‘I have always had my desk like this,’ he said gesturing to the large piece of furniture.
‘It was an idea, not a commandment.’
She sat down again and picked up her phone. ‘I have emails from Serena I need to respond to,’ she said.
If he wasn’t going to write then she wasn’t going to stop doing her work.
‘Where would I put it?’ he asked.
Eve looked around the room.
‘Right now, the desk is facing the room, which is fine, but it could face out the window. Turn it around. Staring into the garden might bring some inspiration.’
Edward muttered something under his breath and then she saw him pull his chair away and moving the items to another desk.
‘Do you want me to help?’
He looked up at her. ‘You don’t look like you could carry anything heavier than a laptop.’
It was Eve’s turn to scowl at him because he was right in the fact she wasn’t very strong but he didn’t need to mock her.
She returned to her emails. Serena wanted to know if Eve could organise a Christmas tree to be delivered to her hotel room at the Four Seasons in New York, fully decorated – and if Edward was writing.
She decided to ignore the email because she didn’t want to deal with either of those things. She texted Zara back.
He’s a complete tosser as we assumed. Rude. Entitled. He’s perfect for Serena. I wish I was anywhere but here.
The sound of grunting made her look up as Edward was trying to move the desk with no success. He looked at her and she made a sad face at him.
‘I’d help but I lifted a croissant this morning and now I’m plumb tuckered out.’
She wanted for him to lose it at her but instead he laughed loudly.
‘Touché, Ms Pilkins.’ He stood back at the desk and shook his head. ‘I’ll get two of the property hands to help later.’
Eve nodded, as though this was a good decision but not really caring who moved the desk, as long as he wrote something.
But Edward had other ideas.
‘Well, that’s enough for me for the day. Shall we try again tomorrow?’
He walked to the door of the study and gestured for her to follow and leave the room.
She collected her things and went to the door and then looked at him and took her chance.
‘Serena said there are two hundred jobs that are relying on this book being published.’
‘Despite my surname, I’ve never responded well to guilt.’ He glared at her until she felt her face flush.
‘They’re her words, not mine,’ Eve said, hearing the wobble in her voice as she walked into the hallway.
‘Then use your words, not hers,’ he said and he shut the door behind her, locked it and walked away, leaving Eve alone swallowing all the words she wanted to say to this arrogant, entitled, stupidly handsome man.
5
There is a particular sort of uncomfortable feeling that comes with being an unwanted guest. The sense that perhaps there are words being spoken about you in hushed tones, aspersions being cast in your direction, and with the headache that was coming on, Eve wondered if pins weren’t being put into a poppet in her likeness somewhere.
The house was certainly gloomy enough to warrant a belief in otherworldliness but it also felt like a museum. The tapestries on the wall did nothing to stop the chill in the air, she thought as she shivered in her room. Perhaps she could possibly leg it back to London. She would resign to Serena’s face, tell her exactly what she thought of her as a person and a boss, and then move to her parents’ house and hide until further notice.
