Читать книгу One Summer in Italy: The most uplifting summer romance you need to read in 2018 - Sue Moorcroft - Страница 11

Levi was incarcerated in his room, laptop open, while he Skyped Wes.

‘So, what the fuck’s Dick done?’ he demanded irritably, staring at the random blocks of colour and text that were usually the streamlined Modern Man page of his equally streamlined website, The Moron Forum. Freelancer Dick liked to be called Richard but they referred privately to him as Dick because sometimes he was one.

Wes’s exasperation was obvious. ‘Looks like he made a basic error and somehow introduced HTML code along with his content. I’m about to set it all to rights.’

Acutely aware that he’d left Wes alone to deal with things like Dick’s latest brain fart, Levi suppressed a sigh. ‘I suppose he copied and pasted something over without making certain it was in plain text, lazy git.’

Wes snorted. ‘He said it wasn’t him. When I pointed out that he was logged on via his username and password when the upload actually took place he said he wasn’t putting up with being called a liar and told me to shove his pages. Contract cancelled by mutual consent.’

Levi winced. ‘I should have worked with him weeks ago to clean up his procedures. Sorry so much is falling on you.’

Wes laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve put on my “in charge” hat and I’m sitting here feeling important. I know you have some serious stuff to sort out.’

‘Can’t argue with that. But even if there’s no one updating the content, we at least need a moderator on that page straightaway. It gets high traffic and we need to be on it to prevent idiots posting inappropriate material. I’ll put out an SOS to the other contractors to see if anyone can take it on a temporary basis until we get someone permanent.’

‘No need.’ Wes sounded smug and Levi didn’t need to enable the video camera to picture him swivelling gently on his office chair, red-framed glasses set at a jaunty angle and hair spiking up at the front. ‘I’ve taken on another tech. She recently sent in a fantastic CV so I got onto her as soon as Dick chucked the page. I sent her the contract to look over, she said great, and I issued her with a username and password.’

‘Really?’ Levi got up to pace, stomach sinking. Wes had logic to the point of geekiness but, somehow, not much common sense. It wasn’t usually a problem when Levi was working alongside him – but these were not usual times. He raised his voice so the laptop mic could pick him up. ‘But you’ve had no time to get references.’

‘No need,’ Wes repeated, sounding smugger than ever. ‘It’s Octavia.’

Levi halted mid-stride. ‘Octavia?’ He hunted fruitlessly through his memory bank for some other Octavia. ‘Octavia who?’

‘Octavia Hawthorn. The one who found your phone when you lost it the week before you left.’

Freshly irritated just by the memory of the whole episode, Levi paused to absorb the unwelcome information. ‘Her? Don’t you remember that I told you she made me really uncomfortable, the way she came onto me? Can you call a halt? Please,’ he added belatedly.

‘Not really. I said if she could take Dick’s pages on straightaway she had the job. I can’t go back on it. So, she asked you out and you said no. What’s the problem?’

After asking Wes to step up while he was away it would be bad management to jump on him for his first decision so Levi kept his voice even. ‘It’s more about policy than it’s a problem. We take references.’ He dropped back down in front of his laptop. ‘Don’t worry, I can do the necessary,’ he said smoothly, preparing to gain access to the server he rented from a data centre.

‘Whoa, whoa!’ Wes laughed, but didn’t sound amused. ‘You can’t go back on my word. That sends the message that you don’t trust me.’

Levi’s fingers hesitated over the keys.

‘And,’ Wes went on, sounding his usual mild self again, ‘I think she’ll be good, and I take responsibility for my decision.’

‘I understand that.’ Levi let a silence draw out while he quickly ran the situation through his mental filters. He tried switching to inclusive language to make Wes part of the decision-making process. ‘We can still ask her to apply formally for Dick’s pages. She won’t think there’s anything odd about us withholding access while we process that.’

‘I’ll think it’s odd,’ Wes returned promptly, his voice tinny through the laptop speaker. ‘I’ll think I’ve offered her those pages and you’ve reversed my decision. And that would make me look like an idiot. In fact, it would make me think you view me as an idiot – and I’d have to give up my minor shareholder status here and start looking for another job, one where I wasn’t asked to take on extra responsibility and then overridden by the major shareholder as soon as I do.’

Alarmed at Wes’s reaction, Levi let his hands fall away from the keyboard. ‘I’m not overriding you, but—’

‘That’s great then,’ Wes broke in cheerfully. ‘Just leave her with me. I think if you refresh the Modern Man page now you’ll see I’ve cut the unwanted code out and everything’s running as it should. Got to go. See you.’ Skype gave its whoop-whop ‘call ended’ tone and Wes was gone.

