Page 62 of 56 Days
If Ciara had to guess what Oliver was about to say, it’d be something about a fuckup at work. He doesn’t talk much about it, but he has alluded once or twice to some big project near the Silicon Docks, which she thinks is all those modern glass buildings between the river and the entrance to the port tunnel where the more ostentatious American tech companies have their European HQs, all standing empty now because they’ve sent their thousands of workers home to work from there.
But what he says is, “Because ofyou.”
She can’t imagine what this means.
“Me?”
“Remember how I told you this place came with the job? Well, it’s employee accommodation. Not my own.” Slowly he raises his gaze, meets her eye. “So technically I’m the only one who’s supposed to be staying here.”
It takes her a beat to understand.
“And your boss just saw me,” she says, thinking aloud. “Here, during lockdown. So he knows I’m not just visiting.”
“He didn’t actually see you, but he knew someone was there. He asked and, well, I didn’t lie. I didn’t think I had to, but...” Oliver shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “He said that kind of thing wasn’t allowed, not even now. And then he made a point of telling me that this isn’t the only apartment the firm is renting in the complex. Turns out it’s one of two. And the other one has, apparently, one of the senior partners in it. And Kenneth made a point of telling me that wherever that one is, it has a view of my terrace. I’m so sorry, Ciara, but...”
She has two thoughts then.
The first is that he very rarely says her name and actually, come to think of it, how often does she say his? There’s something soothing about hearing it come out of his mouth, in his voice. It sends a bead of warmth rising up from deep within her chest.
Which is surprising.
The second is that she has to leave.
She has to leave.
And that thought floods her entire body with heat, the kind of heat that accompanies blind panic.
From somewhere behind her, a faint smell of bread burning begins to waft through the air.
“Should I go right now?” she says.
Oliver frowns.
“God, no. No. I didn’t mean...” He comes to her, takes both her hands in his. “You’re not going anywhere. They’re just being ridiculous. Totally ridiculous. All I’m saying is that I don’t think we can sit outside anymore, because whichever apartment that asshole is in, he has a clear view of our terrace. And I’ve told Kenneth you’ll go back to your own place today.”
“Oh.” Ciara’s shoulders drop, the tension dissipating, and now she’s embarrassed that she got it so wrong. She starts laughing. “Oh.”
Oliver laughs too. “You really wentstraightto doomsday scenario there, didn’t you?” He pulls her close, kisses her gently. “You’re not going anywhere. But youmight be about to set the fire alarm off.”
“Shit!”
The sandwiches are beyond saving, their tops burned to a crisp. Oliver thinks it’s hilarious and reminds her that he was supposed to make lunch today, and says that perhaps heshould. After somehalf-heartedprotesting, she lets him.
It’s only afterward, when she carries her laptop into the “office” for the afternoon stretch, that the thought occurs to her: the timeline doesn’t fit.
Oliver said that when she went to close the bedroom door, her boss saw that someone else was there and asked him if there was. That’s when the talk of employee accommodation and a senior partner in another apartment began.
But before Ciara had even advanced down the hall, before she’d got anywhere near the doorway, she’d heard the other man raise his voice.
I thought we’d agreed you wouldn’t hide things from me.
Youcan’t—
So what had that been about? What had Oliver been hiding from him?
And what was he hiding now, fromher?
35 Days Ago
