‘Can I confess something potentially embarrassing?’
The words rouse Jean. She lifts her head, intrigued. ‘More or less embarrassing than dressing up as a Founding Father?’
‘Eh…’ Ava’s shrug turns into a stretch, mouth twisting as she swallows back a yawn. And her arm drapes around Jean’s shoulder. ‘Depends on where you’re sitting, I suppose.’
‘Oh, don’t be a tease. Tell me.’
Beside her, there’s an unnatural stillness to Ava’s body, like she’s forgotten how to breathe. ‘I just – I wish this night didn’t have to end.’
Jean’s eyes prickle. And she curses that stupid heartfelt fucking musical for bringing her emotions so close to the surface, blinking away her tears. ‘Me too.’
Though Ava’s face is blurred, she hears the sharp intake of breath. ‘Yeah?’
All Jean can do is nod. She clears her throat, forcing down a swallow of the coffee. ‘Yes. It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this with anyone. And I had a really good time with you, Ava.’
The cushions shift, then Ava’s crawling along the sofa to cup Jean’s cheek, thumb catching the edge of her cheekbone. ‘But don’t you see? We could keep having good times together, just like tonight.’
Jean twists away, taking in their silhouettes reflected in the television’s flat blank screen. ‘No. Ava, I was clear from the beginning. A romantic relationship with another woman doesn’t fit into my life. That’s not the person I am, not really. And I can’t change it now, not when I’m so close to having everything.’
‘I’m not talking about romance. And you don’t have to change anything.’ Ava kneels on the cushion, imploring. ‘We keep hooking up. But we also hang out socially. Maybe we could go to the theatre again, or a wine bar now and then. Or – if we’re too busy – you could bring your laptop round and we could just work together.’
There aren’t enough coffee grounds in the City of London to keep her exhaustion at bay. ‘Ava—’
‘No, seriously. Think about it like an upgrade; a way of making things more… efficient. Our social and sexual needs taken care of in the same relationship – two for the price of one.’
It’s all but impossible making friends outside of the law – the nine to five crowd don’t understand why anyone would choose the kind of job where a phone call could whisk you away at a moment’s notice to firefight on multiple fronts, never mind why anyone would relish it. And those who harbour similar professional ambitions are often just as busy. Henry hadn’t understood – the scale of his goals waning as the years passed by – and he’d nursed a grudge over every dinner cancelled, every holiday interrupted.
But Ava’s not the type to get pissy if Jean’s plans change at the last minute. If anything, with a fledgling charity to nurture, she’s just as liable to request a rain check at short notice. And Jean can’t deny it calls to her, the possibility of more nights like this; the image of them working separately yet side by side. ‘I suppose that might be viable.’
‘Yeah! I mean, the term fuck buddiesdoesindicate a friendship dimension to the relationship.’
‘You’re not wrong.’ Jean nods as the idea takes root. ‘Friends with benefits, people do call it that.’
And what harm can there be in Jean having her pistachio ice cream and eating her jellybeans too?
Chapter Fifteen
Andreas Leonides is smaller than photographs suggested, barrel chested with stubby legs. There was a time when Jean would have worn her most diminutive court shoes to this first meeting – and every other. But that time has passed. She steps forward in suede green Louboutins, heels clicking against marble, offering the first hand Leonides shakes upon striding across the atrium.
His grip is a vice, and Jean returns the pressure until bone shifts beneath the pads of her fingers.
‘Mr Leonides, it’s a pleasure to welcome you. I speak for the whole of DDH when I say that we’re thrilled to have you.’
‘Andreas, please.’ Even after releasing Jean’s hand, Leonides fixes her with those steely blue eyes. ‘And may I call you Jean?’
It’s not a question, not really. So, Jean nods, exposing an appropriate flash of teeth.
‘Andreas, then.’ Peter doesn’t so much as flinch as Leonides grasps him by the hand. And there, glinting in his eyes, is the sharp edge of ambition. Jean thought it lost to years spent winnowing down his handicap. But it was simply lying in wait; an old friend she hadn’t been aware of missing.
Upstairs they settle in the biggest conference room, the firm on one side of the oval table, Leonides and his entourage from Hephaestia on the other. Pastries and green bottles of San Pellegrino mark out the no man’s land in between. As the team presents, Jean takes stock of the Hephaestia team. She recognises their people from the briefing documents, from headshots posted on the company website, from press conferences and shaky footage of the shareholder meeting.
Ekaterina Nowicki sits at Leonides’ right hand as Hephaestia’s head of communications – though she remains largely silent throughout, her dark eyes glitter like polished onyx as she takes in every last detail. Three times she bows her head, a curtain of dark hair obscuring her mouth as she whispers into Leonides’ ear. And three times he angles his body to listen, turning away from whomever else might be speaking at that moment.
Conversely, Hephaestia’s general counsel is a vocal participant in the meeting. Layton Wexler – a good old boy dripping with Southern charm, missing only the lariat and pistol at his hip to complete the image of a cowboy – interjects often, seemingly whenever the mood takes him. But Wexler’s drawl and folksy witticisms are nothing more than a smokescreen for that reptilian mind.
Though she spends little time on the front lines these days, Jean can see what it would be like to go up against him in court, the one-two punch of showboating and sharp wit. An inexperienced lawyer might be lured in by the music of Wexler’s voice, dancing to his tune before they realised – Jean makes a mental note to keep a close eye on the junior associates.
Then Rhona rises, replacing Andrew before the projector’s glow. And though Rhona’s expression is mild, Jean gets the distinct impression she’s enjoying herself as she asks Hugo to change the slide – competition to wash away the nerves, sure as a shot of bourbon. Jean will find a way to make this last-minute personnel change up to him, but there’s so much more at stake than the ego of a single junior associate.
