Page 3 of Never Too Late

“I’m never too busy for you.” I did laugh then, Cillian’s frown deepening. “Are you alright?”

How to answer that when I was about as far from alright as it was possible to be? Maybe if I said no, this would be when we talked. Only, there was still someone on the other end of that phone. Someone who presumably could hear every word we said. And I no longer had the stomach for it. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded, my throat thick. Clearing my throat helped. Enough that I could manage words. “I need to go. I have a…” Every single activity that had ever existed deserted me. “Yeah…” I spun on my heel and headed for the door.

“I’ll call you tonight. We’ll talk then.”

“Sure!” Despite the breeziness in my voice, my fingers had a slight tremble to them as I pulled the door open. Amrita raised her head from her desk outside, her expression knowing. One look at my face and it changed, though. “Are you alright, Finn?”

I forced a smile. “Never been better.”

She didn’t look convinced. “If you need to talk, I have time. We could go for a coffee. There’s a nice little place around the corner.”

I shook my head. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Well… you know where I am if you change your mind.”

My exit from the building from that point on passed in a blur until I was out in the fresh air I’d craved so much. Needing to put some distance between me and Cillian, I walked a block before sagging against the wall of a building. A bank? A baker’s? An undertaker’s. It could have been any of them for the amount of notice I took. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I stared at the screen for a few seconds before calling a number.

Jules answered with the name of the company on the third ring, his French accent thick.

“It’s Finlay,” I said. “Finlay Prescott. I’ve had time to think about your job offer.”

“Oh?”

I let out a slow breath. “If I haven’t kept you hanging on for too long and it still stands, I’d like to accept.”

“It still stands. When can you start?”

“As soon as possible.” My words came out in a rush. “I don’t know how long these things usually take.”

“I’ll speak to HR and we can get things rolling. They’ll email the contract to you this afternoon. We’ll help you with arrangements on this end as much as we can.”

“Great.”

“We look forward to welcoming you to Paris, Finlay. I’m sure you’ll add a lot to our team.”

Once I’d said goodbye and hung up, I leaned my head back against the rough brick to contemplate what I’d just set in motion. Although, that wasn’t quite true, was it? I’d set it in motion a couple of weeks ago when I’d applied for the job on awhim and gone through with the online interview. My defense, if questioned, would be that I’d never expected to get it. And when they offered me the job, I still planned to refuse it. Leaving my friends and moving to Paris was an enormous step. Except, I’d just accepted it. And once I signed that contract, my decision would be final.

No more London.

No more friends.

No more Cillian King.

And that was the driving force behind it. The only way to ensure a clean break where he couldn’t convince me otherwise was to put space between us. I figured two hundred and eighty-two miles should be enough.

True to Jules’ word, the contract came through within a couple of hours. I downloaded it, but left it on my computer screen without signing it, spending a nervy evening staring at my phone and waiting for it to ring. It stayed stubbornly silent, Cillian’s assurance that he would call me coming to nothing and not hurting any less for expecting it. Only once the minute hand had ticked into the following day did I electronically sign the contract and press the button that sent it winging its way to Paris. I’d waited for Cillian and he’d let me down. Again.

Before going to bed, I deleted all the photos I had of Cillian. I didn’t have many—photos required the subject to stand still long enough to take them. After ten minutes of weighing everything up and going through every eventuality, all of them seeming to end with me caving in to giving him another chance if I saw him or spoke to him, I blocked his number. Then I called my closest friend and asked if I could stay with her so Cillian wouldn’t know where to find me. It might be the coward’s way out, but I didn’t trust myself when it came to Cillian King.

Chapter Two

My first few weeks in Paris were a godsend in not giving me time to think. There were new work colleagues to get to know, most of them thankfully speaking proficient enough English that I didn’t have to fall back on my GCSE French. I’m sure they were grateful I wasn’t asking them where the train station was, or telling them how many brothers or sisters I had, and what I liked to do at the weekend.

There was my little flat on Rue Fizeau to make feel like home, Jules apologizing more than once for how cramped the accommodation he’d sorted out for me was. He’d only stopped when I’d explained that London was much the same with living spaces, and that if I had room to swing a cat, I wouldn’t know what to do with it. That, and I’d have to get a cat. Although, there was a mangy-looking ginger stray with one ear missing and only half a tail that hung about outside the building that I was tempted to try it with.

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