After All - Part Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Three

Dylan watched her walk away but there was no sense of victory. This was what he wanted wasn’t it? When he reprimanded her in front of everyone there was only one outcome. So why the hell had he chosen that route? He could have listened to her, gone somewhere private, but he knew he was wrong, he knew he undermined her and he was hoping that she’d back down. He sighed, but then he knew that them working together was always going to be difficult.

Had he done the right thing?

Dozens of eyes were on him when he looked up, “get back to work!” He snapped then spun on his heel back to the office.

When he got in there Louise was sat at his desk using his computer, he couldn’t speak to her now either, with a grunt he stepped back out into the corridor to see Sarah stood there.

                “She’s packing up her things...”

She was clearly waiting for him to say something, to make Matilda change her mind, but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t.          “Her choice,” he muttered. “You’ll be in charge when I’m in New York, you and Louise.”

With that he turned and stormed out, he needed to go somewhere, anywhere.

                “But Dylan...Mr Wallace...” She called out his name as he strode away, but he was uncaring.

Mattie was glad she had a large holdall in her dressing room. Three years of working there meant she had accumulated a lot of stuff; she emptied the drawers from her desk straight into it, then cleared out the shower area. There were several suits and dresses hanging on the rail, and a couple of pairs of shoes. Changing into her jeans, she managed to squeeze all her office clothes into a suit carrier that hung behind them, then the shoes fitted into her holdall. It was an effort to load both on to her shoulders, but after deleting her email and preferences from the computer, she added her own laptop to the shoulder that held the hold all then with a sigh she closed the office door behind her.

                “Won’t you think again? Talk to Dylan?”

She shook her head and smiled at Sarah, “you’ll be good, just keep your chin up. I’ve forwarded you everything I was working on, it may help. Call me on the weekend, we’ll do lunch? Catch up on the old wedding plans?”

Sarah nodded, “I’ll miss you.”

Although she was sad to leave, and would miss everyone there, she knew she’d not get over the anger of Dylan's behaviour. Only a few weeks earlier she’d been looking forward to a new start, a new job. Once she’d got out of this place she knew she’d find that optimism again, but it was still humiliating to think of the way her demise had come about.

As she turned towards the reception she saw Louise in Dylan’s office and gave her a sickly smile. She’d never have Dylan, not in the way she wanted, and that was Mattie’s saving grace.  In the reception Hermione rushed from behind the desk.

                “You can’t go...it won’t be the same, we can’t do this without you.”

Mattie sighed, accepting the hug, “you can. Sarah is more than capable. Come see me in London? We can go shopping?”

Hermione nodded tears in her eyes, then feeling like a celebrity, she made her way to the door shaking hands and hugging every member of staff who’d come to say goodbye.

                “We called you a taxi,” Martin, the manager of the reception said, he was last in the line. “And it’s charged to the hotel. It’s the least that bastard can do for you.”

She smiled, “he’s not a bastard, not really. This was always going to be a strange relationship; it was always going to be hard working together. Don’t blame him; he’ll be a good boss. OK?”

Martin, and Dan at his side didn’t look convinced, but she gave them both a beaming smile then headed for the taxi gratefully.

Dylan knew she’d left, if he hadn’t witnessed the staff abandoning the restaurant he was hiding out in, then he’d have had no chance of avoiding it when she virtually walked past the window he was sat in. She looked radiant, her auburn hair flowing in the breeze, her gait confident despite the cumbersome bags she had hanging from her shoulders. He couldn’t see her eyes, she was wearing large shades, but she wasn’t looking devastated, wasn’t hating her part in that confrontation like he was.

Sighing he watched her; she was wearing jeans, and that old t-shirt again. He could almost convince himself that it was a deliberation dig in his direction, but then he knew deep down she was neither that malicious nor that calculating.

So why did you believe Louise when she said that she was?

He couldn’t answer that, not at the moment as he watched her throw her bags into the rear of the taxi, climb in, then lean forward to tell him her destination. He had no idea where that was, and it was likely he’d never see her again. For all the hassle she’d caused him, the anger, the animosity, and the way she’d made him take an introspective look at himself, not something he enjoyed, he felt sad at the thought.

Closing his laptop, he took the back stairs up to his suite and packed his back for his trip. He couldn’t wait to get away from the place.

An hour later he was in the departure lounge drinking a glass of champagne. The airline he was flying with had in-flight wifi, that was a bonus, he’d not sleep, he needed, more than anything he wanted to bury himself in his work. That would make the flight pass.

Once they were airborne the stewardess approached smiling with a tray of bucks fizz, he wasn’t overly keen, but he grabbed a glass with a half smile.

Opening his Mac Book, he logged on to his email. As usual his inbox was rammed full. Mainly things forwarded from Brandy in his New York office. He opened a few and actioned things from there. Enjoying seeing the list of unopened email reduce. He didn’t recognise the next address, so he clicked on it with some trepidation; he was fed up with junk emails or complainers.

                “Mr Wallace, I understand that you are the overall manager and owner of the Sunset Club, I would just like to thank your staff for the wonderful way they cared for my father Mr Stanley Edwards. Two days ago he had a car accident where he reversed into another car in your car park. I understand that the man he hit was angry and quite threatening to my father. He is a recent widower and been diagnosed with diabetes, two things that he seems to find equally difficult to deal with.

