed. “Come on, Lottie. Don’t. Not today. You know we have to do it.”

Ididknow. I couldn’t afford to buy Tiff out, and the money from Dad’s house was our inheritance. We had to sell and split everything. Tiff had kids. She needed the cash. It was a family home. Dad had wanted it to be a family home. There was no point holding on to a house we couldn’t afford to keep up. I could barely cover the bills, let alone pay to do all the work it needed. Then there was the small issue that I didn’t have anywhere else to live.

She eyed the glass of wine in my hand and frowned. “Now’s not the time.”

It never is.“Just give me some time. We don’t have to put it up for sale straight away. Let me figure something out—”

“Not now, Lottie.” Her lips thinned and she smoothed the sleeves of her black jacket. “I can’t do this with you now.”

My stomach sank. It wasn’t worth begging, her eyes had already drifted. She blew out a breath and peered across the busy pub lounge.

“Have you seen who’s here? Cole Thorner.”

Impossible.Heat flashed through me. The room tilted. Somehow, I managed a word. “Where?”

She inclined her head to the side, trying to be discreet and failing miserably. I let my gaze travel over the tall man in a well-fitted suit engaged in somber conversation at the bar.Oh. My. God. It’s him.

Tiff watched Cole with a thoughtful expression, as though it was completely normal to see him here. “I always thought he walked that line between beautiful and terrifying. It’s those eyes. Such a weird shade of blue.” She swung back to me. “Weren’t you obsessed with him?”

Yes. Hopelessly, embarrassingly besotted.I scoffed. “Obsessed? Nope.”

Tiff kept her voice to a whisper. “I heard he’s some big shot down south now. He made a fortune in property or hedge funds or whatever rich people do in London.”