Читать книгу The Duke's Boardroom Affair / Convenient Marriage, Inconvenient Husband: The Duke's Boardroom Affair - Michelle Celmer, Michelle Celmer - Страница 13

It wasn’t a fast food restaurant.

It was a cozy, moderately priced bistro tucked between two upscale women’s clothing stores in the shopping district. The maître d’ greeted Victoria warmly and Charles with the proper fuss afforded royalty, then seated them at a table in a secluded corner. It was quiet and intimate and soaked in the flickering glow of warm candlelight. Their waiter appeared instantly to take their drink orders—a white wine for Victoria and a double scotch for him—then he listed the specials for the evening.

“I recommend the prime rib,” Victoria said, once he was gone.

Charles drew the line at letting his date order for him, and he used the term date very loosely. Besides, his encounter with Ethan had pretty much killed his appetite.

“I take it you come here often,” he said.

“I love this place,” Victoria said with a smile. An honest to goodness, genuine smile. And the force of it was so devastating it nearly knocked him backward out of his chair. She might not have smiled often, but it was certainly worth the wait.

The waiter reappeared only seconds later with their drinks. Charles took a deep slug of scotch, relishing the smooth burn as it slid down his throat and spread heat through his stomach. Three or four more of these and he would be right as rain, but he’d never been one to find solace in a bottle.

Victoria took a sip of her wine, watching him curiously. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“Whatever it is that’s bothering you.” She propped her elbow on the table, dropped her chin in her hand, and gazed across the candlelight at him, her eyes warm, her features soft in the low light.

She really was stunning. And not at all the sort of woman he was typically attracted to. But maybe that was the appeal. Maybe he was tired of the same old thing. Maybe he needed to spice things up a bit.

The family had put the kibosh on that, though, hadn’t they? And since when did he ever let anyone tell him whom he could or couldn’t pursue?

“What makes you think something is bothering me?”

“That’s why I agreed to dinner,” she said. “You looked as though you needed a sympathetic ear.”

She certainly looked sympathetic, which for some reason surprised him. He never imagined her having a soft side. But he wasn’t one to air his troubles. Although, would it hurt to play the pity card this one time? And maybe, in the process, do his job and convince Victoria to stay with the hotel?

He pulled in a deep, contemplative breath, then blew it out. “Family issues,” he said, keeping it cryptic. Baiting her. But if he expected her to try to drag it out of him, boy, had he been wrong.

She just sat there sipping her wine, waiting for him to continue.

He dropped another crumb. “Suffice it to say that the family wasn’t happy to hear that you’re not staying with the Royal Inn.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’ve been instructed to do whatever it takes to convince you to stay.”

If she was flattered, it didn’t show on her face. “But that isn’t what’s bothering you,” she said.

Who was baiting whom here?

Though he’d had no intention of telling her what was really said, he supposed that if anyone could understand a backstabbing, meddling family, it was her.

“I’ve been asked by the family not to pursue you socially.”

A grin tipped up the corners of her mouth. “In other words, don’t sleep with me.”

Her candor surprised him a little, but then, what did she have to lose? This was only a temporary position for her. “That was the gist of it, yes.”

“And that upsets you?”

“Wouldn’t it upset you?”

“I suppose. But then, I don’t have a notorious reputation for sleeping with my employees.”

He couldn’t help but wonder where she’d heard that. “According to whom?”

“The girls in the palace office talk.”

He couldn’t exactly deny it, but still he felt…offended. Whom he dated was no one’s concern. Especially the girls in the office. “What else did the girls have to say about me?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

Did he? Did it even matter? When had he ever cared what people thought of him?

But curiosity got the best of him. “I’m a big boy. I think I can handle it.”

“They told me that your assistants never last more than a few weeks.”

Again, he couldn’t deny it. But that was just the nature of business. Assistants’ positions notoriously had a high turnover rate. Most were overworked and underpaid.

Were the girls in the office taking that into account?

Not to say that he was an unfair employer. But he didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

“And I’m not your usual type.”

“I have a type?”

“Tall, leggy, impressed by your power and position.”

