The Grand Duel (The Grand Men #4)
Chapter 11
21%
ELEVEN
Charlie
T he meeting goes as well as can be expected, and as always, my gut was right. We have a strong case against the mother, and I’m certain we’ll be able to get full custody for the father.
I exit out of our headquarters and spot Scott waiting at the curb. With the presumption that Lissie is already in the car after leaving the meeting around fifteen minutes ago to use the bathroom, I slide inside myself.
The back seat is empty.
I sigh. “We’ll have to wait a minute, Scott.”
“For Lissie?” he asks.
I nod, but he shakes his head at me. “Gone, mate. Ducked out around fifteen minutes ago. Told me she was done for the day.”
“You’re fucking with me?”
He looks at me with a wicked grin. “Office?”
“Yes. And it’s Miss Elton to you.” I shake my head, running my hands through my hair in frustration. “How much am I even paying you?”
I’ve known Scott for years. He’s ex-military and primarily works for Mason Lowell, one of my oldest friends. No doubt he relished sending Scott my way when Edna came knocking.
Scott chuckles. “You’re showing your ass, Aldridge.”
I am.
Lissie Elton has well and truly screwed me.
Lissie is nowhere to be found when we get back to the office, which only pisses me off further. I told her I wasn’t angry, that I needed to speak to her after the meeting, and she left early?
I’m angry now.
I try working, remaining at my desk until gone seven, but when Daisy comes to me and places her head on my knee, telling me it’s time to go home, I shut down my computer and head home for the night.
I go through the motions, eating dinner and then showering. I try to work on the case some more, a way to distract myself from the fact I spent all of last night and the best part of today talking myself into telling Lissie it was me in the club, and then she left me there at the meeting.
My work does nothing to distract me, and I resort to the twenty-four-hour gym that’s close by my building instead.
I’m on mile nine, drenched in sweat, when I decide the entire situation needs to be addressed.
Tonight.
I leave the upper level of the gym and have tunnel vision as I head for the changing rooms. I don’t even peel off my T-shirt before I start digging around in my gym bag for my phone.
I pull up my work emails and type out her new address.
Miss Elton,
My apologies for the late email. Unfortunately, you left our meeting this afternoon before it was at its end. I find your approach and overall attitude under these circumstances unprofessional, and I do not appreciate your lack of communication. Had I known you needed to leave early I would have made arrangements to travel separately.
As requested earlier today, there is a matter I do need to discuss with you, and I expect you to remain present until the end of your contracted hours tomorrow so that we can address this.
Regards,
Charles Aldridge
Director
Charles Aldridge Ltd
I read over the email, my heart still a little erratic from my run.
Tossing the phone, I run my hand through my hair, huffing out a long breath.
She’s driving me crazy.
I undress and shower, taking my time in the hope it will wash away whatever this lingering, simmering, burning feeling is.
I knew working with her would be hard, but this is impossible. I can’t look at her without thinking about her in the club. Us together. Her hands on my body. Mine on hers.
And yet every time she opens her mouth, it’s like I’m seeing her for the first time.
I scrub at my face, the hot water running over my head and back. When I pull my hands away, I see my phone lit up in my bag and make a quick dash for it, wiping my hands on the towel and opening her email.
Dear Mr Aldridge,
A polite reminder that it is Lissie, not Miss Elton (as stated previously).
Regards,
Lissie (Lis.se)
Assistant to Dickrector
Charles Aldridge Ltd
I am not an angry man. I am a very relaxed, laid-back man. But fuck me, this woman. I do my best to keep the phone in my hand and not launch it across the changing booth I’m in.
Lissie,
My apologies for calling you by your legal name. I presume the missed typo in your sign off is a one-off, and you won’t require a proofreader when sending basic emails.
Charles Aldridge
Director (dai.rek.tuh)
Charles Aldridge Ltd
You know it, Charles.
Lissie (Lis.se)
Assistant to director
Charles Aldridge Ltd
Lissie
I place down my phone and lean back against the wall, the half-empty bottle of red wine still clutched in my hand.
The idea of having my own place again seemed like a great one until I was reminded of the reality of it.
