Page 112 of The Matchmaker
Jack’s boss.
“I hear you’ve been causing my protégé a bit of trouble,” he says, slapping Jack on the back. “What’s the delay now, Doyle? Three? Four months?”
“Five,” Jack says, clearing his throat.
Gerald just thumps him again. “No matter, no matter. These things happen. It’s a beautiful place you have here,” he adds, as Adam steps out from behind the bar. “A beautiful village.”
“Is there something we can help you with, Mr. Cunningham?” I ask, and Callum’s hand goes to the small of my back in a reassuring touch.
“I’m afraid it’s more a question of what we can offer you,” he says, and the smile that had been pulling at Jack’s mouth drops in confusion. He glances at his boss, while Gerald looks right at me.
“I’ll admit we’ve had to do some soul searching,” he says. He’s speaking just to me, and yet his voice carries over the room, as if he wants everyone to hear what he has to say. “And that my team here may have gone overboard.” At this Jack goes rigid, a dawning look of horror on his face.
“We just care so deeply about our work.” Gerald continues. “That we sometimes overlook the important things. I’m incredibly impressed with what you’ve done here, and I’d like to apologize on behalf of the company for not listening to you sooner.” His hand goes to Jack’s shoulder, and he smiles like he’s Father Christmas and not a tax-avoiding multimillionaire. “As of right now, Glenmill will be stepping back from its acquisition of Kelly’s,” he says loudly, as cameras start to flash and phone screens record. “You’ve won.”
The room erupts.
Granted that may be the free Prosecco we’ve been passing around for the last thirty minutes, but I don’t really care. All the press and all the interviews have paid off. Everyone knows our story now, and for them the story has come to an end. And it was good one. At least for us.
For Jack, not so much. He stares at his boss for a beat before turning and pushing his way through the now overexcited crowd. Callum gives my arm a brief squeeze before he follows him. Gerald smiles widely at me and then moves too, but only so he can go deeper into the fray as journalists fight to shuffle as close as they can to him.
“He’s stealing your spotlight,” Gemma remarks, as the man starts shaking hands in the crowd, beaming at the praise.
“I don’t care.” And I don’t. Let him take it.
Because I won. I stand there, hoping for the words to sink in, but they don’t. They still don’t feel real, hovering above me just out of reach. I still have my job. I still have my home. I still have my village.
“Okay. Oh…Katie?” Gemma’s voice sounds very distant as she touches my arm. “You alright?”
“I think I’m freaking out.”
“That’s allowed. But you still have to breathe, okay? Do you want some water?”
No, I don’t want some water. I want a glass of champagne and possibly a shot of whiskey.
But before I have time to ask for either of those things, Adam grabs me from behind, spinning me in the air like I’m five years old, and I give a startled yelp, one that quickly dissolves into laughter.
“Thank you,” he says, setting me down only to grasp me by the shoulders. “Thank you.”
I grin at him. “Anytime, boss.”
“Congratulations,” Gemma says, smiling at the two of us, and I barely have time to blink before Adam lets me go, takes her face in his hands, and kisses her soundly on the lips.
My mouth drops open as wolf whistles sound around us. Cheers from guests who have no idea what they’re really looking at as, just as quickly as it happened, Adam lets her go. Gemma stumbles back with a dazed look and a blush on her cheeks.
“See!” I exclaim. “That’s all you had to do.”
But neither of them is looking at me, both turned to Noah who’s standing nearby.
Gemma looks horrified. “I didn’t—”
“Can you do that in private from now on?” he interrupts. “My mind is still developing, and I probably shouldn’t see that.”
They both just stare at him.
“Sure,” she says after a moment.
“Will you take me to the pool next week?” he asks Adam.
