Wish You Weren't Here, page 1
WISH YOU WEREN’T HERE
PORTIA MACINTOSH
For my wonderful readers
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
More from Portia MacIntosh
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Portia MacIntosh
Love Notes
About Boldwood Books
1
14 FEBRUARY 2023
I’m not bossy, I’m the boss!
I examine the pink mug in my hand, smiling at the slogan proudly emblazoned across it, before setting it back down on the desk.
I stretch out in the ergonomic chair, my back arching as I settle into a good spot. I kick off my heel and pop my feet on the desk – perfect.
I notice a Post-it, stuck to my elbow, so I rip it off like it’s a plaster.
Nice girls don’t get the corner office.
Well, ain’t that the truth. I don’t know how many corner offices are here (well, I guess I technically do, given that there’s, y’know, four per floor) but I’ll bet most of those belong to men.
The sun is streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows (well, streaming might be a bit OTT, given that we’re in February). One of the things I love about Leeds Dock is that it always looks beautiful, no matter what season we’re in, and even when the weather isn’t a spectacle, there is always something interesting to stare at.
There’s always plenty to see around the canal, and the boats that moor there – and I do love to watch the cute little water taxis come and go. It’s just such a good spot for people watching and, given that our office looks out at the Royal Armouries Museum, it’s not unusual to see a knight or hear a cannon being fired.
There’s never dull moment around here. Well, apart from all the very, very dull moments, of course.
I let out a contented sigh, rolling my shoulders back and feeling the tension leave my body. This is the life.
A knock at the door jolts me from my thoughts, and I quickly swing my feet down from the desk, my heart racing as I glance up.
Through a little window in the door, I see a man standing there. Wow. He’s hot – like if Josh Hartnett had a younger brother kind of hot. Tall, with that effortlessly tousled dark hair, deep-set hazel eyes, and a jawline that you could cut yourself on.
We lock eyes through the glass for a moment, and as his smile widens, I involuntarily suck in a sharp breath. That was weird.
I shake it off, snapping into professional mode.
‘Come,’ I say seriously, beckoning him forward with two fingers.
I don’t know how else to describe his entrance other than by saying he fills the room. Wow, he really is tall. I suppose I am sitting down but I’m not much taller when I’m standing up. If he’s 6' 3" or 6' 4" then he’s pushing a foot taller than me and I am into it.
‘Hello,’ he says. ‘Jennifer Carter?’
He glances at the nameplate on the door before his gaze lands back on me.
‘I’m a busy woman, what can I do for you?’ I cut to the chase, trying to sound as authoritative as possible. Oh, God, what am I doing?
‘I’m here to fix the computer,’ he says, flashing that smile again.
‘Oh, finally,’ I reply, leaning back in my chair with a faux-exasperated sigh. ‘I’m just so, so busy.’
‘Let’s see if we can get to the bottom of the problem then,’ he says, stepping closer.
He looks at the screen from behind me for a second before placing his hands on the desk, one on either side of me.
As he leans in, his face inches from mine, his chest lightly touching my shoulder, all I can think about is how good he smells. I wonder if there’s enough physical contact between us for him to feel my heart beating, because it feels like it’s jumping out of my chest like I’m a cartoon character.
‘What would you say was wrong with it?’ he asks, his voice low and silky smooth.
What would I say was wrong with it?
‘Oh, you know computers,’ I say, puffing air from my cheeks as I bat my hand. ‘It’s always something.’
Wow, that was just… awful.
‘Let’s see then,’ he says, moving the mouse around, clicking his way deep into the settings. ‘I’m surprised you can’t fix your own computer,’ he muses, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. ‘I would have thought being in charge of a company that builds apps…’
‘Well, why have a dog and bark yourself?’ I reply, trying to sound nonchalant, but sounding a little bit like an arsehole. ‘If everyone fixed their own computers, you would be out of a job.’
‘Fair enough,’ he chuckles, clearly amused. ‘You know, I think it might just need turning off and on,’ he eventually says, snapping me out of my thoughts.
‘Seriously?’ I blurt.
‘Could you do the honours, and flick it on and off at the plug?’ he asks, stepping aside just enough for me to squeeze past him.
‘Okay,’ I say, getting up and leaning over the desk to reach the power bar attached to the back of it.
Just as I’m about to flip the switch, I feel a sharp nip on my bum.
‘How dare you?’ I say, spinning around to face him, trying to channel all the righteous anger I can muster. ‘I’m the boss around here, show me some respect.’
The man just laughs, holding up a bright yellow Post-it.
