at her list again, composing herself as she did so. ‘The caterers are already there and setting up, so are the bar staff. The warehouse confirmed that they have sent two hundred books across ready for the signing. I got late acceptances from five people, their names have been added to the entrance list and the door staff are primed; three people sent in late apologies, I replied on your behalf and arranged for books and goody bags to be sent to their offices. Oh, and I popped into the venue last night after work and took a last look around. Everything is in order.’
‘Very efficient, as always, thank you, Maddison.’ The words were perfect but the amusement in his tone took the edge off his praise and despite herself she could feel her cheeks flush. Kit always seemed to be laughing at her and it was...unsettling. She wanted respect, not this knowing humour. But so far, no matter what she did, respect seemed to be eluding her. And, dammit, it rankled. She was usually so much better at impressing the right people in the right ways.
She certainly wasn’t used to feeling discombobulated several times a day.
She eyed her boss. He was still lounging back in his chair, an unrepentant gleam in his eye as he waited for her response. Hoping that she would lose her cool, no doubt. Well, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction but, oh, her fingers curled; it was tempting.
It didn’t help that Kit was young—ish. Handsome if you liked brown tousled hair that needed a good cut, dark stubble and blue eyes, if you found scruffy chic, like some hipster cross between a college professor and an outdoorsman, attractive. Maddison didn’t. She liked her men clean-cut, clean-shaven and well turned out.
But, even if he wore head-to-toe couture, Kit Buchanan still wouldn’t be her type. Bart was her type: tall, athletic, with a good job in banking, a trust fund and a bloodline that ran back to Edith Wharton’s innocent age and beyond. Not to mention the brownstone. Breaking up with the brownstone was almost harder than saying goodbye to the man. She’d invested eighteen months in that relationship, spent eighteen months moulding herself into the perfect consort. All for nothing. She was back at square one.
Although, he had said a break. Maddison clung on to those words, hope soothing the worry and doubt clawing her insides. Everyone knew that taking a break wasn’t the same thing as breaking up. And if Bart saw that she was having an amazing time in London without him then surely he would realize he had made a very big mistake? Maybe this distance, this time apart was a good thing, the push he needed to take things to the next level.
She just needed to start having the amazing time. So far Maddison’s London experiences had been confined to work, takeaways and working her way through Hope McKenzie’s formidable box-set collection. Watching Sex and the City instead of living it. Surely she at least deserved to be flirting in the city?
Kit’s voice brought her back to her present surroundings—thousands of miles away from her unexpected failure. ‘Anything else on that list of yours or is it all neatly ticked and crossed out?’
Okay. This was it. She’d spent the last four weeks regrouping, licking her wounds, grateful for the opportunity to recover and plan far away from the all-too-knowing eyes of her New York social group. She’d been so sure of Bart, shown her hand too early and lost spectacularly. But it was time to reassert herself, professionally at least. Then maybe she would get her confidence—and her man—back. Maddison willed herself to sound composed, her voice not to tremble. ‘I think you should rewrite your speech for tonight.’
Kit went very still, like a predator watching his prey. ‘Oh? Why?’
‘It’s very clinical.’ She kept her eyes focused on him even as her knees trembled and every instinct screamed at her to stop talking and to back out of the door before she got her ass fired. ‘You’ve spent the whole four weeks I’ve been here absolutely absorbed in your work. You barely noticed that Hope had gone. You’ve been in before me every morning, not stopped for lunch unless you had a meeting and who knows what time you leave? But the speech? It has no passion in it at all.’
Kit didn’t take his eyes off her, his face utterly expressionless. ‘Have you read it? The book?’
Had she what? ‘I...of course.’
‘Could you do a better job?’
She flinched at the cold words, then tossed her head up and glared at him. ‘Could I write an introductory speech that sounds like I value the author, think the book is worth reading and convince the room that they need to read it too? Yes. Yes, I could.’
‘Great.’ He pulled his chair back to his desk and refocused his eyes on his screen. ‘You have an hour. Let’s see what you come up with.’
* * *
‘Great speech.’
Kit suppressed a sigh as yet another guest complimented him. It had been a great speech and he’d delivered it well, a nice mingling of humour and sincerity. Only he hadn’t written it. Embellished it, ad-libbed a little but he hadn’t written it. Maddison had been annoyingly right: his own effort had lacked passion.
Kit knew all too well why that was. Three years ago he’d lost any passion, any zest for life, any hope—and now it seemed as though he’d lost the ability to fake it as well.
Which was ridiculous. He was the king of faking it—at work, with the ever so elegant Camilla and her potential replacements, with his friends. The only place he couldn’t convincingly pretend that he was the same old Kit was with his family. Especially not with his family and with the wedding looming on the horizon like a constant reminder of all that he had lost. He needed to sort that out and fast. He knew he had to RSVP. He knew he had to attend. He just couldn’t bring himself to commit to it because once he did it would become real. Thank goodness for his new project. At least that helped him forget, for a little while at least.
Forgetting was a luxury.
He caught sight of Maddison, gliding through the crowds as untouchably serene as ever. Kit’s eyes narrowed as she stopped to murmur something in a waitress’s ear, sending the girl scurrying off with her tray. As usual Maddison had it all under control. Just look at the way she glided around the office in her monochrome uniform of black trousers and perfectly ironed white blouse like some sort of robot: efficient, calm and, until today, he could have sworn completely free of any emotion.
It was a shame. No one whose green eyes tilted upwards with such feline wickedness, no one with hair like the first hint of a shepherd’s sunset, no one with a wide, sweet mouth should be so bland.
But she hadn’t been so bland earlier today. Instead she had been bursting with opinions and, much as she had tried to stay calm, not let him see the exasperation in those thickly lashed eyes, she had let her mask slip a little.
And then she had written that speech. In an hour. Yes, she definitely had hidden depths. Not, Kit reminded himself, that he was planning to explore them. He was just intrigued, that was all. Turned out Maddison Carter was a bit of an enigma and he did so like to figure out a puzzle.
Kit excused himself from the group of guests, brushing another compliment about his speech aside with a smile and a handshake as he slowly weaved his way through the throng, checking to make sure everyone was entertained, that the buzz was sufficient to ensure the launch would be a success. The venue was inspired, an old art deco cinema perfectly complementing the novel’s historical Jazz Age setting. The seats had been removed to create a party space and a jazz band set up on the old stage entertained the crowd with a series of jaunty tunes. Neon cocktails circulated on etched silver trays as light shone down from spotlights overhead, emphasizing the huge, jewel-coloured
