Lark perched on the arm of the sofa in Niya’s office looking past her to the drab building next door. “How is it that you’re the freaking director of Cambridge PharmaStat and you have the crappiest view in the whole building? Whereas I’m basically a migrant worker and my office looks out on the lake.”
“I actually prefer being out of the bustle,” Niya replied matter-of-factly. “But don’t tell Dr. Martin I said that. He got an offer from Pfizer last year and used it as leverage to make petty demands. A corner office, a parking space next to the elevator. And the new woman at reception? Florence Martin, his daughter-in-law.”
In Lark’s view, Dr. Martin had always been polite and respectful. While she couldn’t blame him for playing hardball to pick up a few extra perks, the fact that he’d demanded Niya’s corner office rubbed her the wrong way. It was an unnecessary display of dominance, sexist at its core.
“Never mind my office. I want to know what popped up on your calendar that you found more important than meeting my granddaughter.” As Lark described the historic manor house, Niya cut her off. “I’m more interested in the who, not the what. This is the woman you met on the plane?”
“Yeah, I’m not sure what there is to tell. I’m feeling it but I don’t know if she is. She’s friendly, she’s funny. But she’s also coming down off a two-year relationship where the other woman basically treated her like crap. Everything looks new and shiny when you’re on the rebound. Then it wears off and you realize it was just a pleasant distraction.”
She decided not to mention running into one of their study subjects at Penderworth. There was no legitimate reason to share details of Maisie Browning’s home life.
“A couple of her friends were there too. One of them’s a viscount, plus his boyfriend. I felt like that Nick guy from the The Great Gatsby, the one who tagged along to all the glamorous parties and told us how interesting everyone was.”
She also didn’t mention Channing’s crumbled inheritance, nor Kenny’s stunning proposition that she marry him and give him an heir. Like most medical professionals, Niya was accepting of the LGBT community, but the notion of a sham family might have offended her old-fashioned sensibilities.
“I’m going with them next weekend to the Pride parade in Amsterdam. They do it on one of the canals with a bunch of floats.”
“Ha! All my efforts to recruit you to PharmaStat… I was using the wrong bait.”
“Except Channing now says she might go back to Boston. Wouldn’t that be just my luck? I fall in love with someone from Cambridge and take a job here so I can be close to her. Then she goes back to work in Boston. I think I’ll stay put till the storm passes.”
“I’ve been thinking about my future too, especially with this Flexxene business,” Niya said, her voice taking a serious turn. “Dev and I talked about it over the weekend. My husband…he’s just the sweetest, kindest man in the world. It breaks his heart to see me so stressed over this job. ‘Stop worrying about the higher-ups in Geneva,’ he says. If I’m forced to resign, he’s agreed to sell the bottle shops and newsstands, all of them. We’ll quit the rat race and buy a cottage in Portugal ten years earlier than we planned. Pretty sure we can afford it.”
“Niya, you’re at the pinnacle of your career. There’s no way I’m letting you take the fall for something that wasn’t your fault. You did nothing wrong. Relax and let me do my job.”
“Yes, do your job. But no matter how this turns out, I’m at peace with it. Dr. Martin may be an arse, but he’s more than capable of taking over as director. And Dev and I would be happy in Portugal. What else matters in life?”
Frustrated and sad, Lark returned to her office to prepare for her next interview. There was little doubt PharmaStat would want a scapegoat and Niya was there for the taking, especially if she refused to fight back. They wouldn’t blink twice at throwing her under the bus, no matter her impeccable record.
* * *
“Bugger all!” Channing bounced her pen off her grandfather’s desk and groaned. Four months—that was how far she could stretch Poppa’s remaining cash. After that she’d have to tap her savings to keep Penderworth running until it sold.
That wasn’t even the worst of it. Much of the profit she might have anticipated from the eventual sale would be eaten up in advance by all the repairs necessary to make a drafty, rundown manor house attractive to a potential buyer. Just to break even, she had less than a year to close the sale and pay off the tax debt. Longer than that and the inheritance might actually cost her money.
Her first step had to be a sit-down with Cecil and Maisie, something she dreaded. Suppose they’d planned to live out their retirement in the carriage house they’d called home for more than three decades? It was a reasonable assumption given their devoted service and the familial bond, especially if Poppa had kept his withering financial status from them as well.
She could always marry Kenny…
“Christ!” It was bloody bonkers, as was talking aloud when she was the only one around.
Her cell phone lit up with another call from Robin Saunders, Mitch’s admin. He’d promised to call back once the HR department put together a salary and benefits package for her potential return. If he had her in mind to head up the Eastern region, he probably intended to promote Payton to VP for mergers. She’d been angling for that job for as long as Channing could remember.
Practically speaking, Mitch’s offer was infinitely preferable to life as a broodmare for a couple of gay men, one of them incorrigible. The idea of returning to Albright had grown on her, especially given her new financial urgency. Plus there was that other upside to going back to Boston that she hadn’t considered a week ago—Lark Latimer.
“This is Channing Hughes.”
“Please hold.”
She wouldn’t enjoy facing Payton in the office, but she’d see less of her if Payton moved up to the executive level. Plus the challenge of heading up the Eastern region would make her job interesting again. Gradually all the water would pass under the bridge and their affair would be ancient history, an awkward but irrelevant memory.
