Connectivity Page 7

  “William, I can handle her.”

  “So that’s a ‘yes’. That pisses me off.”

  “No need for it to,” I say calmly, not wanting him to be irritated for the rest of the afternoon. “Now, are we going to go shopping? Because that is the only sport I really enjoy.”

  I see the anger evaporate from William’s beautiful eyes. He rakes his hand through his hair, making a mess of the unruly waves, and my breath catches in my throat. God, his hair is just stunning. I wonder what it feels like . . .

  Shit! Focus! Do not be distracted by the hair. Do not.

  “So,” I say, redirecting my thought to the task at hand, “are we ready to ‘Keep Calm and Carry On?’”

  William throws his head back and the rich sound of his laugh echoes off the tiles, wrapping wonderfully around me.

  “Watch it, Peppa.”

  Now I laugh, snorts included. But as we bundle up and get ready to leave, I do think I need to watch it. I glance at William’s profile as we step into the elevator and my heart catches. Because I know I could easily go through all the matches in my book for William.

  And I could get badly burned at the end if I am not very, very careful.

  Chapter 10

  As I step into the offices of the Beautiful Homes Network on Monday, I am beyond excited.

  This morning, I am going to submit my article on redecorating William’s office to Jennifer Lewis, the web editor for the Beautiful Homes Network. I feel the butterflies shift in my stomach at the thought. I worked on revisions yesterday, had William look it over one more time, and now it is ready to go. If she likes it-God, please let her like it—this could be the beginning of big things for me.

  I get to my cubicle and begin unwrapping all of my winter layers. And more good things happened! I have, as of this morning, five blog readers! And the only one I know personally is William. The other four found me, like my writing, and actually subscribed to my blog!

  I am finally on my way, I think as I lean over and boot-up my computer. Things are really starting to happen for me with my career.

  And things are happening with William, too, my heart adds, joining the conversation.

  I feel my cheeks burn as I head down the hall to get the water going for tea. I spent all afternoon with William on Saturday. We went to Michigan Avenue, and he requested that I direct him to my favorite stores, rather than ridiculous custom furniture stores or interior design studios that I know people with his type of wealth frequent.

  So based on what I like, we went shopping at Crate & Barrel, Restoration Hardware, and Pottery Barn. I made him sit on furniture and pick up pillows and test everything. It was funny, and I could tell he usually just had “people” do these things and never had done furniture shopping by himself.

  I took loads of pictures of potential pieces for his penthouse. And then I made him take silly pictures, like ones of him testing out chairs at Pottery Barn. Then he insisted on taking my picture, too, and we just were laughing our heads off and being completely stupid.

  We were being, I think, filling the electric teakettle with water, just William and Mary-Kate.

  After we shopped, I made him stop at Gino’s East, the famous Chicago pizzeria, for a break. William had never had it before, so he put me in charge of ordering and we shared a thin crust pizza. We talked and laughed, and I think I went through half the matches in my book on Saturday alone.

  I take a deep breath of air as more butterflies flutter around in my stomach. But this time, they aren’t for my career.

  They are for William.

  In a few weeks, I will be in London. With William. I still can’t even believe that it is happening. My life is changing so fast on so many levels.

  I go back to my cube after I have the electric teakettle started, and I see William has slid in while I was in the break room. My pulse leaps, and I stick my head inside his doorway, as I am excited to see him.

  He is already at his desk, talking to someone on speakerphone. William is in a crisp white dress shirt and, oh mother of God, he looks stunning in it.

  As I am standing there trying not to drool on myself, William looks up at me. His laser eyes lock with mine and I know, without him saying a word, he wants me to wait until he is off the phone.

  “No, that is not what I requested and I anticipate this situation will be rectified immediately,” William says firmly. “You have 24 hours to correct this problem, and I trust I will not have to follow up on it again. Do I make myself clear?”

  Damn. William is really hot when he is in full-on mogul mode.

  He punches the off button on his phone and turns around in his chair. Then he brushes his fingertips against his lips and stares at me.

  “I am sorry, but, really, the idiocy of some of the people employed at this group of networks is astonishing,” he says. “How did they get to this level? How?”

  I smile knowingly at him. “Agreed,” I say. Often I felt like I was aboard the ship of fools at TATS, so I’m glad that William sees things the same way as I do.

  William lowers his hands from his face. “Good morning, Mary-Kate,” he says softly. “It’s good to see you.”

  My pulse races. The butterflies dance in my stomach as I see the way he is looking at me.

  “Good morning,” I say. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  Nothing is said for a moment and we simply stare at each other. The relationship has changed between us, that I know, but I also know this is the office. So I clear my throat and address the business at hand.

  “I will be back with your tea in a moment, but I wanted to confirm that Guy Kennedy is arriving within a few minutes,” I say. “I arranged for a car service to pick him up at the Four Seasons and bring him over for your meeting. I also ordered some whole grain, low-fat muffins and fresh organic fruit from a healthy café, and I will leave to pick that up once I have your tea ready.”

