Читать книгу His Shy Cinderella - Kate Hardy - Страница 10
ОглавлениеANGEL REALLY HADN’T expected that, and it flustered her. ‘You’re asking me on a date?’ she queried, hoping she looked and sounded a lot calmer than she felt.
‘I guess so,’ he drawled.
‘No.’
‘Why?’
Because gala dinners tended to be noisy and she found it wearing, having to make small talk and being forced to concentrate really hard to hear what people said.
Plus Brandon Stone dated a lot and he wasn’t the serious type. She didn’t want to get involved with him, professionally or personally. ‘You’re a Stone and I’m a McKenzie,’ she said finally.
‘“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”’
‘Don’t quote Shakespeare at me.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘I thought you were an engineer?’
‘I did Romeo and Juliet for GCSE. Besides, doesn’t everyone know that line?’
‘Maybe. So are we Montagues and Capulets?’
She scoffed. ‘I have no intention of swooning over you on a balcony. Or drinking poison. And,’ she pointed out, ‘at thirty, I’m also more than twice Juliet’s age.’
‘Ouch. Thus speaks the engineer.’
‘And that’s why I don’t want to date you. You’d spend all evening either flirting with me or making smart, annoying remarks.’
‘Firstly,’ he said, ‘you’re meant to flirt with your date.’
‘Flirting’s superficial and overrated.’
‘Clearly nobody’s flirted properly with you.’
That was a little too near the mark. ‘I don’t need to be flirted with.’
He held her gaze. ‘No?’
‘No.’ She looked away.
‘When was the last time you dated?’ he asked.
Too long ago. ‘Wasn’t that in your dossier?’ she retorted.
‘Now who’s making the smart remarks?’
At her silence, he continued, ‘The gala evening is a charity dinner. The proceeds go to help the families of drivers who’ve been hurt or killed on the track.’
Was he trying to guilt her into agreeing? It was for a cause she knew was close to his heart, given that his brother had been killed; and it was a cause she’d be happy to support. But going to a posh dinner with Brandon, where she’d have to dress up and she’d feel totally out of place among all the glamorous socialites...
He sighed. ‘At least think about it.’
She made a noncommittal noise, which she hoped he’d take as meaning ‘maybe’ and would back off.
* * *
Brandon was furious with himself. There were plenty of women who’d love to go to the gala dinner with him, so why was he spending this much effort on someone who’d made it quite clear that she didn’t want to go anywhere with him?
He should never have mentioned the gala dinner.
He should’ve stuck to business.
At least if they’d been talking about cars, they would’ve had something in common. Maybe that was the way to get this conversation back on track. ‘Would you show me round the factory?’
Those beautiful violet eyes widened in surprise. ‘That’s direct. Don’t you prefer other people to look things up for you and report back?’
Maybe he deserved that one. ‘I’m not spying on you, if that’s your implication. Anyone who works in our industry would be itching to look round, and sit in one of your cars and pretend to be its owner.’
She scoffed. ‘My cars are very affordable. If you wanted one, you could buy one. In fact, you could buy a whole fleet for the price of just one of yours.’
‘If that’s your best patter,’ he said, ‘you should sack yourself as head of sales.’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘What do you want from me, Mr Stone?’
A lot of things. Some of which he hadn’t quite worked out. ‘First-name terms, for a start.’ He paused. ‘Angel.’
She looked as if she was warring with herself, but then finally nodded. ‘Brandon. OK. I’ll show you round the factory.’
* * *
Walking through the factory with Brandon felt weird. Tantamount to parading her flock of lambs in front of a wolf. Though at least she’d already warned her staff that he’d made an offer and she’d refused. She’d reinforce that later.
Please let that contract come through today.
She knew that the Frost prototype was in a partitioned-off part of the factory, safely away from his gaze. But he could see the areas where the body parts were sprayed, the leather seats were hand-cut and hand-sewn, the engines were built and the final cars were assembled. If he saw the process for himself he’d understand what was so special about McKenzie’s, and why she was so adamant about keeping things as they were.
