Her Favourite Rival. Sarah Mayberry

Time to go home, princess.

      She knew the voice in her head was right. Her brain was mush, her judgment out the window. As much as it killed her to admit it, Zach had been on the money when he’d said that if she was overtired, she’d make mistakes.

      She hit Save, then—to be safe—made a backup of her presentation and emailed it to herself. She was shutting down her computer when her phone rang in her handbag.

      She grabbed it and recognized the number as her parents’. She hesitated, not sure if she was up to a conversation with her mother right now. Then she straightened her spine and took the call.

      “Hi, Mum.”

      “Audrey. Have I caught you at a bad time?” Her mother’s voice was cool and briskly efficient, as though she was working her way down a to-do list and talking to Audrey was the next item to be crossed off. Knowing her mother, it was probably not far from the truth.

      “No, no, you’re good. How are you? How’s Dad?” She could hear the polite stiffness in her own voice but was powerless to stop it. After years of agonizing over their relationship and trying to make up for the mistakes of her past, she had come to accept that this was simply the way things were—not so bad, but not so great, either.

      “We’re well, thank you. I won’t keep you, but I wanted to ask you to save the seventeenth for Leah’s birthday. Your father is keen to take her somewhere special for lunch.”

      “Sure. I’ll put it in my calendar now.” It was her sister’s thirtieth, so it made sense that their father would want to make a splash.

      “She’s been working so hard lately, she deserves a treat.”

      Like both their parents, Leah was a doctor, but while Karen and John were both G.P.s, Leah was training to be a cardiothoracic surgeon, something their mother had always wanted for her.

      “How many years left now?” Audrey asked.

      “Four. Which seems like a long time at the moment but the sky is literally the limit when she’s completed her training.” There was no missing the pride in her voice.

      And why not? Leah had always been the best at everything. High school had been a walk in the park, she’d graduated at top of her class at university and she’d secured a place in the cardiothoracic program without breaking a sweat. It stood to reason that once Leah finished her training she would have a stellar career that would make their mother even prouder.

      “Well, she’s on the downhill run now,” Audrey joked. “She can start taking it easy soon.”

      “I don’t think your sister knows how. We had a spa day together last week and she spent the whole time checking her messages and making phone calls. Typical high achiever.” Her mother gave a fond sigh.

      Audrey picked up her pen and started drawing circles on the notepad beside her phone.

      “How’s everything else? Did you sort out the problem with the lawn?”

      “What problem with the lawn?” Her mother sounded completely blank.

      “The drainage. Last time we spoke you’d had some problems with flooding down the back.”

      “Oh, that was months ago. Your father had someone come in and dig a ditch or something. Anyway, it’s all fine now.”

      “Good.”

      They talked about the weather and her parents’ garden for a few more minutes, then her mother insisted on “letting her go.”

      Audrey closed her eyes, aware of the old, old hollow feeling behind her breastbone. Every now and then, her mother or father or sister said something that gave her a glimpse into the world they shared with one another—cozy dinners for three, outings to the theater, European holidays. Last week, a mother-daughter spa day.

      And Audrey hadn’t spoken to any of them for over a month. Even after so many years, it hurt to know it all went on without her. She’d be lying if she pretended anything else.

      “Definitely time to go home.”

      Before she became completely maudlin and pathetic.

      She snagged the strap of her handbag and her briefcase then stood. The room spun crazily as the blood rushed from her head, and she slapped her hand onto the desk to steady herself.

      Whoa. Someone has low blood sugar.

      She held out her hand, and sure enough it was shaking. It was nearly ten, and she’d been at her desk since six-thirty in the morning. Lunch had been two bites of banana and a snack-size yogurt—hours ago.

      So much for knowing how to look after herself. Barefoot, she made her way to the staff room in the hope that there were some bananas left. No such luck. The cookie jar was empty, too, only a few crumbs in the bottom to taunt the truly desperate. She opened the fridge and eyed the detritus left from other people’s lunches. Squishy-looking fruit and dry, curled sandwiches. Blurg.

      If you get to the point where you’re ready to chew your arm off, there’s a stash of protein bars in the bottom left drawer of my desk.

      She shut the fridge door. There was no way she was raiding Zach’s stash. There was something about the idea of accepting a favor from him that made her uncomfortable.

      Her stomach growled, an audible counterargument to her thoughts. She looked around the kitchen a little desperately. She’d make herself another cup of coffee with lots of sugar. That should do the trick. She opened the fridge in search of milk, only to find none.

      Damn it. She hated black coffee with a passion.

      Stop being so bloody precious. Eat his protein bar and go home and get a good night’s sleep. Like a grown-up.

      Gritting her teeth, she marched out of the staff room before she could think the matter to death. Zach’s office was on the opposite side of the department from hers. She paused in the doorway, then committed herself to his domain.

      Like her, he had a company-issue desk made from blond wood veneer. The bookcase and filing cabinet were also standard-issue, but he’d hung a series of black-and-white framed photographs on the walls, arty shots of old buildings and other architectural features, as well as bringing in an old-fashioned wood-and-brass desk lamp. She’d been in his office for only brief moments before, and she paused in front of one the photographs. A moody photograph of a European street, it was stark and simple. She wondered if he’d taken it himself.

      She gave herself a shake. She was here for sustenance, not snooping. She couldn’t stop herself from noticing his pristine desktop as she pushed his chair back to access the drawers, though. His blotter was unblemished, his in-and out-trays empty. By contrast, her own desk looked like a war zone: piles of papers, catalogs bristling with sticky notes, crumbs in her keyboard, a million reminders to herself scribbled across the blotter. She hadn’t sighted her in-tray for over a month, it was buried beneath so much paperwork. She prided herself on the fact that, if pushed, she could lay her hand on anything within thirty seconds, but the fact remained that Zach had her beat, hands down, in the anal tidiness stakes.

      She slid the bottom drawer open. Sure enough, a box of protein bars was inside. There were two flavors, Dutch chocolate and French vanilla, and she chose vanilla. She was about to shut the drawer when her gaze fell on a bottle of aftershave. She reached for it and lifted it to her nose, inhaling a light citrus scent with surprising spicy base notes. Mmm. Nice. She sniffed again, closing her eyes as she tried to identify what it reminded her of. The beach in summer? No, it was more intimate than that. Perhaps—

      Abruptly she registered what was she was doing—hovering over Zach’s desk, sniffing his aftershave. She whipped her hand away from her face so quickly she almost dropped the bottle. She returned it to the drawer, being careful to put it exactly where she had found it, then closed the drawer. There was a memo pad beside Zach’s computer and she reached for the nearest pen to write him an IOU. It wasn’t until she felt the weight of the thing that she realized she wasn’t holding an ordinary plastic