He informs me that your manager, a Miss Davies was outstanding, diffusing the situation professionally and rapidly, and when he felt unwell she ensured he was cared for. He wanted to drive himself home, but indeed Miss Davies was instrumental in calling me to pick him up. Within an hour of leaving the hotel he suffered a stroke. The doctors think that his bump in the car may have been due to an early onset of the stroke.

If he had driven himself home from the club I dread to think what might have happened.

He is recovering well in hospital, and I wanted to extend my unwavering thanks to you and your staff for their courteous behaviour, and in particular Miss Davies for taking the time to care for my father. Yours sincerely, Teresa Heath.”

Dylan felt sick; he was surrounded by the Matilda fan club wherever he looked. The next email was from Louise asking for some details about hotel bookings. He sent a quick response of “Speak to Sarah, she knows how everything works. I’ll call tomorrow to sort things out.”

He didn’t want anything that reminded him of Matilda, so he opened more emails from Brandy, and other business associates.

He didn’t recognise GoreExport so he clicked on the email, then groaned.

                “I was told by staff at the Sunset Club to contact you as the hotel owner with regard to yesterday. I am the PA to the CEO of Gore Export Industries and once a month I organise a meeting for the international directors of the company. For the last five years we have held these at a larger hotel near to our offices, but after meeting Paul Simmonds a few months back, we were offered a better deal with yourselves.

When I arrived to set up I was told that the booking hadn’t been logged and therefore there was no room for us. Fortunately you have a gem in your manager Mattie Davies. She found us a room and all the facilities we wanted and the meeting was a roaring success, Mr Gore and his associated would now like to book your conference room, eighteen rooms and two rounds of golf every other month. I am hoping that you can send me projected costs for the dates listed below. I look forward to seeing you then, and congratulate you on having such a great staff at the hotel. Yours, Elspeth Payne, PA to Simon Gore, GoreExport Ind.”

Dylan penned an almost automatic response to that, thanking her for her kind words and appreciation and assuring her that he would pass the details to his booking department to co-ordinate, ending it with a ‘we’ll be in touch’.

Slumping back in his seat, he closed his eyes.

All he wanted was a break, not the constant reminder of the woman he’d just let walk away from her job. As he tried to switch off, events over the last two days came into his mind, her constantly rushing off to do other things, never being where they expected, and most importantly the mention of Paul that he’d never let her finish. Suddenly he realised that quite possibly she wasn’t trying to speak about Paul’s influence positively, but quite the opposite. Eyes pinging open he reached for the laptop and emailed Martin. He’d shed some light, he was in charge of the reception, he’d be aware of the issues that Matilda had had to deal with.

But Dylan wasn’t exactly confident when he pressed send on that email.

Mattie didn’t know what to do with herself once she got home; there was no one to celebrate her independence with, and more importantly, no one to share her financial woes.literally. A knock on Andy’s door saw no answer, so for once; she decided that she didn’t need company. Changing into something a little less scruffy, she made for the local pub...alone.

The Queen’s Head was a typical East end pub, full of locals who had finished work, and some who probably didn’t work. Despite the area being a little on the rough side, the pub was great, the atmosphere lively, and as soon as she sat on a bar stool she was sucked into a conversation about politics by three men in their fifties. Mattie couldn’t remember the last time she had nothing to worry about, and it was liberating, and she was happy for the first time in ages...as long as she didn’t think of Dylan and that bitch Louise.

Dylan sighed as he walked into his office, he’d got a cab straight there from the airport, the following morning he had a very important meeting with investors, he needed to ensure that Brandy his PA had followed up on all his emails, then he needed a good night’s sleep...rest before the storm.

The office that he’d leased several years ago was part of a set of converted lofts in Brooklyn, in spitting distance of Manhattan, but with only the shadow of the hustle and bustle that came with the City. He loved it there.

Striding into the reception he smiled at Brandy who was behind her desk on the phone, she beamed back with a look of relief, then nodded as he passed her for his office.

Nothing had changed since he’d been there four days earlier, despite the chaos he’d ripped through that hotel just outside London, his office was serene, even the pen he’d last used days earlier was still on his desk. Dropping down the bag he carried, he pulled his Mac Book out of his briefcase then booted it up; as he waited he divested himself of his jacket, then made for the coffee machine that was filling the room with an appetising aroma.

Hearing Brandy end his call, he turned to face her and saw she looked angry.

                “Dylan, what the hell have you done?”

He rolled his eyes, “not you too.”

She sighed, “I just phoned the hotel to speak to your wonderful manager, only to find that after a very public argument with you, she resigned. That’s not like you.”

                “You know nothing Brandy, and you need to keep your opinions to yourself!” The barb made her flinch but in her fifty three years she’d dealt with far worse.

                “I won’t runaway like she did. I had you down as many things, but never as a bully.” He made to say something, but she shook her head, “I’m not about to pass judgement on what happened, but let’s just say, you look like shit, if you’d done the right thing then you’d be happy, confident. You Dylan Wallace are like an open book.”

Groaning he made for the sanctuary of his office and slammed the door behind him.

Half an hour later - still unable to concentrate, the door opened, and looking up he saw Brandy there with a bag of doughnuts. “You ok?”

He shook his head, “no Brandy, I don’t think I am.”

As she smiled she lowered herself into the seat in front of him, “what happened?”

Dylan looked at the woman who’d been his right hand man for the last four years, she’d been a friend when he had no one else, and he trusted her, with a sigh he offered, “this is a long and VERY ridiculous story.”

                “Lucky I brought doughnuts then.”