In The Boss's Castle. Jessica Gilmore
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piece of elaborate-looking plaster work caught her eye. Original, she’d bet, just like the tiles on the hallway floor and the ceiling roses holding the anachronistically modern lights. The huge semi-detached house overlooking a lushly green square was the last place she’d expected Kit to live; she would have laid money on some kind of trendy apartment, all glass and chrome, not the white-painted Georgian house. It was even more impressive than Bart’s brownstone.
She hadn’t seen much in the way of personal touches so far. A tiled hallway with no clutter at all, just a hat stand, a mirror and an antique sideboard with a small bowl for his keys. There was nothing left lying around in the living room either except a newspaper on the coffee table, neatly folded at the nearly completed crossword, and just one small photo on the impressive marble mantle—a black-and-white picture of two teenage boys, grinning identical smiles, hanging over the rail on a boat. She had no trouble identifying the younger one as Kit, although there was something about the smile that struck her as different from the smile she knew. Maybe it was how wide, how unadulterated, how wholehearted it was, so different from the cynically amused expression she saw every day.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs sent her scuttling back to her seat, where she grabbed the newspaper and scanned it, carefully giving the impression she had been comfortably occupied for the last ten minutes.
‘Sorry to keep you. I spilled some of that green stuff on my shirt and didn’t fancy going out smelling like the ghost of absinthe past.’ Kit walked into the room and raised an eyebrow. Maddison had kicked off her shoes and was curled up in a corner of the sofa, the newspaper on her knee, looking as studiously un-detective-like as possible. ‘Comfy?’
‘Hmm? No, I was fine. Just finishing off your crossword. I think it’s Medusa.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Six down. Petrifying snakes. Medusa.’
‘Here, give me that.’ He took the paper off her and stared at the clue. ‘Of course. I should have thought...’ He looked back up and over at her, his eyes impossibly blue as they took her in.
‘Do you like puzzles, Maddison?’
‘I’m sorry?’ It took all her resolution to stay still under such scrutiny. It was as if he were looking at her for the first time, as if he were weighing her up.
‘Puzzles, quizzes? Do you like them?’
‘Well, sure. Doesn’t everyone?’ He didn’t reply, just stared at her in that disconcertingly intense way. ‘I mean, when I was a kid I wanted to be Nancy Drew.’ When she hadn’t dreamed of being Rory Gilmore, that was. She swung her legs to the floor. ‘I believe you mentioned a drink.’
He didn’t move for a long second, his eyes still focused on her, and then smiled, the familiar amused expression sliding back on to his face like a mask. ‘Of course. It’s not far. I hope you don’t mind the walk.’
Maddison hadn’t known what to expect on a night out with Kit Buchanan: a glitzy wine bar or maybe some kind of private members’ bar, all leather seats and braying, privileged laughter. She definitely hadn’t expected the comfortable pub Kit guided her into. The walls were hung with prints by local artists, the tables solid square wood surrounded by leather sofas and chairs. It was nearly full but it didn’t feel crowded or loud; it felt homely, like a pub from a book. The man behind the bar nodded at Kit and gave Maddison a speculative look as Kit guided her to a nook by the unlit fire before heading off to order their drinks.
‘I got a sharing platter as well,’ he said as he set the bottle of Prosecco on the table and placed a glass in front of her. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m starving. I never get a chance to eat at those work parties. It’s hard to schmooze with a half-eaten filo prawn in my mouth.’
‘When I started out in events sometimes canapés were all I did eat,’ Maddison confessed, watching as he filled her glass up. ‘New York is pricey for a girl out of college and free food is free food. Some days I would long for a good old-fashioned sub or a real-sized burger rather than an assortment of finger food! Turns out a girl can have too much caviar.’
‘Happy birthday.’ Kit handed her a glass before taking the seat opposite her, raising his glass to her. ‘You worked in events?’
She nodded. ‘After I graduated I joined a friend’s PR and events company.’ It had been the perfect job, working in the heart of Manhattan with the heart of society—until her friend had decided she preferred attending parties to planning them, being in the headlines rather than creating them. ‘After that I landed a junior management role at DL Media and then Brenda poached me. I’ve only worked in editorial for the last six months,’ she added. She still wasn’t sure how Brenda had persuaded her to leave the safe world of PR for the unknown waters of editorial. It was the first unplanned move Maddison had made in a decade. It still terrified her, both the spontaneity and the starting again.
‘Six months? I did wonder why you were still at an assistant level when you are obviously so capable.’ The words were casually said but Maddison sat up a little straighter, pride swelling her chest.
She looked around the room, not wanting Kit to see just how the offhand praise had affected her. ‘It’s nice here. Is this where you bring all the girls?’
‘You’re the first.’
She turned and looked at him, laughter ready on her lips but there was no answering smile. He was serious. ‘Consider me honoured. Why not? It’s pretty convenient.’
Kit shrugged. ‘I don’t like to bring anyone home. It gives them ideas. One moment a cosy dinner, the next a sleepover and before you know it they’re rearranging the furniture and suggesting a drawer. Besides, Camilla and her ilk only like to go to places where they can see and be seen. This place isn’t anywhere near trendy enough for them.’
It sounded pretty lonely. Maddison knew all about that. ‘So if you don’t want to share your home or local with these girls, why date them?’
His eyes darkened for a stormy moment. ‘Because I am in absolutely no danger of falling in love with any of them.’
* * *
He had said too much. This was supposed to be a casual ‘thank you and by the way happy birthday’ drink, not a full-on confessional. He didn’t need or deserve absolution. Maddison stared at him, her eyes wide and mouth half-open as if he were some kind of crossword clue she could solve, and for once he couldn’t think of the right kind of quip to turn her attention aside. He breathed a sigh of relief as the waitress came over, their Mediterranean platter balanced high on one hand, and broke the mounting tension.
‘If I’d known you had overdosed on canapés I’d have ordered something more substantial,’ he said, gesturing at the bowls of olives and sundried tomatoes, hummus and aioli. ‘The bread’s reasonably sized though.’
‘No, this is good, thanks.’ But she sounded thoughtful and her eyes were still fixed disturbingly on him. Kit searched for a change of subject.
‘Have you heard from Hope?’ That was safe enough.
Maddison speared a falafel and placed it delicately onto her plate, every movement precise, just as she was in the office. ‘A couple of emails. I think she’s settled in.’ She smiled then, a completely unguarded, full-on smile, and Kit’s chest twisted at the openness of it. ‘She intimidates me a little. I thought I was organized, but Hope? She beats me every time. Did you know she left me a printed-out file, all alphabetized, with instructions on what to do if the boiler breaks and when the trash goes out? Half of it is about what I need to do if her sister, Faith, comes home early from her travels or phones or something. I mean, the girl’s nineteen. Cut her some slack!’ But although the words were mocking there was a wistfulness in Maddison’s face that belied them.
She took a deep breath and her features recomposed until she was back to her usual calm and efficient self. ‘Anyway, some of her neighbours have dropped round and been welcoming, which is very kind but they’re older and have kids. They’re