Martha Fletcher has only ever had one job- Executive Assistant to Sam Courtenay.
She'll schedule his diary, pick up his dry cleaning, usher girls out of his apartment first thing in the morning... nothing was out of bounds until one night, that blur...
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With Charlotte's wedding behind us, I knew my relationship with Martha was on borrowed time. I wanted a clean break when the time came and had started to look at properties, deciding that coming back to this house every day would be too much. My last two relationships had been serious and they both ended under this roof. If that's not an omen to move, I don't know what is. In the meantime, I had decided that a summer in Ibiza, at the house my father had left me, was my best bet. Time away from London will do me good.
I had asked Martha to liaise more with Evie since we came back from France so that I could get all my work in order, start delegating more to Inell and tie up some loose ends. If Martha were hovering over my shoulder, she'd know that something was amiss, especially considering the expansion of Courtenay Galleries into the adjoining property. I had taken the lead on it since bringing Michael on board but now I was handing the reins over to Evie, people would start asking questions.
Martha knew that there was something going on. That was the problem living and working together; I couldn't walk out of the living room, phone in hand, without her asking if everything was ok. Then at work, she would come into my office every ten minutes, checking if I needed anything. It was frustrating and I knew my behaviour towards her was bordering on being a fucking jerk but I just couldn't help it. Maybe my subconscious was making me into the arsehole so that Martha would hate me enough by the time I break up with her that she wouldn't feel as broken when the time comes.
"Fuck," I groan to myself as I drop my head against my desk. I hated myself for behaving like this but at the end of the day, I kept rationalising that I was being cruel to be kind. Cruel to be kind had become my mantra over the past few days. "Just think, she'll be happier in the long run."
Lifting my head from my desk, I run my hands over my long stubble and sigh heavily. I hadn't shaven in days and I was looking scraggly for it; my whiskers were unkempt and my snazzy dressing was taking a vacation, leaving me to look a shadow of myself. I couldn't stand to look in a mirror anymore because I hated the person staring back at me. All I saw was a coward. So I stopped looking.
Self-loathing is a cruel mistress.
"You ok?" Martha's sweet voice asked as she entered my office. I winced at how caring she sounded. "You've been acting really weird since the wedding."
"I'm fine," I mutter. I start shuffling paper aimlessly about my desk, trying to appear busy so that she will leave. "Just have a lot going on at the moment."
Silence lingers in the air, almost suffocating me. Eventually, I hear her cough quietly and say, "Well, if you need me, I'll be in with Evie. Sam? It is ok to talk to me if you're stressed, you know."
I don't reply. I was too scared. Instead, I watched her leave and felt my heart shatter into a thousand pieces. This is agony. Fuck, fuck, fuck and fucking fuck, I internally scream. Pushing myself away from the desk, I grab my phone and wallet and rush home, not saying goodbye to anyone. I ignored Martha, Evie and Inell's worried calls and texts.