When I worked at FTR, I’d finish at the office at five, be home by six, and be out the door again by seven to help at the old community centre I used to go to when I was a child. I was always busy back then. The community centre would take over an hour on the tube being on the other side of London, but I liked the commute. I was gutted when they shut it down and turned the centre into flats.
Once I lost my job at the firm and then in turn my apartment, I knew I’d have to ask someone for help. Ginny was more of an acquaintance from work than a friend, but living with her was nice. Being around someone outside of work was nice.
Maybe Bronwyn could give me more shifts.
I take another swig out of the wine bottle.
The little girl whose case we worked on today is called Hannah. She’s just eight years old, and yet there’s an innocence missing in her stare that should be there. I spent hours listening, watching, hoping I’d find it.
I snigger and shake my head, blowing out a long breath.
Swiping open my phone screen, I scroll across to my banking app and stare at the colossal amount of money sitting in my account. I click on the tab that holds my trust fund, not thinking too much about it as I fire off donations to the charities I have saved.
My stare is on my feet as I wait for each payment to clear, thousands of pounds disappearing from the account. I roll my toes together over and over, willing the burn in the backs of my eyes and throat to fuck off.
I see the email come through as the final payment completes.
Will you be starting at a normal hour in the morning?
Charles Aldridge
Director
Charles Aldridge Ltd
I was convinced he’d fire me. After ignoring me for two days and then telling me he had a “matter to discuss” with me, I knew that was it, I’d lost my job on day two. By the time Hannah had finished telling us her account of what we already had written out extensively on paper, I didn’t really have it in me to be talked down to. To be told I was no longer needed by Mr Aldridge.
It was unprofessional and wrong to leave him there. I pride myself on leading with kindness, and yet I let his rudeness get the better of me.
The only thing I can do is apologise in the morning and hope that I keep my job. Because if I’m going to live in this flat and continue to support Jovie, I’m going to need it.
I click off the email and pull up my saved voicemails, knowing it’s stupid but also knowing I’m already on the floor today.
Literally.
My eyes drift closed at the sound of my mother’s soft, eloquent voice. “Lissie, your father and I will be hosting an evening with the Lockerbies and Saddingtons next Friday. They’ll only ask questions if you’re not there. Are you able to make it, please? Call me back when convenient.”
It killed me inside to ignore the call. It was one of the first. Weeks spent agonising over the decision to cut them off.
“Lissie, it’s Mum. We’ll be leaving for our trip on Thursday. If you’d like to come for a dinner before then, you’ll need to let me know so that I can book Claude. Speak soon, darling.”
It was hard. It felt impossible at times to shut her out, the idea that she might feel the hurt I knew only too well cutting me up inside.
“Lissie, the Alps were beautiful. Stunning. You’ll have to pop over and have a look at all the photos. Your dad said you could stay if you’d like. Let us know when’s best.”
There wasn’t a best time, not in the present day anyway. Certainly not in the future.
I exit out of the voicemails and email back my boss.
9 a.m. sharp.
Lissie (Lis.se)
Assistant to director
Charles Aldridge Ltd
I turn my phone onto Do Not Disturb after that, knowing the only person I’d possibly want to speak to right now is Jovie, the only person I have on my approved senders list.
My hand flexes around the bottle of wine at my side, and I screw my nose up at it, not wanting the first half let alone the second. I stand, not allowing myself a second longer to wallow in self-pity.
I’m twenty-four years old, living in the biggest city the country has to offer, doing my damn best to survive. I’m not letting my dickhead of a boss, or the first case to land in my lap, derail me.
I look around my flat, swallowing back the lump in my throat as I wonder what I could do to make it feel a little homelier.
My new bed is still in its box, leaving my mattress on the floor whilst I wait for the toolbox I ordered online to arrive. I have a small cuddle chair Ginny dropped off to me so that I’d have something to sit on whilst I wait for a sofa to be delivered—those things take months. My eyes land on my iPad which I have set up on the kitchen counter playing reruns of Sex and the City .
I check the time and then google the opening times of the local supermarket.
I’m going to buy a TV.