‘This was stuck to your arse,’ he tells me.
I blink, as my righteous anger quickly fades into pure embarrassment.
‘You almost had an HR nightmare on your hands,’ I say, reaching out to take the Post-it from him.
He inadvertently reads it as he hands it over and I notice him stifling a smile.
I cringe when I see the words written on it, claiming:
You are worthy of love.
‘A Valentine’s Day note to yourself?’ he asks, still smiling that infuriatingly perfect smile.
‘Oh, well, you know, it’s not easy being an important woman in an important job,’ I reply, trying to play it cool. ‘So many men, so little free time.’
‘Is there not a Mr Carter then?’ he asks, his tone a mix of curiosity and surprise.
‘Mr… oh, no, no, there isn’t,’ I reply.
‘So, no Valentine’s Day plans?’ he continues.
‘No, no plans,’ I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
‘Would you like some?’ he asks, his smile growing cheekier by the second. His dimples are everything – the kind of feature you see on a man and think, you know what, you can ruin my life if you want. ‘You’re turned on, by the way,’ he says.
‘What?’ I blurt, feeling my face flush. Is he a mind reader as well as an IT whizz?
‘Your computer,’ he clarifies. ‘You’re turned on, and everything seems okay.’
Oh, there’s no way he didn’t just do that on purpose.
‘Oh, good,’ I reply, trying to regain my composure.
Did he just ask me out? Was he joking? I can’t tell, but I definitely, definitely want to know.
‘So, Valentine’s Day,’ he says, leaning in slightly as he gets our conversation back on track. ‘Every CEO should have a date on Valentine’s Day.’
‘COO,’ I correct him automatically. ‘Erm, yeah, okay.’
He opens his mouth to speak but we’re interrupted by the door swinging open, banging against the wall, and then…
‘I’m here, I’m here,’ Jennifer Carter says as she drops her handbag down on the floor.
The real Jennifer Carter, that is.
My heart sinks as she marches straight to the desk, dropping into her chair with a huff. Then she turns her attention to the man and a smile slowly spreads across her lips.
‘Oh, you’re here,’ she says to the man – no doubt changing her tune now that she can see what a hottie he is. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’
‘Sure,’ he replies, glancing at me with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
‘Pemberton, can you get us two coffees?’ Jennifer barks at me, her tone sharp.
Shit. I wasn’t even supposed to be in here, in her actual office, never mind cosplaying as her to pass the time. If this guy says anything to her about this, I’m dead.
‘Pemberton,’ Jennifer says slowly and loudly, tryi
‘Annual leave?’ the man asks, clearly unsure what else to say.
‘Annual bloody maternity leave,’ Jennifer replies, rolling her eyes. ‘Honestly, that girl is like a log flume. She’s a bloody good assistant, when she’s here – but you can’t fire them for getting pregnant again and again, can you?’
‘I don’t suppose you can,’ he says, looking as uncomfortable as I feel.
‘You can’t, I’ve checked,’ Jennifer confirms, oblivious to the awkwardness in the room. ‘So I’ve got Pemberton here, from downstairs, who I told to sit outside my office and answer my phone…’
‘I was just, er—’ I start, but the man cuts me off.
‘She was just showing me in,’ he says smoothly, throwing me a lifeline.
‘Oh, well, that’s something,’ Jennifer says dismissively. ‘Come on then, Pemberton, two coffees. I’ll take mine black – I’m cutting out milk.’
‘Just milk for me,’ the man says, turning to me again. ‘I’m sweet enough.’
I scurry out of the room, my heart pounding as I head to the small kitchenette next door.
I chew my lip as I make their drinks. He can’t have ratted me out yet, because if he had Jennifer would be in here with more steam coming out of her ears than the kettle is currently pushing out, and if he hasn’t done it yet then perhaps he isn’t going to? I mean, he did just lie for me, so that’s something.
I return with their coffees, trying to steady the tray with my shaking hands.
‘Just put them down there, Pemberton,’ Jennifer says, barely looking up. ‘And I’m going to need you to stay up here a bit longer, until the temp arrives. Hold all my calls.’
‘Okay, sure,’ I say, placing the drinks on the desk before retreating back to the desk outside the office, where I’m supposed to be.
I fidget in my chair, twirling it from side to side, trying to listen in to their conversation but I’m getting nothing through the wall.
After what feels like an eternity, the man finally emerges from Jennifer’s office. He closes the door quietly behind him and then saunters over to where I’m sitting, a grin spreading across his face as he approaches.
‘Pemberton?’ he says, pointing at me.
