Читать книгу The Boss's Valentine - Линн Грэхем, Lynne Graham - Страница 6

CHAPTER TWO

‘NO…NO…NO!’ Desmond urged Poppy in loud dismay. ‘Just leave the coffee over there. I prefer to stretch my arm out!’

Although Poppy smiled like a good sport at the tide of amusement that those pointed instructions roused, she was cut to the bone. Hadn’t she suffered enough yet for the episode of the spilt coffee? A lecture about safety measures with liquids from the HR manager had set the seal on her shame while she had also been reminded of her first formal warning, which had resulted from poor timekeeping in her very first month at Aragone Systems. ‘One more strike and you’re out,’ had been the message she’d received after the coffee incident and she really was determined not to make any further blunders.

‘What are you wearing to the party tonight?’

Grateful for the interruption, Poppy glanced up with a smile from the unexciting graph she had been tinkering with on her monitor. It was Lesley, a tall, slim brunette on the market research team. ‘Nothing special. Just a dress.’

She listened while Lesley described her own outfit. She knew that without a doubt it would enhance every slender curve of the other woman’s enviable figure. As Desmond informed her that he wanted the graphs she had been working on for a meeting, she hurried into printing them, relieved that she had finished the last one in time.

‘I heard that Santino got a valentine card,’ Lesley continued, and as Poppy tensed she added, ‘I was more surprised to hear he didn’t get a whole sackful! I bet it was from his ex trying to get back in with him.’

‘Ex?’ Poppy queried, relaxing again.

‘Don’t you read the gossip columns? He dumped Caro Hartley a month back,’ Lesley informed her with authority. ‘I didn’t think that would last long. She’s quite a party girl and I suspect Santino got bored fast. He’s a very clever guy.’

‘I’m sure he’ll not be on his own for long,’ Poppy remarked, anxious eyes on Desmond, her boss, as he treated the printed graphs to a cursory appraisal. Had she changed the colouring of the one she had first done in pink for her own amusement? Yes, she was sure she remembered doing so. Even so, she didn’t lose her tension until he had slotted them into a folder.

Never, ever again would she play around with the colours of the graphs, she swore as she went into the cloakroom to freshen up at lunchtime. If it killed her, she was going to erase her every bad habit. She gave herself only the most fleeting look in the mirror. At least she had grown out of the spots and her skin now looked great. But her rippling auburn curls were a constant source of aggravation, for the little tendrils that gathered round her face ensured that her hair never looked as tidy as other women’s. However, cut short her riotous curls were even harder to handle, so she kept her hair long and wore it clipped back at the nape of her neck.

Her unfashionable curves were the biggest challenge, she conceded ruefully. She was in dire need of a new, inspiring diet. The banana regime had put her off bananas for life, and the cabbage soup one had ensured that she felt queasy just passing vegetables on a market stall. No, it was back to boring old salad and yogurt, which worked but meant that she spent most of her time fantasising about food and feeling so hungry she could have munched on wood.

When she returned to her desk, the email icon was flicking on her monitor and she opened it, hoping it was a cheering communication from a friend.

‘Pink graphs are inappropriate in a business environment,’ ran the email.

Poppy looked at the message in shock and then glanced around herself to see if anyone was looking at her, but nobody was. Who had seen her mucking about with that graph before lunch? Who was pulling her leg? It was unsigned and the address was a six-digit number and, as such, anonymous.

‘Says who?’ she typed in and sent the email back.

‘I like graphs in dark colours.’

‘That’s boring,’ Poppy told her correspondent.

‘Rational. Pink is a distraction.’

‘Pink is warm and uplifting,’ she protested in reply, typing at full tilt.

‘Pink is irritating, cute, feminine…inappropriate.’ That awful word, inappropriate again. Her correspondent was a guy, she decided, and certainly not Desmond, who regarded email as a time-wasting exercise and who would surely have gone into orbit the instant he saw a pink graph.

‘How did you see my graph?’ she typed.

‘Stick to the issue.’

Poppy grinned at that rejoinder. Definitely a guy.

‘One more warning and you could be out of work. Be sensible.’ That next message came in fast on the previous one without having given her the chance to respond.

Her grin fell off her lips at supersonic speed. ‘How do you know that?’ she typed.