Mitch was taking his sweet time picking up the call. If she were to return to Albright, her first order of business would be a chat with someone in corporate communications about their choice of “hold” music. New Age piano wasn’t new anymore. There were better ways to—
“Channing, it’s me…please don’t hang up.”
The shock of hearing Payton’s voice manifested as pins and needles down her spine.
“Don’t blame Robin. I didn’t know how else to reach you since you won’t take my calls and you ignore my texts and emails. It’s urgent that we talk.”
Channing hated the exhilaration that overtook her will to cut Payton off.
“I can’t believe you walked out without a single word of explanation. How could you be so unprofessional? Do you have any idea of the rumors you set off?”
“What, that I stole client files and went to AIG? I didn’t.” Payton knew very well her employment contract at Albright prevented her from going to work for a similar company for five years. “Would you rather I’d told them the truth, that you dumped me after a two-year affair and promoted Boyd so you wouldn’t have to travel with me anymore? He’s not competent to handle client negotiations and you know it.”
Payton sighed heavily. “What choice did I have? The two of us continuing to travel together was out of the question.”
“Why is that? I never once let our relationship affect my job, unlike you. Did you honestly think I’d keep working at Albright knowing I was never going to get a superior evaluation out of you because you were paranoid people might think you were showing favoritism? That’s worth thousands of dollars a year, Payton. How much more did you expect me to sacrifice?”
“It was perfectly within your rights to leave Albright, but the issue here is how you did it. You deliberately walked out without explanation because you wanted to dump this mess in my lap. All I’m asking is that you clear it up, that you contact HR and make it absolutely clear this was about your own issues with going back to England, and stop all this—what is it you call it—chin wagging.”
“Fall on my sword again for you. That’s what you always expect from me.”
Drumming her fingers on the desk, Channing stewed. The angry side of her wanted to hang up, but she’d never stopped wanting Payton to say a few magic words to make everything all right. She didn’t need to hear her grovel, nor did she want Payton back. All she wanted was not to feel like a fool for thinking Payton had truly loved her.
“Robin says you talked with Mitch on Monday. Knowing him, he tried to talk you out of leaving.”
So Payton wasn’t aware of Mitch’s offer that she take over the Eastern region, which possibly meant she knew nothing about her impending promotion to VP. Unless Albright had other plans. Surely they weren’t considering letting go of someone with her experience.
“If Mitch wants your input, Payton, I’m sure he’ll loop you in.”
Payton’s voice lowered, a stark reminder of how sneaky they used to be when others milled about. “Channing, please…”
“Please? What more could you possibly want from me, Payton? I offered you everything I had.”
“And I treated you horribly. This is all my fault and I’m sorry.”
“Great, so now I get an apology. I’ll put it in the drawer where I keep the rest of my useless junk.” She too lowered her voice on the off-chance the Brownings had returned from their afternoon errands. Voices carried in the cavernous manor. “You had two years to untangle your life. ‘Ben, I want a divorce.’ Five words. Five bloody words. If you’d loved me half as much as you claimed, you’d have been bursting to get yourself free.”
“You make it sound like a choice between the chef’s salad or the chowder. Leaving Ben would have cost me everything, Channing. Kathleen’s pregnant. What if she’d cut me off from my grandchild? I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I never meant to hurt you. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Then why the bloody hell did you call?”
Since the first text she’d picked up on the plane, Channing had imagined herself unloading on Payton if she dared pick up her call. She’d seize the moral high ground, punish her with pugilistic jabs to her character. It was her turn to have the last word.
“Channing, this whole situation is impossible.” The hitch in Payton’s breath was familiar—she was trying not to cry. “You can’t come back. Too many people are asking questions. My own secretary told me she’d heard you were having an affair. The moment you come through that door, they’ll see it all over our faces. You know what happens then—HR will go back through our every move wondering if we put our relationship above the company.”
“Wha—” Payton had always been paranoid but this was over the top. “There’s no bloody end to your nerve, is there? It’s not enough that you deliberately wasted two years of my life, now you have to muck up the rest. What gives you the right to decide where I work?”
“Nothing.” She sniffed loudly. “That’s why all I have left is to beg.”
Channing’s impulse to lash out again sputtered as she envisioned the pitiful sight of Payton trying to hold herself together. How many times had she crumbled at those tears?
“Bollocks,” she muttered, more to herself than to Payton. “You aren’t the only one in trouble here. I came home to the news that Poppa left me nothing but Penderworth and a tax bill. I can’t ignore Mitch’s offer. I need to go back to work—soon.”
“It doesn’t matter, Channing. If this blows up, it’ll ruin both of us.”
Several seconds of quiet followed, but Channing was determined to wait her out. She’d said her piece. Maybe for once, Payton would put someone else’s needs first.
“Channing, I know what you’re capable of. You can walk into any finance company in the world and tell them which office you want. Stay in London and I’ll persuade Mitch to waive the noncompete.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”
“I’m sorry. We were selfish and now we’re paying for it.”
“How is that, Payton? Where exactly is this costing you anything at all?”
Voices downstairs signaled the return of the Brownings. Any moment, Maisie would appear in the doorway to ask her preference for supper.
“I have to go.”
“Please consider what—”
“For your information, I already told Mitch I’d gotten homesick, that losing Poppa got to me and I felt overwhelmed all of a sudden. That’s the official story he’s peddling to HR. Repeat it as often as you like.” Channing ended the call.