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𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐋𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 of Shelby Company Limited, Caterina waited for Thomas to return from his lonely crusade to God-knows-where.
Last rays of the days sun peaked from behind the curtains and fell on the dark oak furniture filling the room. It was easy to fall back and disappear behind the massive wooden desk and the impressive set of Victorian chairs.
The next door to the right was her own office, as the brass plate on them suggested;
Caterina Cardinale Chief of Staff
Down the hallway lined up desks of a few female employees, used mostly for accounting work concerning Tommy's growing legal side of the business.
Flipping through a copy of yesterday's Times she found neatly folded on the desk, Cat let her eyes wonder over every detail of the office.
In the bookcase there was a complete set of every edition of 'Harmsworth's Popular Science,' a volume of modern encyclopaedias. Tommy took her advice on educating himself to heart, though he would never admit it. It was obvious by the way he used long words and formulated complex sentences
Photographs pepper the walls, mostly they of winning enclosures, with smiling owners and jockeys. 'Aintree, second place, 1920'. The owner, Tommy and her side by side, both grinning ecstatically.
There are more framed photographs on the desk; most of Tommy with various minor dignitaries at small race meetings. She takes one in an engraved silver frame.
'With Lord Croft at Ascot.' She is dutifully standing on his right, his hand tucked around her waist, and a dazzling smile at the photographer.
If someone were to look at those photographs, they'd no doubt mistaken her for something more than a business partner. Lowering the frame, she banished the traitorous thoughts from her head.
The rattling of keys stirs her from her daydreaming, as Thomas opened the door to the office. He's far from surprised to see her there in his chair, especially since he bolted from the crime scene with no explanation.
Caterina watches patiently as he took off his coat and cap, running his hand through the sharply cut hair. The tense set of his shoulders reveals more than he would like to admit. Their eye contact remains unbroken as she stands up from the desk and he edges towards it.
"Anything to tell me?"
She busies herself with pouring two glasses of whiskey from the lovely crystal decanter he received last Christmas.
"No." He replied shortly, settling behind the heavy oak desk.
"Liar."
Both glasses remain in her hands, the rings on her fingers scraping against the crystal from the tight grip. Hands on the desk, Tommy leaned in to stare her down. There were things he craved for now, in this tense moment and he desperately needed the alcohol to wash the thoughts away.