  William gazes at me with his piercing eyes, digesting my words. He now has the fingertips back in steeple position, a dead giveaway that he is in assessment mode. “You know about the heart attack Guy Kennedy had a few years ago, don’t you?”

  I blush. “Yes. I did my homework as soon as you scheduled the meeting. I read how he really changed his life habits and is a big proponent of healthy living.”

  Guy is one of William’s trusted advisors, one of many he surrounded himself with because of his young age in running an empire. And I did read that Guy had a heart attack two years ago at age 50.

  I watch as William’s eyes flicker in approval. “Brilliant. But I’m learning I should expect no less from you, Mary-Kate.”

  Now I feel my face flaming from his compliment. “Thank you,” I say quietly. I go on to remind him of the three conference calls he has today, and that I made a reservation for lunch at an upscale seafood restaurant.

  “Thank you,” William says. Then he takes his fingertips down and stares at me. “Did you submit the article to Jennifer?”

  “I am going to this morning,” I say, drawing an anxious breath. “I just hope she likes it.”

  “Likes it?” William repeats, creasing his brow. “She is going to love it. It’s brilliant, Mary-Kate.”

  Now I’m really blushing. “Well, I had a really good editor,” I say smartly, smiling at him. “Thank you for doing that for me last night.”

  William grins. “My pleasure. Much more entertaining to read than the dismal ratings I had to go over last night for some of these networks.”

  “So Guy has perfect timing for his visit,” I say knowingly.

  “Yes,” William says, his eyes never leaving my face. “He does.”

  I nod. “I’m going to get your tea. Does Guy take tea as well?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be sure to bring in an extra cup
. I’ll be right back.”

  I retrieve the water and fill his teapot. Then, as I do every day he is in Chicago, I prepare his tea and bring it into his office, and this time I leave an additional cup for Guy. William is already taking another phone call, so I discreetly put the items on his desk and slip out without saying anything.

  Then I bundle back up and take a taxi to the café, pick up the food, and arrive back to the office on Michigan Avenue. I am carrying everything back up to my cubicle, but when I near William’s office, I immediately hear another British-accented voice. Obviously Guy has arrived. I go to my cubicle and arrange the food nicely then pause outside William’s door, rapping on the frame lightly.

  Both heads turn toward me.

  “Mr. Cumberland, I have your breakfast,” I say. Which sounds so freaking weird coming out of my mouth. To call him that when he is now William to me.

  “Ah, yes, thank you, Ms. Grant,” he says, standing up. And as he says “Ms. Grant” I see his beautiful blue eyes shining at me, as if to tell me he thinks calling me that is weird, too.

  “Guy, I’d like you to meet my assistant, Ms. Grant,” William says. “Ms. Grant, this is Mr. Guy Kennedy.”

  I put the tray down and extend my hand to Guy. “It is a pleasure to meet you in person, Mr. Kennedy.”

  Guy smiles warmly at me and shakes my hand. “Pleasure, Ms. Grant.”

  I arrange everything on the corner of William’s desk.

  “Will that be all, Mr. Cumberland?” I ask.

  William and Guy sit back down, and William’s eyes burn into mine. “Yes. Thank you, Ms. Grant.”

  I nod and head out of the office. I am about to go back to my cubicle when I realize I didn’t ask Guy if he took milk with his tea. Shit, I should go offer that.

  I am about to reach the doorframe when I hear my name.

  “I have heard a lot about MK,” Guy says.

  I stop in my tracks, listening.

  “Really,” William says flatly, as if he has zero interest in this topic whatsoever.

  My chest tightens a bit from his tone.

  “Lots of rumors are flying around London,” Guy says slowly, “that she is more than your assistant.”

  Fuck! My face flames in humiliation and anger. That fucking bitch Arabella must be slandering my name over there! Which is the last thing I need as I am going over there with William soon.

  “That is utter rubbish,” William says, interrupting my thoughts, “because I have absolutely no interest in Ms. Grant other than her performing well as my assistant. She is a nice girl, and has been tremendously helpful with my transition to Chicago. And she is smart as a whip. I can see her being a tremendous asset to this company in the future. But beyond that? No. Outside of her professional capacity, there is nothing I am interested in. I don’t get involved. Ever. And I don’t intend to start with Ms. Grant. Now, shall we get on with . . .”

  I don’t even hear the rest of what William is saying. My throat has closed up. He . . . he . . . oh Jesus, why are my eyes stinging with tears? Why does it hurt to breathe? Isn’t this what I want? To be known as professional Mary-Kate Grant? To be known as a career woman? To be recognized as a “tremendous asset” in the eyes of the most powerful man in media?

  So if that is true, which I tell myself it is, then why do I feel like William just picked up a sharp knife and launched the tip into my heart?

  I successfully manage to avoid extended contact with William for the rest of the day, as he and Guy have been visiting all the networks, taking meetings, having power lunches, and the like. But even small interactions make me feel sick to my stomach because all I hear in my head are William’s words about me, about how I am just an assistant, and I feel like such an idiot that I had any kind of romantic notions about him at all.

  So other than sending Jennifer an email with my article, I have autopiloted through the day, simply grateful that I have managed somehow not to burst into tears.

