Six Month Rule (Kingston Ale House) Page 4

  She crossed her arms and sighed, pursing her lips.

  “You two have my interest piqued. I’ll give you that,” she said. “Listen, I am absolutely swamped this week. If you really think this will work, I’d love to see your ideas, say, a week from Thursday? Nine a.m.?”

  “Of course!” Holly said, knowing she sounded too eager but not caring one stinking bit, because the score was now Holly, two, and Will, zero. Although he had gone to bat for her instead of suggesting another date, so maybe she’d give him half a point.

  But as she shook Marisa’s hand for a second time, she glanced at her partner in crime. Gone was the smile he only put on for this occasion. His jaw was tight, yet somehow he managed to look charming even through what Holly saw as apparent disappointment.

  “A week from Thursday at nine sounds lovely, Ms. Gonzalez. We look forward to seeing you then.”

  As he spoke, the charm and the smile returned, and Holly thought maybe she imagined Will’s distress. She couldn’t help but beam. She’d begin setting her ideas to slides as soon as they got back to the office. Will could draw up the publicity plan, and in less than two weeks, they’d be well on their way to planning what would be, for Holly, the event of the year.

  Once back in the lobby, Holly bounced on her four-inch heels and smiled like the freaking Joker.

  “This is so in the bag,” she said. “I will put together the logistics of how it will all look and how we can piggyback off the party they already have set up. You draw up a publicity plan that will have them basically paying us to have our event here, and bam! We did it!”

  Instead of joining in the enthusiasm, Will checked his watch.

  “You’re right,” Holly said. “We should head to the office and get going on this. Want to share a ride? I have a car, but I only drive it if I have to. There’s no assigned parking on my street, and I hate giving up my spot. Nine days may seem like plenty of time, but it’ll go by quickly, and we definitely want time to coordinate and to edit the proposal and make sure we’re on the same page and—”

  “Holly.” Will interrupted her rant with a quiet yet firm request, all wrapped up in the sound of her name.

  “Will.”

  He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

  “I need to take care of a few things before heading to the office. Do go on without me.”

  He was formal Will now. Maybe he had been the whole morning, but she’d thought they were starting to warm up to each other. Whatever. It’s not like they needed to be fast friends. They just had to be able to work together, make decisions that affected each other’s livelihood, and pull off her first-ever solo fashion show on a date when no hotels had openings at one of the most sought-after venues in the city. No big deal.

  “Oh. Okay,” she said. “I’ll see you when you get in.”

  Will adjusted his bag on his shoulder, then stood straight as his eyes fell on hers.

  “Actually,” he said, “you’re right. We’re both working on opposite ends of the proposal. It’s probably best you work on your bit, and I’ll work on mine, and we can convene next Wednesday to put it all together.”

  Of course, that would be a smart tactic. Efficient, even. Yet she still found herself opening her mouth to protest, but Will cut her off.

  “That will be all, then, I suppose. Have a good day, Holly.”

  Wait—did he? Was he dismissing her again? She wasn’t going to get flustered. Nope. She was not going to let this guy throw her off-kilter.

  It’s a British thing, she told herself. Like the Europeans kiss you on each cheek to say hello and good-bye. Except he simply tells you to take your leave.

  She fished in her purse for her phone.

  “Come to think of it…” Holly spoke to the contents of her bag until she retrieved what she was looking for. Then she swiped at the screen and began organizing her ride back to the office. “I have a credit, so I’m gonna Uber instead of taxi.”

  Will shook his head. “Sorry. Did you say Uber?”

  “Uber,” Holly repeated. He stared. “You don’t have it in England? It’s like a taxi, but people drive their own cars, and you call for one on the Uber app, and the closest one comes to get you. Pretty convenient, right?”

  Will’s eyes narrowed. “We have Uber. I’ve never had the pleasure, though. But you let strangers pick you up in their cars and trust them to take you where you want to go? You’re not worried about ending up like Gwyneth Paltrow in that David Fincher film?” he asked.

