32 ~ DARCY

Late Tuesday afternoon, Oliver called me into his office. He had that spring-loaded, ready-to-fire, rigid posture, his mouth a hard line instead of the usual brilliant smile that made my heart bang in my chest. The state of his hair, though mussed and sexy, looked as though he’d had his hands through it a few times.

“Close the door and take a seat. Luther will be here in a few minutes.”

I moved like I didn’t want to disturb the air. “What’s happened?”

“Annabelle, or should I say, Ellie, has upped her game.”

“Wait. Ellie? Annabelle? Do they know each other?”

“Turns out they’re one and the same person. Annabelle reinvented herself.”

The door flew open and Luther arrived like cannon fire. “The fuck, Sackville? At least the bitch got herself a job. Told you Ellie was Annabelle, though. Damn, I should have placed a bet on it. What have you got for me?”

“Settle, Luther, you look as though you need medicating.”

He sat, bouncing his knee, caught my look and stopped. “Let’s hear it.”

Oliver pushed his laptop to one side. “Annabelle sent me an email to say that she’s now known as Ellie. She said if I don’t pay her the money, she’ll have to show the video to Pearl, who will, of course, pull out of the fundraiser.”

“Clever. She’s waited until we’ve done all the publicity. Losing Pearl will make this thing fail,” I said.

“She’s called our bluff on going to the cops, knowing Pearl could pull out when she gets wind of it.” Luther tapped his index fingers together. “There’s an out clause for that sort of event in Pearl’s contract.”

“I’m not paying her, Luther.”

“Fucking right, you’re not.”

The men went back and forth with ideas and I sat there feeling horrified, wondering if this would ever go away. I tried to look at it from a viewpoint that it had already happened, because from what I was hearing, Oliver wasn’t going to pay, and Annabelle wasn’t about to back off. Luther was at the stage of suggesting bodily harm while Oliver rolled his eyes and explained for the second time that we weren’t the Mob.

If Annabelle had already released the video, we’d be doing damage control, and that gave me an idea.

“Hold up, guys, I’ve got something.” They both looked at me as if they’d forgotten I was in the room. “It’s risky, but if it works, it will effectively disarm Annabelle forever.”

“I like it already,” Luther said.

“Basically, we beat Annabelle to the punchline. We offer an exclusive to one of the big media guys. I’ve got contacts, so if you like the idea we can decide who would be the best fit and the widest audience. We tell Oliver’s entire story. Everything. You can even hint at the blackmail. Play up on how drugs affect every strata of society. Nobody goes untouched, that sort of thing.” I glanced at them both, trying to get a read on my idea.

“I like it, Oli. How do you feel?” Luther asked.

“Exposed. But, it’s a good idea. How do we get to Pearl first to let her know what’s happening?”

“Reuben Creed,” I said. “If she’s recording with him, he’ll be able to contact her. Ellie’s like a pit bull, and Pearl’s her pup. She won’t let me near her, but I’m sure Reuben would be happy to help you out, Oliver.”

Oliver nodded. “I think that’ll work. Luther, what sort of damage am I up for by admitting that I bought drugs?”

“You’ll be fine. I’ll talk to my guy in vice up in Auckland and tell him what we’re going to do.”

“Might be an idea to get someone from the police to join in the discussion. I’ll add that to my pitch. I think we should aim for a Sunday night current affairs show,” I said.

“Is there enough time?” Oliver asked.

“They’ll drop something. This is big. New Zealand’s Exporter of the Year buying meth for his brother. They’ll be like ants on honey.”

“Ants on honey. You’re so sweet, Darcy.”

“Was that a compliment, Luther?”

He winked at me and stood. “War room, team. Let’s go and draw a battle plan on your massive whiteboard, Oli. Bring lots of pens.”

When we got to the door, Oliver held me back. “Have I told you how completely amazing you are?”

Despite the current turmoil, his voice did that thing to me where I felt like an adored, soft, sweet marshmallow. “Not since lunchtime,” I replied.

“When we get home tonight, I’m going to tell you in every way I can.”

“Stop thinking about your cock, Oli,” Luther shouted across the space where Gail and one of the secretaries were working.

“Language, Luther. This is an office, not a strip club.”

“Apologies, Gail.” Luther ducked his head in a quick bow. “Could I trouble you for some extremely dark, thick, highly caffeinated coffee?”

Gail stared at him for a couple of beats. “That would make your brain explode. I’ll bring you herbal tea.”

We passed through the doorway in front of Luther who was giving Gail a puppy-dog stare. Oliver took his arm and pulled him into the boardroom, and Luther pushed the door closed after us. “That PA of yours gives me no respect.”

“I think the feeling’s mutual,” Oliver replied.

We worked well into the evening with a brief pause to eat some seriously spicy food Luther had delivered. We made plans, worked out what we hoped would be every scenario that would occur once we kicked this thing into action.

Luther in work mode was formidable. The kind of person you hoped would always be on your side. We made a shortlist of people we’d pitch the idea to, then searched through months of on-demand TV programs to find someone we felt would be sympathetic.

Jason Cameron, we all agreed, was our best bet.

It was after ten by the time we closed up. I had my laptop and a legal pad full of notes. I had to get the story we would pitch in proper order. Luther would go over it the following day, and Oliver’s job was to hold off Annabelle by giving her a sense that this time, she just might win.

