Goodie looked down at Salem’s pleading face and stroked the top of his head.
‘Not much longer, my little mouse,’ she murmured to him in Russian, her hoarse voice rasping over her sore throat.
They had arrived back in London yesterday, and today was catch-up time. Nick and Ed had meetings all over the place; the latest was in the room Goodie and Salem were standing outside. No reception desk and no security guards meant that Goodie had to guard the door. She blinked her sore eyes and sniffed to try and clear her blocked nose. The last week with Nick’s family had turned her soft, and that bloody two-year-old had infected her with the toddler equivalent of the viral plague.
One week of eating regular meals (even eating biscuits, and not just once) now meant she couldn’t stomach a simple ten-hour fast. Goodie had eaten breakfast that morning, but nothing since. There was food provided in the conference rooms but nobody had thought to bring any out to her. In the normal way of things this was not unusual, and she had a technique of pushing away the gnawing hunger pangs and focusing on what was important. In the endurance training she underwent in Russia she was hands down the best they’d ever seen, better than hardened operatives male or female, and Goodie had only been twelve the first time she went through it. Hunger, pain, exhaustion were normally things she was able to push away in order to get the job done.
She straightened her shoulders and flashed Salem’s pleading face an annoyed look; somehow he’d gone soft as well. Nick emerged from the conference room deep in conversation with two men and one woman in suits, heading towards the lift at power-walking speed. Ed, looking a little bewildered, was trailing behind at his usual pace, which seemed firmly set to amble, with Bertie bringing up the rear holding a tray laden with cups and a teapot and saying to the flustered catering staff, ‘No, not a bit of it. Can’t have you ladies carting all this heavy stuff around when there’s chaps aplenty to do it. Not when you’ve rustled up some most excellent pastries.’ Goodie rolled her eyes: the catering ladies looked quite well-built enough to shift a few bits of crockery.
‘Bertie,’ Nick snapped from the lift, his foul mood showing itself yet again today. Bertie jumped and a cup toppled off the edge of the tray, which was caught midair thanks to Goodie’s lightning-quick reflexes. ‘Come on.’ Nick was holding open the lift door and scowling across at them. He didn’t say anything to Goodie and she couldn’t really blame him. He was furious with her; that was probably why he was happy for her to starve. So much for him giving a shit. Since they’d arrived back in London she had gone back to absolute professionalism. To Goodie that meant invisible presence, and after three days of attempting to engage her in conversation or even coax a smile out of her, Nick had given up.
She didn’t hold it against him. Not really.
Well … maybe a bit.
Goodie shoved the cup onto the tray and put the tray up on the reception desk, then gave Bertie a gentle shove in the direction of the lifts. He gave the reception and catering staff a cheery wave and a couple of ‘What ho!’s, then trotted off towards the open lift doors and an impatient Nick. Goodie slipped in next to him and the doors swiftly closed. She felt the familiar panic claw at her throat, and fought it down. But with the way she was feeling, and the fact she hadn’t eaten in ten hours, this proved harder than normal. She felt for Salem, leant into him, and he licked her hand.
‘You okay, old girl?’ Bertie asked her, and she stiffened.
‘I’m fine,’ she rasped out, feeling a trickle of sweat run from her forehead down to her cheek.
‘If you don’t mind me saying, you look a bit squiffy.’
Goodie wasn’t sure what ‘a bit squiffy’ meant; she felt like shit but there was no way she was admitting that in the confines of this lift with Nick listening. Luckily she was saved by the doors opening, and was the first to step out so she could check the foyer. She was about to move to the side and let the suits pass when she felt her upper arm enclosed by a large, warm hand. She looked up at Nick and blinked to try and clear the aching feeling behind her eyes so she could focus.
*****
‘Bloody hell,’ Nick swore as he stared down at her flushed face and bloodshot eyes. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘Nothing,’ she croaked out with visible effort, before swallowing and trying to jerk her arm away from him. The half-hearted attempt made him frown. He had no doubt that if she was operating at full par he would have been shoved halfway across the building by now.
‘You’re sick,’ he said in amazement. In truth it was difficult to comprehend any illness having the guts to brave this woman’s immune system, but as he laid his hand across her forehead (much to her visible horror) and felt the burning skin beneath, he had to conclude that she was actually ill. She dropped her eyes from his and shoved her free hand into Salem’s fur, something he noticed she did whenever she felt uncomfortable or stressed. He had long since stopped insisting that Salem stay in the car on these trips, for that very reason. Every lift they went in he could feel the tension radiating off her; it would only ease if Salem was next to her and she could lean against him in some way.
