Also by JE Rowney

  I Can’t Sleep

  The Woman in the Woods

  Other People’s Lives

  The Book Swap

  Gaslight

  The House Sitter

  For further information and to receive a free book, please visit the author’s website.

  http://jerowney.com/about-je-rowney

  Disclaimer:

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and businesses within this novel are works of fiction and are not based on, or representative of, real world persons, places, or organisations.

  ISBN: 978-1-7396899-5-7

  © 2023 Little Fox Publishing and JE Rowney

  All rights reserved.

  PROLOGUE

  Jonathan Jackson looked down at the man dangling from the ledge. Wide brown eyes stared back; a panicked plea came almost breathlessly from the younger man’s chapped lips.

  “Pull me up, mate.”

  The words took so much effort to force from Thompson’s mouth that they were almost inaudible.

  But Jackson heard.

  The wind that had been building all day was whipping against Jonathan’s face. He wanted shelter. He wanted warmth. He wanted to be back at home. He could turn and walk away. No one would ever know that he had found Mark, let alone what had happened next. Mark Thompson had brought this upon himself. Not just by leaving the group, heading out on his own, trying to be the hero, not that. Mark was not his colleague; he was his enemy - and that had been Mark’s own choice.

  “Jackson,” Mark gasped. “Please.”

  Jonathan could feel the throbbing in his eye socket where the other man had landed a lucky blow. A slow, steady trickle of blood coursed past the side of his eye, down his cheek. He could tell the others it had been a stray branch, an accident. No need for them to know it was Mark. No need to…

  “Jonathan!” A woman’s voice from the edge of the clearing. “What the hell is going on?”

  ONE

  It was a standard Thursday. Meetings, phone calls, emails in and out. Jonathan Jackson was working on one of the company’s most important client proposals. The Tursten Mitchell account had the potential to put InnovaTech on the map – and Jackson was at the wheel.

  After months of research, analysis, and tireless discussion with the Tursten Mitchell bigwigs, Jackson was nearing the deadline to send the proposal.

  Fifty-two years old. Not in bad shape. He still had his hair. He had been handsome once.

  With over a decade spent at InnovaTech, he had been one of the first to join Thornicroft. He had believed in the company and its mission statement when no one else had. Richard Thornicroft wanted the best. Best sales team, best analysts, best support services. InnovaTech was about people – or at least that was the dream. Jackson had recognised the opportunity as a chance to shine, a chance to be something. Over a decade spent waiting to realise that dream. The wait was almost over.

  The email was drafted, the hard work completed.

  Let it settle. Grab a drink. Come back with fresh eyes and check it over before hitting the button.

  Jackson clicked his mouse to lock the screen, got up from his chair and walked with unusual light-headedness into the staff kitchen.

  Was the culmination of six months’ work really giving him the same butterflies in his stomach that he had only experienced before when he married Helena?

  Now he was on the verge of sealing the deal with Tursten Mitchell, he might at last be able to cut back on the overtime, the late nights at the office away from his wife.

  He smiled to himself as he set his bottle on the kitchen counter.

  Everything was finally coming together.

  Across the room, Mark Thompson was sitting at the dining table, a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and a tablet in the other. Jackson knew Thompson had been there a while from the smell of coffee and the empty drip machine.

  Jonathan shook his head in bemusement and exasperation. Mark’s focus on food and drink seemed out of touch with work demands. How did he manage to stay slim while eating junk?

  In Jonathan’s eyes, Mark was wasting time, lost in the flavours of his lunch, while the fast-paced world of technology development moved on without him. Mark was younger, and better qualified, but he lacked the acumen and experience that had led to Jackson being chosen as the lead for the Tursten Mitchell account.

  Too late, Jackson realised that he had made eye contact with his colleague, and Mark stood, leaping over to his side.

  “Whatcha got there, buddy? A margarita?” Thompson prodded at Jackson’s drink shaker.

  Jackson gave Mark a silent look of disdain.

  Undeterred, Thompson grabbed the plastic container off the counter and turned it over to read the label.

  “What’s this? Magic Build?” Thompson stepped back dramatically and raised his hands in an act of faux submission, the protein mix held high. “If you’re building your magic, I don’t want to get in your way.”

  Whoever said “hell is other people” probably worked in an office like InnovaTech.

  “Just put it down,” Jackson said with the hint of a sigh.

  “You gonna cast a spell on me if I don’t?”

  “Hilarious, Thompson,” Jackson said, placing his shaker on the counter and reaching out for the tub that Mark was still holding onto. “Now give it back.”

  “Okay, okay,” Mark said as Jackson swiped towards him.

  He didn’t let go of the tub. Instead, as Jackson moved forward, he took a step away, moving the mix away from him.

  “Calm down, friend,” Mark smiled.

  Jackson made another pass at his mix, and Mark carried on the game.

  “Fine,” Jackson said with a forced calmness. “I don’t have time for this.”

  Mark’s expression soured, and he put Jonathan’s shaker down with a reluctant grunt. It was pointless holding it up since Jackson had lost interest in the battle.