  Will checked his watch again. Obviously he had to be somewhere, so why the third degree?

  Holly rolled her eyes.

  “Do you mean like the strangers who pick you up in those yellow cars and charge money for you to trust them not to put your head in a box?”

  He shook his head at her, and there it was, the ghost of a smile. But it never went further than that. Holly realized that in twenty-four hours, she’d only seen this man smile when it was called for. He could turn it on at the drop of a hat, but it disappeared just as quickly.

  She waved her phone at him.

  “Uber’s here,” she said. “Gotta go.”

  She snagged her sunglasses from her bag, repositioned the bag on her shoulder, and held her hand out for Will to shake.

  “Well, Mr. Evans. Until next Wednesday, I suppose.”

  “Right. Next Wednesday.”

  “You sure I can’t call you Billy?” she asked.

  “Quite,” he answered.

  He clasped her palm, his hand a bit firmer and rougher than she’d expected. Not that he wasn’t—how would they say it in England?—a strapping lad or anything, but Holly had assumed the tailored suits meant that every piece of him was cut from some fine cloth. But the callused palm said otherwise.

  It must have been that discrepancy between perception and reality that made the hairs on her arm stand on end. That or the air-conditioning was working overtime in this place. Those were the only logical explanations, and logical explanations were the kind Holly Chandler liked.

  Horoscopes didn’t count. Those were just for fun. Though, as she pulled her hand away and strode toward the exit, Holly thought about strangers and gifts and the unarguable fact that tonight she would be taking the office home with her.

  But then again, she always did.

  Chapter Six

  Will stood in the queue for a taxi outside O’Hare’s international terminal. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, but that did nothing to take away the sting of exhaustion.

  So this was how it would be if he kept it up, weekend travel back to London. Perpetual jet lag. At least Sophie allowed him to have a shave Sunday evening before his early-morning flight back. An eight-and-a-half-hour flight plus the six-hour time difference meant he could leave London at five in the morning and land in Chicago by half past seven, plenty of time for a nine o’clock office arrival. It really only gave him two full days at home, but after missing so much of the past six years with her, forty-eight Sophie-filled hours were glorious compared to what he had taken for granted for too long. And the fact that Tara gave him those forty-eight hours, well, that showed she was starting to trust he was serious about the whole sabbatical idea—about being a permanent fixture in his daughter’s life. Because it wasn’t just an idea. It was what he had to do to get his own life back in order.

  Will lowered himself into the taxi and gave the driver Trousseau’s address. No sense going to the hotel when he’d barely have time for a coffee before having to turn around and leave. He’d go straight there, maybe try the café on the fifth floor Holly couldn’t seem to get enough of.

  Holly Chandler. Will had avoided one-on-one time with her for the rest of the week after they’d met with Marisa Gonzalez. He didn’t need any distractions, and something about her was—distracting. The more he accomplished in a twenty-four-hour period, the longer he could start making his weekends.

  He took a quick photo of himself and attached it to a text message. Hi, love. Ba
ck in Chicago. See you in a week.

  Sophie’s reply was immediate. Pancakes on Saturday, Daddy?

  He chuckled and replied. Of course.

  …

  The fifth-floor café was actually a small cafeteria, something akin to an American mall’s food court. Will was not a fan of either, but he was too tired to seek out a proper café, and he certainly wasn’t going to stand in Andrea’s office and brew himself shot after shot.

  With his garment bag over his shoulder and leather case slung across his torso, he made his way to the espresso bar line.

  “Ah. The mysterious Will Evans returns.”

  It had only been a week, but he already recognized the lilt of that voice, the way it always seemed to tease even when he gave no indication he was up for teasing.

  “Ms. Chandler,” he said, pivoting to greet her. “Good morning.”