But this time, infuriatingly, there was no answer. Thinking about her mystery correspondent, Poppy conceded that quite a few people would be aware of those warnings on her employment record. The very first time it had happened she had been so upset, she had talked about it herself and, after the coffee episode, Desmond had been so furious that he had announced his intent to complain about her in such ringing decibels that most of the department had heard him.

Intrigued by those emails, scanning her busy colleagues with intense curiosity, Poppy sent several more to the same address that afternoon but still received no further response. Then she began thinking about the party that evening and wondered what she would wear, since pink had become such a controversial issue…

’I’m amazed that you’re still laying on large supplies of alcohol for your employees.’ Jenna Delsen’s exquisite face emanated shocked disapproval as she scanned the low-lit noisy room full of party revellers. ‘Daddy used to help our staff to get sloshed at our expense, too, but not since I joined the company. Now we have a nice sober supper do. No loud music, no dancing, no drink and everyone behaves.’

‘I like my staff to enjoy themselves. It is only one night a year.’ Santino suppressed the ungenerous thought that the blonde could be a pious, penny-pinching misery, for she had been welcome company at the funeral that afternoon and he had enjoyed dining with her and her father at their home afterwards.

‘I suppose that’s the extrovert Italian in you. You threw some very riotous parties when we were at Oxford together.’ Jenna gave him a flirtatious, rather coy look as she reminded him that they had known each other since university.

In receipt of that appraisal, all Santino’s defensive antenna hit alarm status. ‘Let me get you a drink,’ he suggested faster than the speed of light, already mentally listing the unattached executives present on the slender but hopeful thought that she might take a shine to one of them instead. They had always been friends, never anything else.

Jenna curved a slender hand round his arm when he returned to her side. ‘I have a confession to make…for the whole of the time we were at uni together, I was in love with you.’

Santino conceded that what had started out as an unusual day, and had gravitated into being a very long day, was now assuming nightmarish proportions. ‘You’re kidding me.’

‘No.’ Jenna fixed her very fine green eyes on him in speaking condemnation. ‘And you never noticed. In four long years, you never once noticed that I felt rather more for you than the average mate.’

In one unappreciative gulp, Santino tipped back an entire shot of brandy meant to be savoured at leisure. He was transfixed and trapped by that censorious speech. There was no polite or kind way of telling her that, beautiful and intellectually challenging as she was—for she had a first-class brain—there had been no spark whatsoever on his side of the fence.

‘And I had to sit back and watch you chasing girls who couldn’t hold a candle to me,’ Jenna continued with withering bite.

‘Oddly enough, I don’t recall you sitting home alone many nights,’ Santino countered sardonically.

‘Once I understood that I was in love with a commitment-phobe, I trained myself to regard you only as a friend—’

‘Jenna…when you first met me, I was eighteen. Most teenage boys are commitment-phobes.’ Santino groaned, thinking what an absolute pain she seemed to have become, still nourishing her sense of injustice over the unwitting blow he had dealt to her ego so many years after the event. ‘I was no better and no worse than most—’

‘Oh, don’t be so modest,’ Jenna trilled in sharp interruption. ‘All the girls were crazy about you! You were spoilt for choice but you deliberately chose women whom you knew would only be short-term distractions. You always protected yourself from the threat of a steady relationship and you’re still doing it!’

When Santino went back to the bar for another drink, Jenna was so taken up with her discourse that she accompanied him. Santino’s temper was on a very short leash and his second drink went the way of the first. He was cursing the innate good manners that had persuaded him that he ought to invite the blonde to accompany him to the party. He was thinking of what a very much better time he would have had mixing with his staff. Then he glanced across the room and saw a figure hovering in the doorway and the remainder of Jenna’s barbed criticisms washed off him because he no longer heard them.

Noticing that she had lost his attention, Jenna followed the direction of his gaze. She saw a youthful redhead with a vibrant mane of curly hair. Small, very pretty, but not at all Santino’s style. Yet Santino was so busy watching the girl that he had forgotten Jenna was there.

Scanning the crowded room, Poppy finally picked out Lesley in her distinctive white and silver dress and began to move towards her, an apologetic smile on her lips. She was a little late but then some of her colleagues had opted to stay on in the city centre and warm up in a bar before attending the party. But Poppy loved getting ready to go out at home and had known that she didn’t have enough of a head for drink to have sustained a lengthy pre-party session.