  “Oh yes,” he said, as though just remembering something. “The Tursten Mitchell report. How’s that coming on, buddy? Big day today. Got everything ready to go? Dotted those Ts and crossed those Is?”

  Mark laughed at his own joke, but Jonathan didn’t respond.

  “I’m fine,” Jonathan said, controlling the terse tone in his voice the best he could manage.

  It was the big one. This was his most critical contract, and everything had to be impeccable. This contract could be career-changing. Twelve years working in the same job role, with idiots like Thompson coming in and climbing the ranks as he patiently waited his turn.

  “Thank you,” Jackson added, with a professional smile.

  He tentatively reached for his protein, testing whether Mark was going to pull it away again, and when Thompson remained still, Jackson scooped it up and kept a firm hold. No point putting it back in the cupboard. He would take it to his desk, keep it in his drawer where his oh-so-funny colleague couldn’t get his hands on it.

  “You know where I am,” Mark said, “if you need me.”

  “I know where you are.”

  Jackson took a swig of the shake and held back his grimace. He hadn’t mixed it enough; the powdery texture almost made him gag, but he had to keep a straight face as he walked past his coworker and back into the office.

  TWO

  Mark Thompson observed Jonathan Jackson, his elder but not his superior, as they sat across from each other in the InnovaTech office.

  Tursten Mitchell should have been Mark Thompson’s client. Technically, Jackson was the more experienced of the two, but Thompson had a track record of successfully scoring two of the most important clients that the company had onboarded over the past year. Plus, Thompson knew how to use buzzwords like “onboarded” that made old-school Jackson screw his nose up. Not that he would say anything, though. Jackson sat quietly, kept the peace, walked the line. Jackson was a good guy, and as far as Thompson was concerned, good guys deserved to finish last.

  Mark Bradley Thompson. First class degree from King’s College. Six years of post-grad experience in West Force before being headhunted by Richard Thornicroft himself to take this job at InnovaTech. He was the one that should have been chosen to head the Tursten Mitchell account. Instead, Thornicroft had passed him over for Jackson. Jackson, who had achieved little more than dragging along in Mark’s slipstream for the past three years. It was ridiculous. Jonathan Jackson. Some crappy degree from somewhere. One of the few team members that had been with Thornicroft and InnovaTech since its inception.

  Thornicroft was giving him his chance to shine. That must be it.

  The look of concentration on Jackson’s face was so intense that Thompson almost broke out into laughter. His brow furrowed; his eyes pierced the screen.

  “Have you sent it yet?”

  Mark feigned friendly indifference as he called across the desk.

  Jackson didn’t look up from the screen. His fingers were tapping on his keyboard as he made frantic adjustments to the Tursten Mitchell contract. There was no time for conversation, no leeway for chat. Securing this deal would elevate InnovaTech to new heights of success and recognition in their industry. It was a game-changer, and Jackson had been selected as MVP.

  Mark’s eyes remained on his coworker. Were those beads of perspiration that he saw on Jackson’s
temple? Jackson was going to crack under the pressure, Mark could already tell. Why the older man had been chosen to lead on this project was beyond Mark’s comprehension. He had the better track record. He had delivered the Bell contract. He had gathered the leads that had brought Tursten Mitchell to InnovaTech’s virtual door. He should have been the one to deliver.

  “I can give you a hand if you need it, mate. I know this is the big one for you,” he offered. “Want me to check it over before you…”

  Mark pulled himself out of his swivel chair and walked around the desk space to stand behind his older colleague.

  “I’m fine, Mark. Really.” Jonathan breathed steadily. “Thank you.”

  Mark leaned in closer, as though it was difficult to see the words on the screen from where he was standing. Jonathan felt the weight of his colleague press against the back of his chair, his breath against the side of his face. Fighting the urge to lash out, Jonathan braced himself and remained calm.

  “This figure here,” Mark jabbed a thick finger at the screen. “Is that correct?”

  Jackson pushed back on his chair slightly, just enough to judder Mark backwards.

  “It’s all correct,” Jonathan said, his voice flat and even. “I’m going to send the email now, so there’s no need for you to worry about me and my contract anymore.”

  “Our contract,” Mark said tersely.

  “But I…”

  “Ours. InnovaTech’s,” Mark expanded, with smug satisfaction. “This contract means a lot to the entire company, Jacko.”

  “Jackson,” Jackson said. “Or Jonathan. Jon, even. Not Jacko. Never Jacko, okay?”

  Mark laughed softly and stood down.

  “Sure, Jonnie. No problem at all. I was…”

  Jackson read through the email that would accompany the briefing paper one final time. Everything was perfect. He knew it would be. He knew he had made a flawless submission for Tursten Mitchell. There was no way that they could choose another company over InnovaTech when they saw what was on offer, and the prices that Jonathan had presented to them. InnovaTech wasn’t the most well known in the business yet, not even locally, but they were the best. And Jonathan was the best of the best.

  No matter what Mark thought.

