Page 105 of Santa's Baby
“BecauseIasked you to, and I was the one who postponed every one of your others and ignored the founders’ thread. I was in the position of authority, not you.”
I hate how she sucks in a breath, staring out of the window as we head through London.
“They’ve taken my Agency account away.”
“Yes, I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s my own fault.”
This conversation could go around in circles, spiralling around over who is to blame for what, so I stay silent for a few minutes, focusing on getting us back to my place. This isn’t the location to delve deep into the who, whats and whys. I hate how Tiffany has taken the burden like a wrecking ball. All I want to do is hold her tight, but I daren’t touch her. Not after what I’ve done this afternoon.
It wouldn’t be fair.
She’s still silent sobbing when we pull up in my driveway. She rushes to the door with her head down, as though we’re under surveillance. Maybe we would be, if Bry and Cas hadn’t been appeased by my words.
“You can relax now,” I say once the door is closed behind us. I take off my stupid Santa coat and hang it up.
“Relax? Yeah, right.” She kicks off her shoes. “Hardly the time for some yoga and incense.”
Even now, I adore her dark humour.
She walks through to the kitchen, plonking herself on her regular breakfast stool. It’s so bizarre. When we were here this morning, we were glowing happy. Loved up and excited for the day ahead. The memory feels so far away now, like a lifetime has passed. And in a way, I suppose it has.
“Coffee? Juice?”
“Just water, please. I might throw up if I drink anything else.” I get a fresh pang of horror as she wipes her tears away.“Come on, Reuben, get it over with. What do I have to do now? Move out of Belgravia? Fuck off to a cottage by the sea somewhere like I’m in a witness protection program?”
“That’s a bit dramatic.”
She cracks a sad grin. “Yeah, you know me. I am a bit dramatic. But still, I know you lot don’t take this kind of bullshit lightly. I recognised the guy from Westminster. They must want me out and gone.”
I hand over her glass of water, and she pulls her stool away from me as I take a seat. The distance feels horrible.
“I can handle it,” she says. “Just put me out of my misery. Tell me what the fuck is going to happen to me. I’m done at the Agency, I know that, and I’m done with you, since they must have given you a right fucking kicking for it, but what else? What else do they want me to do?”
I wait until her eyes meet mine before I speak.
“I’m sorry about your profile being removed,” I say. “I know it must have been devastating for you.”
“Yeah, just a bit. I’m smashed up worse than the bastard snow globe.” Her lip trembles fresh, and I get it.
I’ve seen how many clients she’s taken on, and how well her performances have been starred. How hard she’s worked, how much she’s earnt, how much she’s enjoyed it. I know it must cut like a knife to have your world pulled out from under you, when you’ve built your life around it for four years straight.
She wipes some fresh tears away. “Ah, fuck it. It’s done now.”
“No,” I tell her. “It isn’t. You can have your profile back, under close scrutiny. Orla is aware of the situation, and will be vigilant on exactly which proposals you are taking on and when.” I pause. “There will be no more proposals with the founders, but you can work with your current clients, so long as you agree to a very hefty non-disclosure agreement.”
Her eyes widen.
“You what? I can still be Creamgirl?”
I nod. “Yes. I assured the others that there was no malice or ill doing on your part. They know you are a valuable asset.”
She tenses up, uncertain.
“Sounds a bit weird to me. What’s the deal with that? They just let me waltz back in with a slap on the wrist?”
I clear my throat. “Not quite, no. It will be on the condition that you never see me again. No contact via the Agency, no contact via business, or the mall. You’ll be expected to keep at least a mile’s distance from this place and any other of my properties, and there will be no leniency.”