Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Look where you’re going.
You’re going to miss that first step, look up. She keeps walking, scrambling frantically in her bag.
“För i helvete, look up!” I bark. Her high-heeled shoe slips on the top step and she teeters over a chasm of empty space. In that instant, I see what two dozen hard steps and a long fall would do to her body in vivid detail.
I lunge forward and pull her back, my heart pounding hard in my ears. I turn her around to face me, giving her a little shake. “You could have fucking died. What were you thinking?”
The young woman stares up at me, visions of her near-death experience dancing in her eyes. She’s terrified, both of the fall that nearly swallowed up her life and of me, the strange man towering over her with death-grip on both of her upper arms.
“S-sorry, um. I—”
“Look where you’re going. Use the handrail. Find a way to get through your life without being attached to that device like it’s your pacifier.”
Indignation starts to bleed into her terror. She hates me for making a scene in front of everyone, but I cannot begin to express how much I don’t care. Watching a woman fall to her death for a ridiculous non-reason isn’t part of my planned existence.
“Got it? Good.” I let her go and head down the stairs, several dozen eyes staring reproachfully after me. Behind me I hear people murmur in kind tones to her, asking if she’s all right, probably more in response to my ferocity than her nearly falling to her death. They can do the kid gloves thing and fuss over her if they like. I hope she remembers me every time she sees a flight of stairs.
The traffic in the West End has thinned and it only takes thirty minutes to drive home to Wimbledon. I eat, and then deal with the shit that today has thrown at me.
A few hours later I put down my phone, having placed several calls to the police and the security desk at the museum. They’re going to forward the tapes to the police. I’ve identified the person in them. As I suspected, it’s my former assistant, Eric. He couldn’t even get this right. He was careful to keep his hat pulled low and his head down as he walked to my car, but halfway through the R of CONTROL he’s startled by someone walking by, and looks up. Right into the lens of a security camera. Idiot.
I head off to bed, and once I’m between the sheets I notice that I have an email from Petrou.
Stian, just had a thought. Lacey’s been invaluable in helping me with my exhibition. Why doesn’t she come along for the summer to assist you before she goes back to her Masters? She knows all about the pieces thanks to her coursework and can organize everything for you. Her attention to detail is better than yours.
I groan and rest the phone on my chest. I haven’t got any interviews lined up yet for Eric’s replacement and tomorrow my schedule is full all day. Petrou made his daughter sound like a train wreck at the exhibition, but what actually irritates me is someone else trying to fill the gaps in my life. Only I know what I need.
If she had a hand in organizing her father’s exhibition, Miss Petrou could potentially make an adequate assistant. Now I wish I’d had the chance to meet her while I was there.
I consider it for a moment longer and then reply. I can see her at the museum at seven-thirty tomorrow morning.
I put my phone on the bedside table and switch off the light. If that’s too early for Miss Petrou and she doesn’t show up, I will have saved us both a lot of hassle.
Early mornings are going to be the least of her problems if she works for me.
Chapter Two
Lacey
I hurry up the steps of Russell Square Tube station toward the Albright Collection, and the summer morning is warm and still. My stomach clenches uncomfortably around the muesli and yogurt I forced myself to eat in the bathroom at home.
The anxiety was bad this morning. My old habits crowded around me, eager to latch onto me while I’m weak. Even just thinking about going without breakfast and restricting myself to three hundred and fifty calories today made adrenalin surge through me; made me feel powerful again after dad sprang this interview on me at nearly midnight last night.
I was already feeling raw after a Viking in a suit grabbed me and shouted in my face. I know I did a stupid thing by digging in my bag for my affirmations while I was fleeing to the bathroom. If that man only knew the circumstances, could only feel what I feel. I needed that list.