Page 6 of Third Time’s a Charm

Lil scrapes the last vestiges of chocolate sauce off her plate, stopping just short of licking it, and asks, “Did he get back to you after you emailed the presentation?”

I shake my head. I heard nothing from Mr Jasper Spencer-Jones for the rest of the day. Nor from anybody else. It felt like the citizens were avoiding the leper.

I’m about to answer Lil when my phone beeps, indicating a work email has arrived.

“Don’t answer that,” says Lil, the workaholic, who recognises the tone.

Too late. It’s from Jasper Spencer-Jones. I can’t ignore it.

I barely need to open it, though, because it’s short, if not sweet.

My office, 8 am tomorrow.

That’s it.

My only consolation is that tomorrow is no longer the third.

I’m not making the same mistake again.

After buying an old-fashioned alarm clock from the late-night supermarket, I set it for five am and double-check that the four alarms I set on my phone are for am and not pm before I go to bed. All of which means the following morning I stride into Jasper Spencer-Jones’ office at two minutes to eight with all the false bravado and calm of a woman who is not going down without a fight.

Since my alarms worked, I had plenty of time to wrangle my hair into a sleek ponytail. The jaunty curl at the end says professional and full of creative ideas. I went with a dress and jacket combo. If you squint, it almost looks like it came from the Chanel classics catalogue. Although, given Jasper’s family are some kind of minor English gentry, he can probably smell a knock-off at fifty paces. Regardless, I look put together, professional and determined.

Terrified, but determined.

Jasper—although perhaps I should think of him as Mr Spencer-Jones—is using one of the smaller meeting rooms as an office. This is the first time a regional director has been located in Australia. As a result, there’s a scramble on to rehouse the managing director, which has had a trickle-down effect of office shuffling that’s made Mr Spencer-Jones hugely popular. Not.

Jasper stands and offers me a seat opposite him at the conference table, on which is a sleek laptop, a neat stack of files and a leather-bound note book, complete with an expensive gold fountain pen.

“Thank you for coming in early, Louise.” I wish I could say there’s warmth in his manner, but ice runs down my back as he speaks. “I thought it would be prudent to address our … history … shall we say?”

I nod silently, my lips pressed together so tightly I don’t think I could answer if I tried.

“It’s nice to see you after so many years,” he continues, although his tone is saying something else entirely. “I’m sorry I didn’t make the connection when we were first introduced.”

It takes me a moment to realise he’s waiting for a response from me.

“I understand. Although I had thought I’d made an unforgettable impression. Twice.” A nervous laugh breaks free, and I somewhat belatedly clamp my mouth shut again in case I start to babble. My hands are shaking so I clasp them in my lap, hoping I’m coming across as cool, when in all probability I look like someone waiting for the guillotine.

I can’t decide if his expression is bland or slightly forbidding. Either way, it gives me no indication of what he’s thinking.

“Well, now you have a third chance.”

I walked right into that one. But if he could have said anything more designed to freak me out, I don’t know what it could be. Since I’m sitting frozen and mute, he continues.

“I’m sure you’ll agree it’s not in the best interests of either of us for our previous connection to be common knowledge.”

Relief floods me.

Even if I didn’t agree, based on his frozen steel tone, there’s no way I’d contradict him. As it stands, it’s definitely not in my best interests for it to get out.

For one thing, I don’t need details of either of our previous humiliating meetings becoming water-cooler gossip. For another, I don’t need to be cast as potentially the boss’ pet. But try as I might, I can’t imagine why knowing me as a child would be problematic for him. Unless he wants to make sure he’s not accused of playing favourites. Which maybe means he’s going to approve my plan? I can only hope.

I almost ask him why but manage to hold it in. I don’t care why. Only that my colleagues won’t hear about my past embarrassments, and perhaps he won’t hold them against me. With a little mental gymnastics, which is one of my super-powers, maybe I’ll even be able to forget this is our third acquaintance and behave like a normal adult.

The tension in my shoulders reaches critical mass, and I focus on releasing each muscle, one by one. “I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”

“Right. We’ll say no more on the subject. As far as anyone here is concerned, we met yesterday.” He taps the space bar on his laptop to bring it to life. I expect him to ask about my presentation. Surely that’s why he’s called me in here early? But he focuses on the laptop screen as though I’m not even in the room.