Her Best Worst Mistake by Sarah Mayberry Page B

the building
to the foyer. He glared at the floor indicator, and the moment the
doors slid open he stepped inside and stooped to grab the bottle.
Schnapps in hand, he headed for the door.
    He set the bottle on the kitchen bench when he
arrived home. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he’d skipped lunch
and he knew he had to eat. There was cheese and bread and he turned
the griller on and made grilled cheese on toast, a meal he hadn’t
enjoyed since his Trinity College years. Throughout, the schnapps
bottle seemed to mock him, and finally he reached across and
grabbed it, thrusting it into the first cabinet that came to
hand.
    He killed the rest of the evening
going over financial reports and making notes before falling into
bed. He was bone-tired, but his brain circled and circled, churning
over Violet’s visit and the accusations they’d thrown at each other
again and again.
    It was a good thing they didn’t have to see each
other any more. She made him say and do things he wasn’t proud
of—like the way he’d all but kicked her out of his office, accusing
her of gloating and rejecting her gift.
    Yes, it had been a pity-gift, but that was beside the
point. She’d come all the way across town on a cold winter’s night
in order to see him. She’d gone out of her way. And he’d hurled
accusations and insults at her head.
    Not that she would care what someone like him said to
her. She made no secret of the fact that she found him highly
amusing. A funny little man worrying about funny little
things—things that had been handed to her on a silver platter the
day she was born.
    He punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape
and rolled onto his back. He frowned, willing Violet out of his
head. He needed to sleep. He had heavy schedule tomorrow, and he
needed to be fresh.
    He concentrated on reciting the 2007 amendments to
the Tax Act in his head. Slowly his muscles and mind relaxed and he
drifted toward sleep. He was on the verge of dropping off when an
image popped into his mind: Violet’s face after he’d told her how
relieved and happy he was that he’d never have to see her again.
There had been a long moment there when they’d both been very
still, his words hanging in the air between them. For a split
second, her golden brown eyes had stared back into his own and he’d
seen...what, exactly?
    Hurt?
    Pain?
    Surely not. His eyes flicked open and he stared at
the ceiling. Violet Sutcliffe had been insulted by far better men
than him in her day. He was sure of it. She was a hardened party
girl, cynical and worldly and always up for a good time. Anything
he said to her would be water off a duck’s back.
    It took him another recitation of the Tax Act to slip
off to sleep.
     
    He woke feeling tired. His work day was punctuated
with difficult, intense meetings, the highlight of which was an
awkward, deeply uncomfortable session with Edward and a number of
other senior partners.
    He’d talked briefly with Edward when he landed two
days ago, reporting in to let the older man know that his visit to
Australia had been fruitless in terms of bringing Elizabeth home.
It had been a difficult conversation, full of undercurrents and
unspoken regret, and every meeting or encounter with Edward since
had been tinged with the same unease and restraint. That Edward was
embarrassed on Elizabeth’s behalf was clear, but Martin had no idea
how to address the chasm that had opened between them.
    Fortunately there was always more than enough work to
bury himself in and he pushed on into the afternoon, losing himself
in a complicated brief. He was still hard at it when his assistant
poked her head into his office at five.
    “ Don’t forget they’ve got the men
coming into steam clean the carpets tonight,” she said.
    He saw her handbag was already on her
shoulder—clearly, she was more than happy to leave work early for a
change. Behind her he could see the cleaning crew setting up their
equipment.
    Great. So much for