  She crossed her arms and narrowed her gaze, giving him an expectant look, but he had no idea what she was expecting. And she was really close to him—too close. Enough that he could see yellow flecks in her green eyes and again, that bloody scent—lavender and grapefruit maybe? Christ, she was too close. He didn’t have it in him, mentally or physically, to resist the urge. So he breathed in deep through his nose, and despite the aroma of coffee brewing just behind him, all he noticed was her.

  “You look like you want to say something else,” he said. “But I’m too bloody exhausted to figure it out.”

  She huffed out a breath and pursed her pale lips. Unlike at their meeting the previous week, the last time they’d been in any sort of close proximity, she wore barely any makeup today, just some sort of gloss on her lips. He could even count the dusting of freckles on her nose. Seven, like a small constellation spilling just slightly onto her cheeks. He wasn’t sure how old she was, but this close she seemed so young, fresh. Not world-weary like he felt at thirty-two.

  “I called your hotel Friday. Had some questions about Ms. Chan’s color scheme, and the woman at the desk said you were out for the weekend and had instructed her to take messages while you were away.”

  Will blinked. “You rang me at the hotel?”

  “Yes, Will. I rang you. Your cell went right to voicemail, so I tried your room. Who pays to stay in a hotel for six months yet takes off for the weekend?” She paused for a few seconds but then spoke again before he could respond. “Sorry. That’s none of my business. Can I ask why you’re too bloody exhausted? As a concerned colleague, of course.” She offered a conciliatory grin but then narrowed her eyes at him. “And can we please stop with the Ms. Chandler bullshit?”

  He couldn’t keep his lip from twitching into a half smile.

  “What?” Holly asked, clearly not liking that she was the butt of some joke.

  He raised a brow. “I don’t know. You. Saying bullshit first thing in the morning. It’s—funny.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Funny? My irritation at your insistence on formality is funny?”

  He glanced down at his office attire. “We’re colleagues, Ms. Chandler,” he said plainly. “Should we be anything other than formal?”

  “Holly,” she said, gritting her teeth.

  He furrowed his brows, feigning confusion. “We should be Holly?” he said. “Is that American slang? I’m afraid I’ve not done my foreign language studies for this trip.”

  He bit back a smile. Something about this woman brought out a playfulness he thought he’d lost, or at least buried down deep where it couldn’t interfere with this perfect version of himself he was trying so desperately to be.

  “You’re impossible,” she said.

  “You’re quick to judge,” he countered. “Some might even say you’re a bit adorable when you’re cross,” he added, sure that comment crossed some sort of line, but the fact was irrefutable. Holly Chandler, all ruffled by his apparent Will-ness, was quite enjoyable, and it had been a long time since he found enjoyment being away from home. Despite the way he seemed to vex her, he had to admit that he liked being in her presence.

  “Adorable,” she said flatly. “I’m not a puppy, Mr. Evans.”

  He tapped his lips with his index finger.

  “No. I supposed you’re not.” He paused and quirked his head to the side, sizing her up. “Perhaps a bunny, though.”

  Holly groaned and pushed past him. “You snooze, you lose,” she said, and proceeded to order herself a hazelnut soy latte.

  Will chuckled to himself. So he’d have to wait another couple of minutes for his beverage. It was worth it.

  …

  If Holly was a spiteful person, she’d have pressed the door-closed button when she saw Will Evans approaching. But she’d had a couple of days to cool off since what she liked to call the bunny incident. So instead of freezing him out, she sighed and stuck her foot between the doors so they wouldn’t close in his face, mainly because she wanted to watch him approach in that blue-and-white-checked shirt and navy tie. No suit jacket today, which was a first. He was almost casual. Well, casual for Will Evans. She liked this look.

  “Thank you, Ms. Cha—I mean, Holly. Thank you, Holly.”

  Ah, yes. You can take the formal out of the apparel, but you can’t take the formal out of the uptight Englishman…or something like that. Because this was how it had been since Monday. After the aforementioned bunny incident at the café, which at first irritated her but then convinced her that Will Evans actually had a sense of humor, it had been nothing other than this—a stoic, distant, extremely well-dressed yet mildly scruffy man.

