supper, I’ll leave you to organise that.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, drily. ‘Actually, I have got a pile of work to catch up with so I’ll need the laptop, but you could use the machine in your father’s old office,’ he said, leading the way. ‘You’ll probably want to upgrade it. Have the whole office redecorated if you like. Buy some new furniture.’
‘Why would I want to do that?’ she asked, walking through the door, touching her father’s desk, slipping into his huge leather chair, remembering the times she’d begged to stay with him when her mother had dropped in after shopping, for coffee, lunch.
How she’d climbed onto his lap, drawing pictures while he’d worked, nibbling on the little savoury treats he’d had sent up for her from the kitchen. Both of them getting a ticking off from her mother for spoiling her appetite…
‘For three weeks,’ she added, pushing the memory away. Except, of course, they both knew he wanted more than that. ‘I’ve got state-of-the-art equipment in my own office,’ she said.
And suddenly she had his full attention.
‘I thought…’
She knew what he thought. That she’d move in here while she worked on the Bella Lucia account and in one bound he’d have her back in the family fold.
‘Just so you know, so that there are no misunderstandings, Max, what you’re getting from me is a marketing plan. An image. Some publicity. Some ideas. You’re not getting my business, my life or anything else.’
Not for a kiss.
Max watched as she switched on the computer, absently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as the machine booted up, concentrating on the screen as she logged onto the internet. For a moment he thought that she’d forgotten him, but then she glanced up as if surprised to still see him there, before her attention was reclaimed by the computer and she turned back to the screen.
He returned to his own office, sat at his desk, trying to work out whether he’d got what he wanted, or whether it was Louise who was calling all the shots. True, she was working with him, but very much on her own terms, in her own office. That wasn’t what he’d envisaged. What he’d wanted.
What did he want?
His plans were huge and he’d never doubted his ability to put them into action; he’d got that drive from his father. He’d been less than thrilled with Jack when he’d suggested he needed Louise. But it had been impossible to avoid the fact that the world had felt a very lonely place as he’d stepped up to take sole responsibility for Bella Lucia, all the people who worked for him relying on him to make the money that paid their mortgages, for their children’s shoes.
Knowing that they were going to be in this together, made the whole thing so much more…What? He sifted through the words that offered themselves. Satisfying. Pleasing. Enjoyable…No, more than that. And as the right word dropped into his mind he grinned.
Fun.
It had stopped feeling like the weight of the world on his shoulders and had started to feel like an adventure.
And there was still the kiss to look forward to, he thought, smiling as he reached for the stack of paperwork.
He was deeply absorbed in the quotations for a redecoration of one of the Mayfair dining rooms when Martin, a waiter who’d been with them for years, arrived with a tray and began to lay the small dining table in the corner of his office. He glanced at his watch, saw that it was nearly nine.
‘I hadn’t realised it was so late.’
‘Miss Valentine rang through to the kitchen to see if you’d ordered anything. I offered to bring up a menu, but she just asked for the mushroom risotto.’
‘For both of us?’
‘I could ask Chef for something else if you’d prefer?’ Martin said, catching his initial irritation at not being consulted, but unable to feel the almost instant follow-up of something much nearer pleasure that she already felt sufficiently at ease, at home, to call down and order food.
Maybe, he thought, that was the way to do it. If he stopped pushing so hard, she’d relax, come back in from the cold without even noticing she was doing it.
‘The risotto will be fine, Martin. Did she choose a wine?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Ask Georges for a bottle of Krug, will you?’
‘Krug?’ the waiter repeated. It wasn’t something he’d want to make a mistake about.
‘A small celebration. Miss Valentine is going to be working with us for a few weeks.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it, sir.’
A few minutes later, having asked Martin to give him ten minutes before he brought up the food, he walked through to the other office, bearing two glasses of champagne.
‘Supper’s on its way up,’ he said. Absorbed in what she was doing, Louise raised a hand to indicate that she’d heard him and carried on working. He set down the glasses and joined her behind the desk interested to see what she was doing. ‘Is that Meridia?’ he asked, leaning over her shoulder to look at an aerial photograph of a small island, surmounted by an equally small castle.
‘I downloaded Google Earth so that I could take a close look at the capital, refresh my memory of the layout. And then I remembered this,’ she said, using the mouse to fly them in over the island, before moving lower, taking him on an aerial tour around the castle. ‘Do you see?’
‘Very pretty. So?’
‘It’s a fishing lodge that belongs to some distant cousin of Sebastian’s. Emma told me about it. He’s a bit of a black sheep, apparently; persona non grata in the country. It’s got a natural harbour, a small beach…’
‘So?’
She turned and looked up at him, clearly expecting a response. ‘So, it would make a perfect setting for a Bella Lucia restaurant,’ she said, her eyes sparkling with an infectious enthusiasm that sent a charge of recognition skipping through him. She was, he thought, as excited by all this as he was.
‘I can certainly see the attraction, but unless the man is looking for a tenant…’
‘Well, he can’t use it himself. I called Emma to run the idea past her and ask if there was any possibility of us looking at the place when we’re there on Monday. It’s all fixed.’
He frowned. ‘Oh, come on, it can’t be that easy…’ Then, ‘You’re serious?’
‘Of course. I don’t have time to mess about. Oh, and I’ve arranged for us to meet with the director of the State Tourism Office, too.’
‘You seem to have organised everything.’ He straightened, no longer smiling. ‘Are you sure you need me to come with you?’
‘I’m sorry, Max?’ she said, instantly catching the change in his mood.
She said it not as if she were truly sorry, or actually thought she might have overstepped some unseen line, but as if he were the one in the wrong.
‘The words “bull” and “china shop” leap to mind. There’s a fine difference between being keen,’ he said, ‘and rushing in without taking time to consider all the options.’
‘I’ve suggested a location that I’ve already seen, I’ve arranged a viewing-using my personal contact with a queen, no less,’ she pointed out, ‘and I’ve organised a meeting with a man who would be useful in setting up a joint venture with a local hotelier, since-and correct me if I’m wrong-I assume you don’t have any plans to move into the hotel business, too.’ She paused for half a beat, then said, ‘What have you done in the last couple of hours?’
‘Cleared a mountain of paperwork I should have been attending to this afternoon instead of hanging around the Portrait Gallery waiting for you,’ he said. ‘This company doesn’t run itself, you know.’
‘Nobody asked you,’ she reminded him. ‘I didn’t need you. You were the one who insisted, wanted to show how much you care about me-’
‘I do, Louise. We all do.’
‘Please! What you want is for me to play happy families, come and work for you, and now you think you’ve got all that, it’s as you were. Well, if this is going to be the kind of “working together”…’ and she did that really irritating quotes thing again, presumably with the precise intention of irritating him ‘…where I’m supposed to stand on the