‘I really like that dress,’ Lesley said warmly as she flipped out a seat for Poppy’s occupation. ‘Where did you buy it?’

‘It’s not new. I got it for my brother’s wedding,’ Poppy confided, and then added in an undertone. ‘To be honest, it’s my bridesmaid’s dress—’

‘I wish my best friend had let me wear an outfit like that for her big day. At least I could have worn it again afterwards.’ Lesley admired the strappy green dress that flattered Poppy’s shapely figure and slim length of leg, then drew Poppy’s attention to the drinks already lined up in readiness for her, pointing out that she was very much behind the rest of them, before continuing, ‘It must have been an unusual wedding.’

‘My sister-in-law, Karrie, wanted a casual evening do. She wore a short dress, too.’

Poppy’s attention, which had been automatically roaming the room in search of a certain tall, dark male, finally found Santino where he stood by the bar with a spectacular blonde woman clinging to his arm. She lifted the drink that Lesley had nudged into her fingers and sipped it to ease her tight throat, but she resisted the urge to ask the chatty brunette if she knew who Santino’s companion was. After all, what was the point? Did it make any difference who it was? And it was none of her business either.

Indeed, she should not even be looking at Santino Aragone, Poppy told herself guiltily, because looking was only feeding her obsession. Having thought over Craig’s sneering remarks earlier that day, Poppy had finally faced the unhappy fact that he at least suspected that she was rather too attached to their mutual employer. That conclusion had unnerved her for Craig’s reputation for making others the butt of his cruel sense of humour was well-known. So, she would have to be more circumspect in the future, for languishing like a lovelorn teenager over Santino could easily make her a laughing stock at work. In fact, she would be much better devoting her brain to sussing out the mystery identity of her email correspondent, who had to at least like her to have gone to the trouble of trying to give her a warning word of advice, she reflected.

‘Who is she?’ Jenna enquired very drily of Santino.

‘Who are you talking about?’ Santino asked with a magnificent disregard for the direction of his own gaze.

‘The little redhead with the pre-Raphaelite hair…the one whom you’ve been watching for at least three solid minutes,’ Jenna completed between gritted teeth.

‘I’m not watching her,’ Santino murmured with cool disdain.

‘But even though you employ hundreds of young women you know instantly who I’m referring to,’ Jenna noted with rapier-sharp feminine logic.

‘Did you get out of the wrong side of the bed this morning?’ Santino drawled with his sudden flashing smile. ‘Exactly why are you trying to wind me up?’

‘Before I tell you—’ Jenna gave him a grudging smile of approbation for finally registering that she had been set on evening the score for past injuries ‘—you tell me who the redhead is and I will give you ten very good reasons why one should never, ever date an employee.’

Santino drained his drink again and dealt her a mocking glance. ‘I don’t need them, Jenna. All ten of them are in my mind right now.’

Returning to her table after chatting to various friends, Poppy sat down again. Lesley and two other women were chatting about Santino’s date, who was evidently the daughter of the owner of Delsen Industries.

‘What do you think of Jenna?’ another, less welcome voice enquired.

Poppy’s head swivelled, her startled gaze only then registering that Craig Belston had joined their table during her absence. That question had been directed specifically at her and she was gripped by discomfiture. ‘Why would I think anything of her?’ she answered with a determined smile. ‘All the boss’s girlfriends are incredible beauties.’

‘Now why did I get the idea that you mightn’t have noticed that?’ Craig rested his pale blue probing eyes on Poppy and her mouth ran dry.

‘Santino’s leggy ladies are rather hard to miss.’ Lesley shot a frowning glance at Santino’s PA and added, ‘Come on. You’ve been keeping us all in suspense since we finished work. Who sent Santino the naff card?’

Poppy froze and then gulped down her drink as her colour heightened.

‘Did I mention that it was an inside job?’ Craig murmured with tormenting slowness and Poppy’s heart skipped an entire beat, her every tiny muscle pulling rigid.

‘No, you darned well didn’t!’ one of the other women piped up in exasperation. ‘Who on earth working for Santino would be daft enough to send him a valentine card swearing undying love? I mean, come on, yes, he’s hugely fanciable, but he’s the last guy around who would respond to that kind of blatant invitation from a member of staff.’

‘You said the card wasn’t signed,’ Lesley reminded Craig. ‘So how could you know it was sent by someone in Aragone Systems? It didn’t come through the internal mail, did it?’