For once, I was pleased to live in a small town where the commute from the office to home was a matter of minutes. I walked in the door, dumped everything on the dining table and opened my laptop. A big sexy hand slapped it back closed again.

“No more work tonight, Darcy.”

“I have to get this to Luther tomorrow.”

“And you will. I expect your notes are perfect, so right now, I’m running us a bath.”

He disappeared down the hallway, and I opened my laptop again. I could get a head start while Oliver organized the bath. By the time he was back, I was engrossed in my work.

“Leave it be.” His fingers closed around the back of my neck and I leaned into him. “I get the feeling we’re going to eat and breathe this thing for a couple of weeks, so take a break and you can hit it, refreshed, in the morning. Come on.”

I let him pull me from the chair and lead me to the bathroom. The lights were off, but there were candles everywhere making pretty, flickering light. The bathwater filled the room with a spicy scent, and a fog of condensation covered the mirror. Oliver helped me out of my clothes, kissing the skin he bared. He shucked off his own clothes with far less ceremony, climbed into the bath first, and gestured for me to get between his legs.

I sank slowly, the water almost too hot. “Your chest makes the most perfect backrest. We should make a mold of it and turn it into furniture.”

“Shh. Your mind is as unstoppable as Luther’s. No talking. Close your eyes, I want you to relax.”

“I might fall asleep.”

“That’s fine. I’ve got you.”

He curved his palm around my forehead, like a mother gauging the temperature of a feverish child, and eased me back until he could prop his chin on the top of my head. I closed my eyes and fell into the steady rise and fall of his long, slow breaths. Occasionally, I felt the wave of movement through his throat as he swallowed. At some stage, I fell asleep.

I woke with Oliver leaning me forward. The bathwater was near tepid, my fingertips like prunes. He climbed out from behind me, then eased me to my feet. Oliver tended to me completely, letting out the bathwater, wrapping me in a gigantic, fluffy towel, and patting me dry, telling me not to wake as he gathered me in his arms and placed me in bed.

When he came to bed shortly after, we curled into each other. Oliver stroked my back and told me little stories about how much I meant to him, and the things we were going to do once this was over.

***

The dawn chorus began with a particularly cheerful tui dipping through the scales and finishing each with a high note followed by two guttural clicks. Outside it looked like night, but the bird seemed confident the sun would be along shortly so I eased myself out from beneath Oliver’s sleep-heavy arm, and left the bed.

While I made coffee, I marveled at how soundly I’d slept, but now my mind was in full work mode. Oliver was out soon after me, making breakfast as I continued to make sense of my notes.

“The timing of this is going to be critical,” I explained over a mouthful of toast. “We’ve got to have some sort of interview set up to tell your story without giving too much away in case we’re not picked up in our first approach. By that time, we need Pearl on our side, and not talking to Annabelle. Plus, Reuben has to agree to put us in contact with Pearl in the first place.”

“It’ll work.”

“You have to play Annabelle until we have everything else arranged.”

“Come out to the patio and eat your breakfast.”

“I need to get this done, Oliver.”

He snatched away my plate and coffee. “Without indigestion or an ulcer. I don’t want you becoming sick on my behalf. Follow me.”

“You’re so bossy,” I called out, watching him leave the room with my food.

“That’s because I’m the boss. Get out here. I want to enjoy the sight of you while we have breakfast. Together. On the patio. Without laptops, or phones, or pens, or paper.”

I dropped into a chair beside him and started to eat as fast as possible. Oliver stood up, closed the patio door and locked it.

“I can just go in through one of the other doors, you know.”

“That was symbolic, Darcy. I know you’re going to devour that food like a seagull, but if you try to leave before I’ve finished eating, I’ll tie you to your chair.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I care about you. Overworking is not a virtue, and you’re dealing with a situation that I caused.”

I dropped my toast to the plate and leaned forward on the table. “In case you’ve forgotten, that’s what you employed me to do.”

He shook his head, looking truly concerned. “It’s not. Dealing with this crap is not what I had in mind for you at all.”

“It’s cathartic.”

“Is it?” he asked. Our eyes locked, and we watched each other for the longest time. I could see the sadness he usually hid well, and had a sense that until this was over, he’d never be able to properly put Rocco to rest. That despite Oliver’s bravery, and his strength, he could be vulnerable, too.

“Yes, it is,” I replied. “It’s helping me. I feel as though I’m doing something useful, that I’m somehow making amends for—”

“You’ve done nothing wrong. I’d ask you to forgive yourself, but there’s nothing to forgive.”

“I should have spoken up earlier.”

“Your testimony helped put people in jail.”

I shrugged. “I let it all go on right under my nose.”

“You’re not to blame for what those people did. What can I do to make you see that?”

“Let me do an excellent job for you. If that takes extra hours this week, it won’t kill me. Let me do this to the best of my ability. For both of us.”

“Fine. Thank you. But when this is over, I’m taking you on holiday. No phones.”

“Perfect. I…” I stopped myself. I was about to tell him I loved him. The way those three words wanted to fall out shocked me because although I felt a deep connection to him, I thought the notion of loving him would come at some extraordinary moment, probably with fireworks or something else loud and bright to mark the occasion. Instead, it sat there waiting to catch me off-guard.

The corner of his mouth quirked. “You what?”

“I promise to wait patiently while you finish your breakfast.”