  Finally, at 6 p.m., I poke my head into William’s office. Guy has gone back to the hotel, and I know they are having dinner tonight at The Palm at 7:30 p.m.

  “I am heading out now,” I say, my tone formal. “Goodnight.”

  William raises his head from his computer. His blue eyes focus sharply on me, and he completely turns around in his chair, putting his fingertips together and brushing them against his lips. Oh fuck, he is totally assessing me now.

  “Mary-Kate, is something wrong?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” I lie, forcing a smile. “Goodnight.”

  “I didn’t dismiss you,” he says firmly.

  Now I’m pissed. I march into his office and put my hands on my hips. “Excuse me? Did you actually just say, ‘Dismiss me?’”

  William gets up and, moving around me, shuts the door and stands just a few feet in front of me. “I am not letting you leave until I know why you are acting like this.”

  “Like what?” I snap, losing control of my emotions. “Tell me, William, how am I acting? Am I not being helpful? Am I not being a nice girl? Am I not performing well as your assistant?”

  Suddenly I see recognition flicker in his eyes.

  “So you heard what I said to Guy.”

  “I did. And I am glad to know I am a nice, helpful girl.”

  I turn around and go to open the door but his voice stops me.

  “What would you have like me to have said, Mary-Kate?”

  I freeze. I turn around and see that William is now leaning against the edge of his desk, watching me with those intense eyes.

  “What?” I ask, my heart pounding against my ribs.

  “Please expand. You are the writer. How would you have scripted my response about you to Guy?”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck! What do I say? I’ve opened my big mouth now and let my emotions get out of control. And nobody has ever done that to me before, until now.

  “I don’t know!” I yell, losing it. “I don’t know anything anymore except I feel like we are playing a game!”

  Tears prick my eyes but I blink them back rapidly in an effort to hide them.

  “Is that what this is to you, a game?” William asks.

  “What would you call it, Mr. Cumberland?” I ask defiantly. “If this isn’t a game, what is it? Please, define it for me.”

  William stares at me with a creased brow but says nothing.

  For once, I have rendered him speechless. “Exactly. Goodnight, Mr. Cumberland.” I go to the door, open it, and walk out, shutting it behind me.

  And as I do, I close the door on any notions of a romantic involvement with William Cumberland as well.

  Chapter 11

  I should be elated right now.

  Jennifer Lewis loved my article for the Beautiful Homes Network and is going to put it on their site. In fact, she loved it so much that she scheduled a meeting to discuss future articles. And I picked up ten new readers to my blog, too. So I should be happy. Happy that what I have wanted for so long—a successful career—is starting to happen.

  But all of that fades to the background compared to my current state of misery.

  It has been two weeks since that awful day in William’s office, and we are right back to Square One. We call each other by our last names, all of our interactions are business, and the days are horrifically long.

  William has been irritable and short with people on the phone, while I have been fluctuating between being pissed off at myself, pissed off at William, then back at myself for allowing myself to get into this mess in the first place.

  And when I am not pissed, I am just flat out miserable.

  I haven’t even blogged since our fight, as I just can’t think about anything else but him. My heart aches. I miss his texts, I miss his smile, I miss the sexy, witty way we banter back and f
orth . . .

  I swallow hard.

  I just miss him, everything about him.

  Which scares me to death.

  I mean, how did this happen to me? How did I let flirting escalate to . . . to . . . feeling like this?

  Of course, I have kept my misery to myself. I didn’t want to see the knowing look in Reese and Emily’s eyes. And I can’t talk to Michelle because she doesn’t participate in any conversation that doesn’t involve the wedding of the century.

  All I want to do is run to an airline ticket counter, throw down my MasterCard, and purchase a one-way ticket to the south of France as an escape.

  But since I am about to board a flight to London, that isn’t an option.

  I draw a deep breath of air as I wait in the lounge at the gate at O’Hare. Now I get to sit next to William in luxury class and what seemed like an awesome trip a few weeks ago now seems like the voyage of the damned.

  There is no sign of William anywhere. Of course, I know he is probably in the Premier Airlines Executive Club, as he is a member at the highest level. But I am so anxious about this trip and upset that I am actually relieved I don’t have to see him right now.

  “Welcome to Premier Airlines Flight 1697 to London Heathrow,” the gate agent announces, interrupting my thoughts. “We would like to extend an invitation for luxury class passengers to board at this time.”

  My stomach tightens as I have my ticket scanned. I board the aircraft and prepare to take my seat next to the window. The flight attendant takes my coat and offers me a glass of champagne, which I gladly accept. I sink down into the oversized seat and exhale.

  I stare out the window at the workers below, and I feel like I want to throw up. How am I going to sit next to William for a whole transatlantic flight? How?

  “I assume I can sit here,” William’s deep baritone voice says. “Unless you have managed to reseat me in cargo.”

  I turn my head the second I hear his voice. Oh mother of God, he’s wearing the jeans and leather jacket. The jeans! He hands his leather jacket to the flight attendant and now he’s standing there in a pale blue dress shirt, one that makes his blue eyes look so blue, and jeans. God, he looks devastatingly handsome.