‘Just assume that in this particular case we’re talking about someone who’s not very bright,’ Craig invited, and Poppy’s tummy began to churn where she sat. ‘Someone who assumed that only a name would expose her identity.’

‘You recognised the handwriting!’ someone exclaimed.

‘I really don’t think I like this conversation very much,’ Lesley remarked suddenly. ‘Valentine cards are just for fun.’

‘It wasn’t the handwriting. It was a combination of errors,’ Craig explained to the table at large. ‘A distinctive perfume, a predilection for a particular colour and a love of flowers.’

Poppy was now as pale as milk and feeling physically ill with humiliation. She could not bring herself to look at any of her companions and silence greeted Craig’s last explanation, an awful uneasy silence that left Poppy’s nerves screaming and her skin clammy.

‘Now who do we all know who wears jasmine scent?’ Craig murmured.

‘I don’t know anyone who wears that,’ Lesley chimed in, and the two other women followed her lead to say the exact same. Painfully conscious that her companions were trying to throw sand in Craig’s eyes and deflect him from his target, Poppy had to grit her teeth to prevent herself from lifting her drink and throwing it at her tormentor.

At the other side of the room, Jenna was still in full confiding mode, but Santino was having a hard time dragging his brooding scrutiny from his PA’s smug expression and Poppy’s pale, rigid face.

‘So, I hope you’ll forgive me for giving you a rough time tonight,’ Jenna murmured in dulcet continuation, ‘but I always promised myself that some day I would tell you the truth and make you sweat for a few minutes. Will you still come to my engagement party?’

Taken aback, Santino frowned. ‘Engagement party?’

‘I’m so grateful I’m not in love with you any more.’ Jenna sighed. ‘Didn’t you hear me telling you that I’m getting engaged to David Marsh and that he’s picking me up here in five minutes?’

It had been a long time since Santino had heard that much good news in one sentence; he was genuinely fond of Jenna and relief on his own behalf and pleasure on her behalf sliced through his growing tension. Realising that the blonde had merely been set on claiming a small slice of revenge for his past indifference to her, he flung back his handsome dark head and started to laugh with genuine appreciation.

The sight of Santino splitting his sides with laughter, and Jenna equally convulsed and holding onto him for support, filled Poppy with paranoia. Immediately, she assumed that Santino had told the blonde about her pathetic card and that they were laughing at her, for if Craig had guessed that she was the culprit he was certain to have told Santino. Feeling as if she had just had her heart ripped out while she was still breathing, Poppy nonetheless rose from her seat with as much dignity as she could muster, for she could not bear sitting there playing poor little victim for Craig’s benefit any longer.

‘You’re a real Sherlock Holmes, Craig,’ she said flatly. ‘I’m very impressed.’

Poppy walked away fast. Tears were stinging her eyes and blurring her vision, but she kept her head high and that was her final undoing. She didn’t see the small table laden with drinks in her path. She hit it with such force that the table tipped over with an enormous crash that seemed to turn every head in the room. For an instant, Poppy hovered, staring in horror at the smashed glass and liquid everywhere, not to mention the startled dancers leaping back from the mess she had created. Then her control just snapped and she fled.

‘Now,’ Lesley said icily to Craig, who was sniggering at Poppy’s noisy exit, ‘while you’re wondering why Poppy’s friends aren’t rushing after her to offer support, watch Santino and learn…’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Upsetting Poppy is not a career-enhancing move in Aragone Systems. You see, if you were a woman and in touch with the real newsbreaking gossip in this building, you would already know that Santino fancies the socks off Poppy, too—’

‘Rubbish!’ Craig snapped. ‘He binned the card!’

‘Did you check the bin at the end of the day?’ someone enquired drily.

‘Santino doesn’t know what’s hit him yet,’ one of the other women commented with immense superiority. ‘He’s more at home with his keyboard than his emotions.’

‘But when a bloke like Santino, who likes everything done by the book, starts telling poor Desmond that pink graphs are fresh and creative, he’s in very deep,’ Lesley completed.

In companionable and expectant silence, the three women then focused pointedly on Santino, who had stridden forward the instant that Poppy had sent the table flying. He swung round to speak to Jenna Delsen and not thirty seconds later left in the same direction as Poppy. Witnessing that demonstration, Craig turned the greyish colour of putty and groaned out loud.