Little did Goodie know, but Nick had actually wasted a fair amount of time and even made a few threats in order to have advance permission to allow that mongrel into buildings which were otherwise always dog-free zones. But there was something almost obscene about seeing someone as powerful and in control as Goodie tense up with real fear. For some reason he couldn’t abide it and would do anything to stop it. Even if that meant he was now labelled ‘that eccentric billionaire with the dog obsession’.
‘I think,’ she rasped out, then cleared her throat, ‘I think I need to talk to Sam.’ Nick barely heard her; he was mentally going through the day and trying to remember if he’d seen Goodie eat or drink anything at all.
‘Goddamn it,’ he muttered as he dropped her arm and turned on his heel to walk back to the group of investors, who were staring at him like he was a few sandwiches short of a picnic. After a couple of curt explanations and a bit of manoeuvring on his part, he turned back to Goodie.
‘Ed, Bertie,’ Nick snapped. ‘Let’s go.’ Goodie was on her phone. He resisted the urge to touch her again, knowing how much it might annoy her and not wanting her to build up any sort of defence against what he was planning, and instead simply nodded towards the exit. She shoved her phone back in her pocket and followed them. But before they could leave the building, Sam and that Geoff bloke Katie had brought up to the house strode through the double doors and blocked their exit. Sam’s eyes zeroed in on Goodie and he frowned.
‘Geoff’ll take over now,’ he said to her, and the big man next to him stepped forward towards Nick. ‘Go home, get some rest.’
As always Sam’s tone was brusque, and his words to the point, but those last were much softer than was his norm. Nick flicked the enormous Geoff an annoyed look and stepped around him to get to Sam.
‘She’s not going anywh –’
‘She’s sick, mate,’ Sam snapped, stepping between Nick and Goodie. ‘Geoff’s going to take over. She needs to go home; she can’t work like this.’
Nick glanced over Sam’s shoulder at Goodie; she was looking worse by the minute, and arguing in the middle of a busy foyer probably wasn’t helping matters. He looked back at the three key investors he had almost convinced to come on board, and rubbed his jaw.
‘Okay, fine,’ he bit out. ‘But someone should go with her, she’s –’
‘I can look after myself,’ Goodie rasped, her eyes flashing with anger. ‘I have a fucking cold. Go to your meeting.’ With that she spun on her heel and left the building, Salem trotting along behind her.
‘Well?’ Nick asked Sam.
‘What?’
‘Well, aren’t you going to go with her, you prick?’
‘She’ll be fine, Nick,’ Sam said, his eyes losing some of their former annoyance and looking suspiciously bright with humour. ‘I promise; she can look after herself.’
‘I don’t think –’
‘Listen, big man,’ Sam cut him off, ‘we have to stay with you. Understand? That’s the deal with this gig. We’re not here for shits and giggles, okay? Goodie can look after herself; she’s been doing it her whole life.’
Nick clenched his jaw and his hands balled into fists by his sides.
‘Um … listen, Nick, mate,’ Ed mumbled, rubbing his unshaven face and shifting uncomfortably on his ratty old Converse. (Nick’s attempts to coax Ed out of his ironic science-geek T-shirts, ill-fitting jeans and falling-apart trainers had not been successful. To be honest as soon as he started describing the science behind the idea, his stutter dissolved, genius shined through, and nobody in the room gave a fuck what he was wearing anyway.) ‘Maybe we should get going.’
‘Um … ’ Bertie put in. ‘Think old Ed might have a point, Flopsy; the natives are getting a bit restless.’
‘Right,’ Nick clipped, shooting Sam one last frustrated look before he strode back towards the waiting executives.
*****
Nick stared at the cup of tea in front of him, taking a deep breath in through his nose and letting it out in a huff from his mouth. Goodie’s beautiful but bloodshot eyes, flushed cheeks and the bead of sweat on her forehead flitted through his mind as he tried to focus on Ed’s excited voice. Everyone else around the conference table was absolutely transfixed by Ed’s enthusiasm and the revolutionary ideas he had developed.
Unlike in other meetings of this kind, Nick had barely said a word. Surprisingly Bertie had stepped into the breach rather well: introducing Ed and discussing some of the financial details of the project. Nick tried to focus back onto what was being said but all he seemed to be capable of hearing was Goodie’s hoarse voice and seeing the wince on her face when she swallowed. Before he knew what he was going to do, he had shoved his chair back and was standing up. All eyes swung to him. He scanned the surprised faces, mumbled a few weak apologies and told Bertie and Ed, ‘I’m sure you chaps can finish up without me.’ With that he shoved his laptop in his briefcase, slammed it shut and strode over to the door.