‘That’s my last name,’ I reply quickly, feeling a little flustered. ‘I’m Lana.’
‘Ethan,’ he says, extending his hand. Now that he’s holding me, I don’t want him to let go.
‘You’re not an IT technician, are you, Ethan?’ I say, narrowing my eyes at him.
‘And you’re not Jennifer Carter or a COO,’ he replies, making my heart sink. ‘I would still like to take you out for Valentine’s Day, though.’
Holy shit. Did he just—?
‘Er, yeah, okay,’ I say, trying not to sound too eager.
‘Here’s my number,’ he says, grabbing a pen from the desk and scribbling on the back of another one of Jennifer’s motivational Post-it notes that he must have lifted from her office. This one says:
Your intuition knows her shit.
‘Send me a message, so I’ve got your number, we’ll make a plan,’ he says with a smile.
‘Okay,’ I reply, my heart racing – somehow getting faster, I really thought I was at my maximum bpm when Jennifer walked in and almost caught me pretending to be her.
‘See you later,’ he says, his smile lingering as he turns to leave.
‘Yeah, see you later,’ I echo.
And just like that, he’s gone as quickly as he appeared.
As soon as the door closes behind him, I can’t help but kick my legs with glee under the desk. To think, I thought I was going to be spending Valentine’s Day alone – not that I cared, because Valentine’s Day is shit – but, well, perhaps this one might not be quite as shit as usual.
2
I don’t feel well. I’m kind of warm, my heart is beating really fast, my breathing isn’t right, and I’ve got this overwhelming feeling of… oh, God. I’m nervous. I’m not ill, I’m fucking nervous. About a boy. What is going on with me? I don’t get nervous before a date and yet here I am, in the ladies’ loos, checking my outfit, my hair, my make-up – everything, like he didn’t see me at work earlier. The dim lighting in here is more forgiving than the fluorescent lights at the office, and I’ve spent a couple of hours trying to look my best, but I’m still scrutinising every detail.
My blonde hair falls in soft waves, framing my face in a way that almost hides the nerves – or at least I tell myself it does, because I can sort of hide behind it. I move a strand, ensuring it’s perfectly in place.
I’m wearing a black off-the-shoulder minidress that hopefully hugs my curves in all the right places. The idea of a little black dress is a cliché but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad call. It’s the kind of outfit that looks sleek and effortless, without looking like you tried too hard, and it just gives off a cool, confident vibe that you don’t really get from anything else. You can wear it to any occasion (even a funeral although, granted, I would probably go for one that covered both shoulders, and probably my knees, but you take my point) and it’s almost unreadable. Was it four digits from Prada or two digits from Zara? Do you know who can’t answer that question? The kind of guys who go on dates with me (FYI, though, it’s the latter).
My red heels add a few inches to my height, making me feel a bit more powerful, even if they’re not the most comfortable shoes in the world, and my bright red lipstick goes a long way toward that too.
Finally, I smooth down the fabric of my dress one last time and take a deep breath. Why am I so rattled? I’m no stranger to going on dates – I’ve been on more than I would have liked – but there’s something about Ethan that rattles me.
I sent him my number earlier, and he replied almost right away. That never happens. Boys usually keep you waiting, right? Or maybe it’s just the ones I’ve been seeing. But not Ethan. He told me to meet him at Thin Aire, a rooftop bar in the city centre (something else I’m no stranger to). So here I am, nerves and all, to see if seeing him again gives me that funny feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I step out of the bathroom and make my way through the crowd. It’s Valentine’s Day, so the place is packed with couples, groups of single women sipping cocktails, and men who are out with their mates – no one wants to spend Valentine’s Day alone, do they?
It’s a good atmosphere. If anyone is desperate, no one is letting on. Everyone looks like they’re having a great time laughing, dancing and drinking – well, those who can actually get to the crowded bar are drinking, anyway.
And then I see him. Ethan. He’s standing by the entrance, right on time. Not fashionably late, not even a little bit, just… there. And shit, he looks even better than he did earlier.
He’s wearing a sharp dark blazer over a fitted white shirt, the top few buttons casually undone in that way that makes you want to undo the rest – with your teeth. His trousers are slim and stylish, matching his blazer perfectly. There’s something about the way the dim lighting of the bar catches his dark eyes that makes them smoulder even more intensely. Christ, do you think he’d marry me?
‘Hello,’ he says, a warm smile spreading across his face as he steps forward and greets me with a kiss on the cheek. His lips brush against my skin just lightly enough to send a shiver through my body. ‘Good to see you again, Jennifer.’