‘This is the Luna,’ she said. ‘This one’s being built by Ernie and Ravi. Ernie, Ravi, this is Brandon Stone.’
Ernie gave him a curt nod, but Ravi shook his hand enthusiastically and smiled. ‘I’ve seen you race. I was there when you won the that championship, six years ago.’
‘A lifetime ago,’ Brandon said softly. ‘I’m on the other side of the business now.’
Ravi looked awkward. ‘Sorry. I didn’t...’
‘It’s fine.’ Brandon clearly knew what the other man wasn’t saying. He hadn’t meant to trample over a sore spot and bring up Sam’s death. He patted Ravi’s shoulder briefly. ‘I really like the lines of this car. Is it OK for me to have a look at the engine?’
‘Sure.’ Ravi popped the catch on the bonnet.
Ernie gestured to Angel to step to the side while Ravi was showing Brandon the engine. ‘What are you doing, Angel?’ he asked in an angry whisper. ‘I thought you said you weren’t selling?’
‘I’m not. He turned up today. I’m showing him round the factory so he can see our processes for himself,’ Angel said, ‘and to prove we’re not compatible with Stone’s.’
* * *
‘You’re a good boss, lass, but you’re no match for a company that ruthless.’ He shook his head. ‘You be careful.’
‘I will.’ Even though Ernie should’ve retired a couple of years back, Angel appreciated the fact he’d decided to stay on, training their younger staff and making sure the quality control lived up to their brand’s promise. And she knew he had the company’s interests at heart; he’d accepted her as his boss because he knew she paid the same attention to detail that he did, and she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty and work on the factory floor if she was needed.
As they walked through the different stations, she could see Brandon looking intrigued. ‘This is very different from the way we do things at Stone’s,’ he said.
‘Exactly. I’m glad you see your business is completely incompatible with mine.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t say that.’
‘I’m saying it for you.’
He just looked at her as if to say he knew something she didn’t. She brushed off her worries by switching the conversation back to technical issues. ‘I guess you need more tech in a race car than in a roadster. Doesn’t its steering wheel alone cost as much as we charge for a basic Luna?’
‘There are a lot more electronics in one of our steering wheels than in a Luna’s,’ he said, and she noticed that he avoided the question. ‘Maybe you should come and take a look at our place in Oxford and see how we do things.’
See where he planned to change her beloved hand-built into mass-produced monsters? She fell back on a noncommittal, ‘Mmm.’
‘Thanks for showing me round,’ he said as she walked him back to the reception area. ‘But, before I go, I thought you might like to see my favourite car ever.’ He took his phone from his pocket and showed her a photograph of a gorgeous iridescent turquoise car with outrageous tail fins.
She recognised it instantly as her own favourite car. Did he know that from his dossier? Was he playing her? ‘That’s a McKenzie Mermaid. My grandfather designed it in the early sixties.’
‘I know.’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘I would’ve expected you to prefer one of your own family’s cars, or one of the classic 1960s sports cars.’
‘I like the classics,’ he said, ‘but I fell in love with the Mermaid when I saw a picture of it as a kid.’
It had been the same for her. If only there had been more than a hundred of them ever produced. The only one she’d ever seen had been in a museum, years ago, and even the fact that she was a McKenzie hadn’t been enough for the curators to allow her to touch it, let alone sit in it. And because Mermaids were so rare they almost never came up for sale.
His next comment floored her completely. ‘Which is why I bought one, six years ago. After I won the championship race.’
She stared at him, not quite believing what she was hearing. ‘That picture... Are you telling me that’s actually yours?’
‘Uh-huh. It was a bit of a mess when I first saw it. It’d been left in a barn for years. There was more rust than anything else, and mice had eaten their way through the leather.’
‘So you picked it up for a song.’ That figured.
‘Actually, I paid a fair price,’ he said.
Why did she suddenly feel so guilty? She pushed the thought away. All her life, she’d been told that Stones were ruthless asset-strippers, and what she’d read in the business press had only confirmed that. Hadn’t Barnaby walked away from the original company with way more than his fair share?