Levi stared at the screen, shaken at the way Wes had come down on him. He could revoke Octavia’s privileges himself but had Wes really said that if Levi did anything like that he’d simply walk? Levi wasn’t prepared to risk it, especially while he was in Italy. He doubted he’d ever find another Wes, someone so solid, dependable and formidably intelligent. Though the company was 90 per cent Levi’s it came from an idea they’d developed together and made a lot of money from and on which future income depended. The Moron Forum was a cult hit. It might be heavily laced with satire and silliness but that didn’t stop it being a serious business.

What it came down to was that he wanted to keep Wes even more than he wanted to cut Octavia Hawthorn out of his life.

He cursed the day he lost his phone somewhere in or around the Costa in Bettsbrough where he’d stopped for a caffeine fix.

No sooner had he begun the process of informing his insurance company and speaking to his provider than an email notification, apparently from his own LinkedIn account, dropped into his email inbox. My name’s Octavia and I think I have your phone. I found it on the pavement in High Street. It was signed into LinkedIn so hopefully you’ll get this message.

Relief had swamped him. You’ve saved my life! Thank you! As an afterthought, he’d added: Intrigued how you got around the passcode though.

No password protection enabled, she’d replied. It would have been rude to disbelieve her and, sure enough, when he’d met up with her by arrangement in Bettsbrough town centre he’d found the passcode protection box unchecked.

He’d brushed that detail aside as he settled his phone’s comforting and familiar weight in his pocket; he’d been so relieved that he’d grinned like an idiot and showered her with thanks. ‘I keep my life on that phone! You were in Costa, weren’t you? You must’ve left right after me to find my phone before I got back for it.’ He generally noticed well-groomed, attractive women and he remembered seeing her behind him in the queue and then brushing past his table on the way to one nearby.

‘Nice to be noticed.’ She’d returned the smile coquettishly from behind her curtain of blonde hair. ‘You’d better take me out to dinner to express your gratitude.’

He’d been taken aback. But, hey, she was an attractive woman and it would have been churlish to refuse – even when she’d laid a well-manicured hand on his arm and steered him straight to a nearby Greek restaurant where she’d become uber-chatty and mega-friendly, even taking his hand when he rested it on the table. That had been the beginning of a crazy week.

He supposed that some men would have been intrigued by her front, or simply gone along with her in the hopes that she’d jump into bed with the same lack of inhibition, but on him she’d had the opposite effect. Uncomfortable with her over-familiarity, only good manners had made him remain until the end of the meal. Then, with cool courtesy, he’d put her in a taxi and said farewell.

Alarm bells had only really begun to sound the next day when she’d texted effusive thanks for ‘a fab date’ and he knew instantly that he hadn’t given her his number so she must have extracted it when she had his phone. An avalanche of texts followed, all suggesting ‘another date’. After the first few polite prevarications his phone had begun to buzz with her calls, all of which he’d let go to voicemail. He was grateful she’d returned his phone, but she had ‘unwanted admirer’, ‘cling’ or even ‘ring’ written all over her.

And then he’d been distracted when a sobbing Freya had blasted from the past to lob into his lap a bomb with a short fuse. Octavia’s next call had come while he’d been packing his bike to shoot off on the mission that had brought him to Montelibertà. Angry and stressed enough already, he’d blocked her number.

But now she was somehow intruding on his life via his business and his best friend. He rose to pace once more, wandering out onto the sunny balcony, idly watching the aerial view of Il Giardino as his mind circled the problem. Despite the disparity in their company shareholdings he was all too aware that Wes had worked just as hard as Levi to set up The Moron Forum. Levi had simply been the one with the money to put up for the Mac Pro computers and other set-up costs. Between student loans and his girlfriend at the time having expensive tastes, Wes had been broke. His 10 per cent share had been a reward for his work. The benefit was only monetary as Levi kept an ample controlling interest, but it could definitely cause all kinds of issues if Wes followed through on his threat.

His gaze strayed from Il Giardino to the view of Via Virgilio, the engines of the ever-present scooters shrill with the pain of climbing the hill, cars and buses rumbling up in lower gears. His attention was grabbed by two figures sauntering along the pavement and he recognised Amy, with Sofia by her side. As they drew closer, the breeze brought a gust of their laughter to his ears.

The sound redirected his thoughts and he hurried back indoors to gather up his A4 pad of watercolour paper and his paintbox. He wasn’t going to worry about Wes and Octavia right now. He was going to paint, as planned.