James retorted, sliding his omelette onto a plate before taking a stool at the counter. He waved his fork at her plate. ‘Eat.’ They ate in companionable silence until Riley pushed her empty plate away and placed her chin in the palm of her hand. ‘So, about that list …’
‘The one you threw at my head?’ James lifted his cup of black coffee to his lips and raised his sandy brows.
‘Chest. And yes, that list. Make a new one,’ she said.
James frowned. ‘I’m not following you, Riley.’
‘Grant isn’t at work and I understand that he makes your life run smoothly so if there’s anything I can do to help you that doesn’t require typing and spreadsheeting … then I’ll give you a hand.’ Riley held up her hand when she saw that James was about to speak. ‘But then you allow me to leave on Christmas Eve and not at the end of the month—I have a ticket to fly home on the twenty-fifth.’
‘You’re flying on Christmas Day?’ James, like Morgan, was horrified. ‘Why?’
‘Because, unlike you, I don’t have access to a private jet.’
‘I’m flying out on Christmas Eve—why didn’t you ask me for a lift?’
‘Have I ever asked for a lift on the MI jet, James? I only sometimes accept offers.’ Riley waved the topic away. ‘Anyway, do we have a deal? You get an extra set of hands and I get out of the city a week early?’
James thought for a moment. ‘Yeah, okay.’
Riley slid off the stool, picked up their dirty plates and placed them in the dishwasher. ‘So, I remember the bullet point about a wedding present for Morgan and Noah and I can do your Christmas shopping for you. What else was there?’
‘The Christmas cocktail party.’
Ah, that Christmas cocktail party. Gorgeous women, slick men … She normally spent the evening dodging fast hands and bitchy women. And she always, always found an excuse to leave early, which had never been a problem since none of the Moreaus ever noticed.
‘Do you think you could stay at the party past eight-thirty this time?’ James asked her.
Riley wrinkled her nose. So busted. ‘It’s really not my scene,’ she admitted.
‘It’s not mine either. It’s a tradition that I took over from my mother and half the people invited are her cronies, not mine. I’d prefer to have a smaller, more intimate party with the people I actually like.’
Riley sent him a sharp look. ‘So do that then.’ She waved at the cavernous interior. ‘And do it here—it’s not like you don’t have the space.’
Riley could almost see the wheels turning in his head while he considered the pros and cons. After a minute, he nodded his head decisively. ‘Yeah, let’s do that. I’ll do the invites if you can do everything else, like the catering and the booze. Can you handle that?’
‘It’s not like it’s rocket science.’ Riley shrugged. ‘I just need to place the order for pizzas and beer and we’re set.’
‘Funny girl. It’ll still have to be black tie, up-market.’
Riley shrugged. ‘Okay. That’s three items on the list. What else? You said something about me looking for my replacement?’
Annoyance flickered across James’s face and Riley realised that, despite their truce, he was still not even remotely accepting her resignation. Then his annoyance disappeared and his lips twitched. ‘With regard to your replacement, I do have a couple of criteria of my own.’
Riley pursed her lips and folded her arms. ‘Pray tell.’
‘Someone who actually has a vague concept of a budget would be nice. Someone who doesn’t run their department like a diva, who takes direction and understands that I am the boss. Smoking-hot would be a real bonus.’
‘Let me guess … tall, stacked, blonde.’ Riley snorted her disdain. She rested her arms on the counter and looked at him. ‘Keep dreaming, sunshine. Besides, if you were honest you’d admit that you’ll be bored without me.’
‘I’ll be drinking a lot less antacid,’ James retorted.
Riley held up her hands at the bite in his voice. ‘Okay, let’s get off this subject because we’ll just end up fighting again. I really don’t want to fight with you. I meant what I said about us parting as friends.’
James placed his ankle on his knee and played with the laces on his shoe. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, sexy and very, very deliberate. ‘We’ve been lots of things, Riley, but we’ve never been proper friends. From the time you were nineteen there’s been far too much sexual attraction between us for us to just be friends.’
‘Well, we can try.’ Riley licked her top lip. Looking for inspiration for a subject change, she looked out of the floor-to-ceiling windows and drank in the view of Central Park. The clouds were low over the city today and the occasional drop of icy drizzle hit the windowpane. ‘Damn, it looks cold out there.’
‘New York at Christmastime. I’m craving some African sun.’
Riley flashed him a relieved smile. ‘Me too. Ice cream on the beach.’
‘You go pink within the hour.’
‘I do but it’s a nice fantasy,’ Riley agreed as James stood up and stretched. ‘Oh, right … there was one other thing on your list that we haven’t discussed—this apartment.’
James looked around him and shrugged. ‘What’s there to discuss?’
‘It’s white. And you said that you wanted me to decorate it.’
‘It’s minimalistic and I was just trying to wind you up.’ James grabbed some folders off the dining table and shut down his iPad.
‘It looks like you’re living in a snowstorm!’ Riley protested. ‘It’s big but so impersonal. And we should do something about it before the Christmas party or else people are going to think you like living in a morgue.’
James shoved his laptop into his briefcase and looked at his watch. Bored with the subject, he shrugged. ‘So do something about it then.’
‘Okay, but what do you want?’
James looked at her and huffed his frustration. Decorating was not his forte. ‘How do I know? As long as I have a bed, an internet connection and the plasma in my bedroom I’m golden. You think I need colour, put colour. Just don’t go mad.’
‘James, you can’t just tell me to redecorate!’
Why were they still discussing this? ‘That’s what I did with the last decorator.’
‘And that’s how you ended up living in the Arctic!’ Riley tapped her finger against her lips. ‘Why don’t I do you a couple of mood boards?’
‘Yeah, okay.’ If she wanted to …
‘You
