No, don’t go there!
I drop my gaze to his clothing. The sharp cut to his charcoal-grey suit that highlights his broad shoulders, his crisp white shirt smooth as it runs over what are sure to be washboard abs. Is there not a millimetre that doesn’t appeal? A millimetre of imperfection that I can focus on...my eyes flit to the scar again.
No. Not working. It only adds a bad boy vibe to his authoritarian air, and in my office, going over my schedule.
I have the ridiculous urge to climb over my desk and yank the navy flap of silk until he’s an inch from my face, muss him up while I make it clear I won’t be treated like this.
Not again.
‘I said I’ve made arrangements for us to attend a football match, a corporate box affair. I think the French striker Louis Dubois and his wife are the perfect replacement for you. The charitable work they’ve already done abroad makes them the ideal candidates to—’
‘I don’t disagree with their suitability. What I’m arguing with is the timing, the fact that you’ve taken it upon yourself to cancel my plans with my PA behind my back and you’ve not even been here five minutes.’
‘Twenty-four hours, if I want to be picky.’
My eyes flare at him.
‘As for the timing,’ he carries on regardless, ‘their calendars are tricky at best. They’re flying in for the semi-final, so it’s now or in a month or two, and you know it needs to be now.’
‘And like I said to you yesterday, it’s me you talk to, me you convince and gain agreement with, before you go anywhere near my PA and adjust my plans.’
‘You had a track day planned; it was hardly critical, not to mention—’
‘It’s my track day.’
‘There’ll be other track days; there won’t be another opportunity like this.’
‘That’s not the point, and you know it.’
He shifts in his seat. I’d like to think it’s because he’s uncomfortable, but he’s been in my office for an hour taking me through his plans and not once has he acted out of place, on edge. If anything, he’s in his element, telling me how this should all play out.
And yes, I’m impressed with the ideas he’s put forward. So far, they’ve been sound, easy decisions to make, but now we’re onto my diary, my free time and he’s taking over, just like...just like Nathan.
‘I spoke to Pippa and we agreed—’
‘You and my PA agreed?’ I splutter, choking on my rising anger. ‘Have you heard yourself?’
‘What I’m trying to say is, we talked through your Saturday plans and we agreed she would call you before firming anything up. When she couldn’t reach you, we made an executive decision.’
‘An executive decision about my Saturday, my free time? How utterly thoughtful of you.’
‘Like I explained, time was of the essence.’
‘I hardly think waiting a few hours for us to have this meeting would have hurt.’
‘I didn’t think it would be this much of an issue.’
‘Well, bully for you!’ I snap and then want to slap myself. Because I know I’m being juvenile, but hell, I’ve just escaped one controlling relationship to enter another. And not with a lover, a boyfriend, a husband or business partner, but a man employed by my board to fix me. And I’m angry. Hell, I’m angry.
‘When I discussed it with Alan and Pippa it made sound business sense.’
His words make my blood boil further. Having him ignore my outburst is worse than an outright dismissal of it. He might as well have sat there and said, Now, don’t you think you’re overreacting? Or, worse, his line from yesterday afternoon: ‘Will you stop behaving like a child?’
I suck in a breath, let it out, slow and measured. ‘You discussed it with them...what? Yesterday afternoon? The early hours of this morning?’
‘After our talk at your place I came back to the office and, like I said, Pippa did try to call you.’
My cheeks colour. It was just a talk, not an attempted seduction on my part...and Pippa did call me. Only I let it ring out as I enjoyed another glass of white followed by another. All in aid of forgetting: Nathan, work, Valentine, our talk, my seduction...
I can almost hear the inner laughter and it’s crippling me. You tried to seduce him—he was having none of it.
And why would he when he’s nearly twenty years my junior?
You silly deluded fool.
‘How old are you?’ I blurt out over the inner monologue that stings far too much.
‘I’m twenty-nine.’ He waves an easy hand at me. ‘Is that a problem?’
I shrug, my smile intended to be just as easy, just as self-assured. So I wasn’t graduating, but I was definitely at Oxford when he was running about in nappies. ‘I just wonder how much experience someone of your years can truly offer me.’
‘And just like that, we’re back to your experience?’
And instead of the heat of shame returning at the reminder of my ‘failed seduction’, I’m warming with something far more appealing and dangerous to the professional nature of this meeting.
I’m not the only one either. I swear I see it firing in the depths of his sharp blue gaze.
‘My apologies; does the mere mention of my experience in the bedroom put you on edge?’
His eyes spark all the more and the desire to crawl over my desk and put it to the test burns deeper, stronger.
He clears his throat, his knuckles whitening around the arms of his chair and I know I have him backed into a corner and I’ve not even moved...yet.
And I did warn him. Yesterday. I made it clear I wanted him and that I always—always—get what I want. Now that Nathan is gone there’s nothing stopping me in my quest for life, for fun, for anything but the stunted life I had before.
‘Do you disagree with anything else I’ve proposed this morning?’
I know he’s changing the