  They would be partners for six months, but in the span of ten days, they’d barely made it past Ms. Chandler and Mr. Evans.

  “You’re welcome,” Holly said, backing up to create a comfortable distance between them in the elevator. But when the doors closed, leaving just the two of them in the small space, it felt infinitely more intimate than when it was packed from wall to wall. So, with a latte in one hand, she fished her phone out of her bag with the other and tapped open her horoscope app.

  Gemini: Expect news today that will chase away the clouds for sunny skies. Lots in store for Gemini. Take advantage of new opportunities even if they present themselves as what you see as obstacles. Appreciate what you’re given, and allow time for joy.

  Holly blew a lock of hair out of her face, a piece that had escaped her ponytail. She’d been restless the first few nights without Brynn in her apartment, so last night she’d decided it would be a good idea to take a scissors to her own hair and cut some long bangs.

  She’d cut them too short. And for the record, it was not a good idea.

  “Your hair’s different,” Will said in that matter-of-fact tone of his. Though Holly had to admit that British matter-of-fact was preferable to the American version, at least to listen to it. God, if he wasn’t so Will. Her mind went back to their first meeting in the elevator, to her ears first registering the sound of his voice. That accent. And then his blunt and quite unapologetic remark about her shoes. Still, maybe this was a step up. The comment was neither a compliment nor an insult. It just—was.

  “Bangs,” she said, blowing the rogue locks out of her way again, but it was no use.

  “Sorry?”

  Holly’s brows knit together, and then she held up the loose hair between her fingers.

  “Bangs?”

  “Fringe,” Will said.

  “Excuse me?”

  His lips broke into a half smile, and something inside Holly fluttered—something she tried to ignore.

  “In England we call it fringe. Your bangs.”

  “Oh.”

  After that came the awkward elevator silence. They passed the fourth floor, the fifth, the sixth. Jeez, didn’t anyone have to use the elevator?

  “So…” Holly needed to fill the void. She wasn’t a woman of silence. “One o’clock today?” They were finally going to go over their separate pieces of the proposal and put them together in time for tomorrow’s meeting with Marisa.

  Will nodded. “I’m just about done
with the publicity plan for the hotel. You?”

  Holly nodded as well. “I finished last night. Couldn’t sleep. Plus, it was clear enough to see Ursa Minor and Gemini, and I like to stay outside on nights like that. But then I kind of lose track of time. You know? So I didn’t get to bed until two. Hence the extra shot in the latte.”

  She held up her cup.

  Whoa, Chandler, she thought. He doesn’t care about your silly stars. I mean, they’re not silly, but he would think they’re silly, so yeah. Just stop with the elevator chitchat.

  She could ramble on with the best of them, but when her inner monologue started rambling, too, she knew she was in trouble. Apparently there was too much silence in her head as well.

  Hands still full, she was shaking her head, trying to get the stupid fringe out of her eyes.

  Will stepped toward her, and her breath hitched as his hand that wasn’t holding his four to eight shots of espresso reached toward her face, tucking the bad-idea bangs behind her ear. And there it was again, that annoying flutter in her gut. What if she was catching Brynn’s lactose intolerance?

  “There we are,” he said. “I was going to have to amend my original statement if you kept that up. Definitely more puppy than bunny.”

  He grinned, and though Holly wanted to summon anger at his teasing, she couldn’t help but grin back. Great. Lactose intolerance and elusive-uptight-Englishman smiles were both contagious, and she’d succumbed to each.

  Holly eyed her latte warily, wanting to test her lactose-intolerance theory with a quick sip, but she thought better of it. There were too many variables. She’d revisit the equation after she was alone in her cube.

  “Yeah, well,” she said, still wearing a half smile, “I’m not wagging my tail or anything, but thank you.” She held up both hands, one holding a latte and the other a phone. “No free hands.”

  He stepped back, and the elevator finally reached the tenth floor.