Hester contacted the finance department of K.C. as soon as she got to the office on Wednesday morning, and a report hit her email by four o'clock that afternoon. They'd found five suitable harbors that would work just as well as the one they currently owned; the finance team sent her an estimate of the costs, adding a margin and ten percent on top to make sure that they profited from the transaction.

Hester read the report thoroughly, attempting to be entirely detached about the situation, before calling Claudia, who'd worked on the case.

"Hey. Great findings on the Ashworth deal. I'm sending you his email. Ask him for four hundred thousand." That was the most expensive option. "You can go as low as two hundred and fifty if he's being stingy. We don't currently need the site, but we certainly don't want to lose money on the transaction."

Claudia didn't think to question it—it was normal protocol with any regular client interested in a King Construction property—but Hester knew that she should have contacted Edmund herself. As he'd pointed out, a man like him didn't deal with middlemen. He might be pissed. Wincing on Claudia's behalf, she told her, "You may want to make it clear that you've been given freedom to approve the sale, by the way. He's a bit of an asshole; if he thinks he isn't talking to someone in charge, he might be rude." 

"Charming." 

Hester laughed. "He can be, when he wants to. Somehow that makes it worse. Okay, let me know if you need some help; otherwise, Ashworth is in your hands."

And officially out of Hester's. She smiled smugly, until an hour and a half later, when his name flashed on her phone. 

Dammit. Why was he calling her now? Instead of answering, she quickly refreshed her emails to see if Claudia was screaming for help. Nothing. She sighed and picked up. 

"Hester Hall." 

"Hester. I receive the primary documents from your finance team. I'm glad to see they're quite efficient. It looks like I might be able to tie this deal up before going back to the other side of the pond." 

"I'm really glad to hear it." Really. "Can I do anything for you in the meantime, Mr. Ashworth?" 

"Mr. Ashworth is my uncle, Hester. And I was actually wondering, now that you've shoved me onto someone else's desk, whether you'd like to go for a drink?" 

She remained entirely silent, mouth hanging open, brain paused. No. The answer was “thanks, but no thanks.” Why the hell wasn't she saying it, then? 

"Still there, Hester?" 

"Yes. A drink?" she repeated numbly.

"That's right. No Scotch, that's a promise. Maybe some fancy cocktails or beer, your call. Maybe even dinner after. You know…"

She did know. Edmund fucking Ashworth was making a pass at her. There wasn't a version of this where she didn't end up legs spread in his hotel room if she said yes. 

The problem was that she wasn't entirely against that development. 

"I—I don't fraternize with clients, Edmund. Sorry." 

There, she'd opened her mouth and said the right thing. Hester was incredibly proud of herself. 

"I'm hardly a client—not of King Construction, or King Tech for that matter. You just happened to own a harbor I wanted. Come on. If you didn't want to, you would have said no about seventy-four seconds ago." 

She bit her lip. "I can't." 

"Again, that's not exactly a no. Nor do I hear a clear, ‘I don't want to.’ How about you tell me why you can't, and I convince you otherwise?" 

"Because you're rude and high-handed, and I do my best to not interact with people like that in my free time." 

The insult made him laugh. "Still not a no, I see." 

He was right, dammit. Her brain was messing with her, flashing some images from her dreams of the previous night. And then she remembered the exact shape of his ass. Dammit. 

It had been a long time since she'd had a chance to let her hair down and have some fun. For all his faults, Ed came with one undeniable benefit: he lived abroad, all the way in England. She wouldn't see him again after that "drink". 

"Come on, Hester. Give me a chance to apologize for the rudeness and the high-handedness." 

Another call was trying to get through; the vibration of her phone pulled her out of her reverie. "It's not five o'clock yet. I have a job, you know. And someone is trying to call me about work. Goodbye, Ed." 

"Got it. I'll talk to you after five." 

He hung up before she could tell him not to bother. 

Shaking her head, Hester answered her second phone call and got back to work. At five, she found herself glancing at her phone, half expecting it to ring immediately. So of course, it didn't. 

She remained at work for another hour to tie up some loose ends for K.T., knowing Frank would have a heart attack if the details of his Friday morning presentation weren't finalized soon. Catering had been ordered by Chris, she made sure to check that there were various options for fussy eaters, and she called each member of the board to check if they'd make it. She knew Desmond wasn't going to show his face, but she emailed him nonetheless—and copied Frank in on that message so he knew she'd bothered to inform the boss. At six, she stretched her back and logged off from her computer, satisfied. 

She headed downstairs, waving at the security guys as she crossed the lobby. 

"Have a good evening, Jack." 

"Excuse me, Ms. Hall? I have something for you.  I would have called if I'd known you were still in the building."

That wasn't exceptional at this time; the admins stopped bringing the mail and couriers at four, unless it was an express. She approached his desk, her eyes widening as he pulled a large yellow basket from the floor. There was a potted plant, small bottles of gin, vodka, brandy, rum, and a bar of chocolate, all wrapped in transparent paper with a big cream ribbon. 

Her mouth watered. Hester wasn't one to spend an excessive amount of money on herself; she only got good stuff like those Belgian chocolates around her birthday. 

"There was no card, I'm afraid—I checked. It didn't come from a courier. A man just came and said it was for you. I scanned it for dangerous items." 

"Don't worry about it. I know who it's from." 

"You do?" Jack seemed relieved. "Oh, good. Pamela from Knight Security had a stalker for a while; I hoped it wouldn't be anything like that." 

Hester winced. Hopefully not. She'd assumed the package had come from Edmund, but now she realized she had to check. It could have been anyone, and some sicko could have laced the chocolate with something nasty. 

If she wanted to try the chocolate, she had no choice: she had to call a certain irritating British businessman. 

Well played, Edmund. Well played.