On the Clock (Market Garden, #8)(20)

It was almost four in the afternoon on Friday when she caught him again. He hadn’t even seen or heard her come into his office, and she was standing right in front of his desk.

“Jet lag?” she asked with a playful twinkle in her eyes.

“Something like that.” Blake rubbed a hand over his face. Had he forgotten to shave this morning? Again? “Sorry. What were you saying?”

She smiled, seeming equal parts amused and sympathetic as she handed him a couple of printouts. “Your itinerary for the week after next. When you have time, could you read it over and make sure it’s all correct?”

He glanced at it, and his heart skipped when his gaze landed on the words London Heathrow Airport.

Oh yes. I need to get back to London. Soon.

“Blake?”

He shook himself, hoping to God he’d only been staring at that damned page for a couple of seconds. “Hmm?”

She laughed. “That last trip really put you through the wringer, didn’t it?”

“Oh yeah. It was, uh . . .” He cleared his throat. “Must be getting too old for this.”

Her eyebrows pinched together. “Do you want me to reschedule the next trip? You could—”

“No, no. Definitely not. I’ll make sure to sleep on the plane, and I’ll be fine.”

She eyed him skeptically, but then shrugged. “Okay.”

Deanna left him to his work and daydreams. He scanned the itinerary again, but he wasn’t checking for problems. He wanted the travel dates.

Then he opened up his email to send them to Jason. The two of them had been messaging constantly ever since he’d returned from London. Oh who was he kidding? They’d started emailing while Blake was sitting in the terminal at Heathrow, waiting to get on his plane.

He opened a new message to send the information to Jason, but then noticed a new email had come in from Jason.

His heart skipped as it always did when Jason wrote him. The guy was discreet even though Blake had the company’s IT guys by the balls, but the flirtation was undeniable. This message, though, was unusually brief.

Can you meet me on Skype tonight?

He didn’t hesitate: Yes. What for? And hit Send.

The response only took a few seconds. You’ll see. My username is Goldenboy_Jason. I’ll be online at 2000 your time.

Nice piece of branding there.

Thnx. Now get back to work. :-)

That was probably just as well. He finished typing up the London dates and added, “Flat rate for those days?” to his email, then sent it.

The response was prompt, so Jason was still right in front of his computer, and Blake enjoyed the thought that this was almost like a real-time conversation—they were both focused on the same thing five thousand miles apart. It made it feel like Jason was much closer than he actually was and at the same time the distance seemed much farther because they couldn’t touch or hear each other’s voice. Skype would at least bridge some of that gap.

And he’d not even think about why he possibly wanted that close contact, beyond keeping an eye on Jason so he didn’t suddenly “retire” between Blake’s business meetings in London. And maybe Jason would put up with it to keep a lucrative regular happy—though if that was all it was, he did a great job of pretending he was simply being chatty (and sometimes catty) with a friend.

Jason liked movies and food and commented insightfully on both. There was no shortage of either in London, and Blake admired Jason’s seemingly unrelenting quest for finding the best in terms of food and entertainment. They didn’t talk about clients, unless it was in the most general terms, say, when Jason was booked overnight and wasn’t going to be responding for a few hours. Then Blake found himself wishing him a good time while simultaneously searching for a distraction—and sometimes, he imagined Jason’s body with a stranger, casting Jason as a protagonist in the internal pornos he played in his mind. It all worked out very well that way.

Blake managed to finish the day without committing some sort of massive faux pas on a phone or email conversation, and he’d been as productive as could be expected by the time he decided to call it a day.

“Have a good weekend, Dee,” he said on the way out.

Deanna looked up from her desk. “You too, boss.”

He paused and turned around. “You staying late?”

“Not too much later.” She tapped the stack of papers in front of her. “Just finishing a few—”

“Dee.” He shot her a pointed look. “You’re turning into a workaholic.”

She stiffened and took a breath like she was about to protest, but then she laughed. “Well, I did learn from the best.”

“You did. Go home.”

“Okay. Get out of here. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Good. Text me when you’re out of here. I want you to have an actual weekend for once.”

She touched her forehead in a mock salute, and then started stacking her various papers on the edge of her desk, which she always did before she left. Good—she didn’t need another seventy-hour week.

With his PA heading home, and the rest of the office pretty much a ghost town, Blake got the hell out of there too. All the way back out of Manhattan, across into New Jersey, and down the line to his stop, his brain was firmly on that short exchange with Jason.