Of Love, Loss, and London

Chapter 2: Mrs MacIntire

ZAC typed furiously at his keyboard, trying to make the impossible deadline set for him by his employer. As his fingers flew, dozens of choice words came to mind, not one of which was suitable for the workplace. When the source of his current frustration came barrelling down the hallway, however, they scattered on the breeze.

'I'm not here!' MacIntire shot over his shoulder as he made a mad dash for his office. And, with a slam of his office door, it was as if his words had come true. With the inaudible sigh that he reserved for his employer alone, Zac rolled his eyes, adjusted his glasses, and continued his work.

Not a few moments later, an impeccably dressed woman followed the same path down the hall, though in a very different manner. She did not merely walk: she floated. Zac was certain he had never before been in the presence of such grace. Her long coat fluttered behind her, accented perfectly by a soft bun of lightly graying blonde hair. She had cheekbones that could cut glass and an air of royalty that rivaled Her Majesty. With a voice like silk, the apparition spoke. 'Is Mr MacIntire in?'

It took a few moments for Zac to find his voice. His fingers had frozen above the keys in mid-sentence, completely entranced by the swan of a woman before him. 'He's— he's not in, no. Haven't seen him all day.'

The woman raised one eyebrow, humming in disbelief. 'You really expect me to believe that the workaholic isn't here?'

In that moment, Zac couldn't help but liken himself to an ant under a magnifying glass; visible from all angles and easily crushed. A deep, steadying breath was meant to help his acting, but only served to quicken his heart rate. 'You're welcome to check the office, if you wish. If you find him, let me know.' Then, he let his guard slip, ever so slightly, lowering his voice. 'I'd like to give him a piece of my mind.'

With a devilish grin, the beautiful panther pounced. Zac felt his breath hitch as she placed her elbows on the desk, cradling her face in her hands. 'Let me guess; you're in your, what— early thirties?'

'I just turned thirty, yes.'

She hummed, smirking all the while. 'It must really miff you that Augustus is only four years your senior, and still, you work for him, huh?' It wasn't until that moment that Zac realised how far he had fallen into the stranger's trap. She wasn't looking for an answer because she already knew it. She continued on in a droll tone. 'Same opportunities, same schooling, same career goals— and yet... Here you sit, working your fingers to the bone for a crappy flat somewhere in south London, barely getting by, while you order him King Crab and caviar for lunch.'

If you lie, she'll know he's here. But if you tell the truth... Zac's mouth went dry at the thought of what was to come. However, he knew what he had to do. Mustering all of the annoyance that he had shoved down for the previous eight months, he sighed loudly. 'No. We did not have the same opportunities. I wouldn't have been able to afford the schools he went to if I'd sold both my kidneys and my sister. And sure, if I'd had a silver spoon shoved up my arse, too, yeah maybe the roles would be reversed. But I'd also be an egotistical, self-involved prick, just like he is, and I'm quite happy with the way that I am, thank you. Besides, I'm allergic to shellfish.'

The woman purred with satisfaction as she rose from the desk, setting him with a bemused gaze. 'What's your name, son?'

'Zachary. Zachary Higgins. Now, if you don't mind, I have quite a bit of work to be getting on with. You might have better luck looking in the tenth floor gym. He thinks hiding in the glass room with all the treadmills is clever.' Without another word, Zac resumed his work, trying not to let the blood pumping in his ears drown his thoughts.

With a grin, the woman turned to leave. 'Thank you, Mr Higgins. This has been most— enlightening.'

Zac offered a grunt of acknowledgement but kept his eyes glued to the computer screen. When she was finally behind the elevator doors, the poor assistant slumped back into his chair, and let his heavy breathing get the better of him.