  Thompson stood barely a foot behind Jon, watching studiously as he read. The email was concise and effective, he couldn’t disagree with that. There was only one thing missing. Jonathan hadn’t added the attachment.

  Mark flicked his eyes up to the clock. It was only a few minutes before five, the submission deadline. If Jackson didn’t pull the trigger soon, he was going to piss off a lot of suits, starting with Richard Thornicroft, the head of InnovaTech. More importantly, if the documents weren’t sent in time, there was no way InnovaTech would win the contract. Jackson’s ass would be on the line, hell he might even be fired for such a mistake.

  No more Jonathan Jackson.

  No more competition from across the desk.

  “Looks great,” Mark said, trying to sound as though he was actually impressed by Jon’s attempt. “Nearly time.” He pointed up at the clock.

  Jackson batted him away, with the impatience of a father constantly bothered by a petulant toddler.

  “Yes, Mark. Thank you.”

  “Three minutes,” Mark persisted.

  “Okay,” Jackson snapped, finally giving in to the tension that had been building. He clicked the send button and closed the email client.

  “Yes!” Mark yelped. He patted Jackson firmly on the shoulder. “Well done, mate. Well done.”

  The email had gone. The response from the client wouldn’t come through until at least the next day, and Mark knew exactly what it would say.

  No go, Jacko.

  You fudged it.

  The biggest contract that InnovaTech never had, and all thanks to Jonnie Jackson.

  “Thanks,” Jonathan said. Mark’s joyful reaction to the contract being submitted was more than he had expected, but then again, the contract was more than he had expected too. He had worked his entire career to get to that point. All the hours he had put in. The overtime, the evenings apart from his kind, patient, understanding wife, Helena. Finally, everything was about to pay off for him.

  “Thanks, man,” he said again.

  Mark grinned and ruffled Jackson’s hair. Jackson smiled and let him.

  THREE

  Performance review period was the bane of Sarah Collins’s existence. Every year, she sent out reminders for the staff to complete their online forms, and every year, the lazy desk slaves failed to meet the deadline. It didn’t help that her assistant had taken her full entitlement of maternity leave. How was everything made so easy for people now?

  Sarah had barely clicked send on the final warning email when there was a knock on her door. Human resources was one of the few departments that had their own office, and as her assistant was on leave, the office was basically hers.

  “Who is it?” the redhead called, not moving from her desk.

  “Emily Shawcross,” a small voice sounded through the door.

  Sarah let out a sigh and looked at the clock on the corner of her computer screen. 16:55. Five minutes until she was officially off the clock. She would give the intern that long, and not a minute more.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Can I come in?” Emily’s voice was tentative.

  “Okay,” Sarah repeated, more loudly.

  The door opened and the carefully put-together intern stepped inside. She looked as though she had Googled office-appropriate clothing and chosen the most personality-stripping outfit she could find. Bland white shirt, knee-length pencil skirt and shoes that would suit Sarah’s grandmother. If Sarah had that kind of figure instead of the fast-food-addiction curves she had developed over the years, she would definitely have put together a more fetching wardrobe.

  “I don’t have long,” Sarah said, looking at the clock again. Two minutes had already ticked by.

  “Oh,” Emily said. “I won’t take up much of your time.” She walked closer to the HR manager’s desk but stopped short of sitting in the chair opposite her. Sarah didn’t invite her to sit, so she stood awkwardly behind it.

  “What is it?” Sarah sighed, turning her eyes from the screen.

  Emily took a visible breath and opened her mouth to speak.

  “It’s not the best time,” Sarah interrupted. “I have to get all these performance reviews ticked off before the end of the week.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emily squeaked. “I could come back another time.”

  “You’re here now. I’ve already had to stop what I’m doing. Let’s get this over with.”

  The young intern nodded in understanding, and then spoke. Her words came out in a rapid, nervy torrent. “I just wanted to discuss my future here at InnovaTech. I’ve really enjoyed my time as an intern, and I was hoping there might be opportunities for a permanent position.”

  “Have you rehearsed that?” Sarah laughed.

  “Um. Yes,” Emily’s face reddened, and she tried to return a smile.

  Sarah cut her laughter, keen not to give the wrong impression, and Emily’s smile faded.

  Sarah’s eyes wandered back to her computer screen. Then, with an exasperated sigh, she answered. “A permanent position? Do you think you might be getting ahead of yourself?” she retorted, her words dripping with condescension. Before Emily responded, Sarah continued. “We don’t usually hire interns for full-time roles here. I thought you’d been made aware of that.”

  Emily kept a straight face, trying to maintain her composure. “I understand,” she said. “But I’ve been working hard and I’m passionate about the work we do. I believe I can make valuable contributions to the team.” Her voice trembled slightly.

  Unimpressed, Sarah smirked.

  “Passion can only get you so far, Emily. You’re just an intern, and we have enough experienced professionals already.” She paused and tapped at her keyboard, bringing up Emily’s personnel record. Sarah nodded, as though confirming something she already knew. “If there were any openings, they’d go to someone with more qualifications,” she asserted, her voice ice-cold.