Could he help that people were impressed by his title?

“Oh, and they told me that you objectify women,” she added. “But I already knew that.”

Wait, what? He objectified women? “No, I don’t.”

She looked a little surprised by his denial. “Yes, you do.”

“I have nothing but respect for women. I love women.”

“Maybe that’s part of the problem.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” And why did he even care what she thought of him?

“This is upsetting you,” she said. “Maybe we should just drop it.”

“No. I want to know how it is that I objectify women.”

She studied him for a minute, then asked, “How many different women have you dated in the last month?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Humor me.”

“Eight or ten, maybe.” Maybe more. In fact, if he counted the casual encounters in bars or clubs that led back to his bedroom, that number was probably closer to fifteen. But that didn’t mean anything. Wanting to play the field, not wanting to settle down yet, did not equate into disrespect for the opposite sex.

“What were their names?” she asked.

That one stopped him. “What do you mean?”

“Their names. The women you dated. They had names, right?”

“Of course.”

“So, what were they?”

He frowned. That was a lot of names. Faces he could remember, or body types. Hair color, even eye color. Names he wasn’t so good with.

“I’ll make it easy for you. Of the last twenty girls you dated, give me three names,” she said.

Three names? What about the blonde from the bar last week. The bank teller with the large and plunging…portfolio. It was something simple. A J name. Jenny, Julie, Jeri. Or maybe it was Sara.

He was usually pretty good under pressure, but now he was drawing a blank.

“You can’t do it, can you?” Victoria said, looking pleased with herself. “Here’s an easy one. How about your last assistant? What was her name?”

Now this one he knew. Tall, brunette. Low, sultry voice…

It was right there, on the tip of his tongue.

“Oh, come on,” she said. “Even I know this.”

He took a guess, which he knew was probably a bad idea. “Diane.”

“Her name was Rebecca.”

“Well, she looked like a Diane to me.” Mostly he’d just called her honey, or sweetheart, so he wouldn’t have to remember her name. Because after a while they all just sort of bled together. But that didn’t mean anything.

She shook her head. “That’s really sad.”

“So I’m not great with names. So what?”

“Name the last five male clients you met with.”

They popped into his head in quick succession. One after the other, clear as if he’d read them on a list. And though he said nothing, she could read it in his expression.

The smile that followed was a smug one. “Easier, isn’t it?”

He folded his arms across his chest, not liking the direction this was taking. “What’s your point?”

“You remember the men because you respect them. You see them as equals. Women on the other hand exist only for your own personal amusement. They’re playthings.”

Though his first reaction was to deny the accusation, it was an interesting…hypothesis. And one he had no desire to contemplate at that particular moment, or with her.

He downed the last of his drink and signaled the waiter for the check. “We should go.”

“We haven’t eaten yet.”

“I have to get an early start in the morning.”

Her smug smile grew, as though she was feeding off his discomfort. To make matters worse, before he could take the bill from the waiter, she snatched it up. “My treat, remember?”

There didn’t seem much point in arguing. And since it was only drinks, he would let her have her way this once.

She paid in cash, leaving a generous tip considering they hadn’t even eaten, then they rose from their chairs and walked in silence to the door. The car was already waiting for them out front.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.

“You don’t want a ride?”

She shook her head. “No, thanks.”

“It’s quite chilly.”

“I’m just a few blocks from here. I could use the fresh air.”

“I’ll walk you,” he said, because God forbid she would also accuse him of not being a gentleman.

“No, I’m fine,” she said, with a smile. “But I appreciate the offer.”

There was something very different about her tonight. He’d never seen her so relaxed. So pleasant and…happy.

At his expense, no doubt.

“See you tomorrow at the office.” She turned to walk away, but made it only a step or two before she stopped and turned back. “By the way, have you decided what to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your family? Not pursuing me. Will you listen to them?”

Good question. And despite all the hemming and hawing and claims that no one could tell him who he could or couldn’t see, he had an obligation to the family. Ultimately, there was really only one clear-cut answer.

He shrugged. “I don’t really have much choice.”

“Well, in that case…”

Another one of those grins curled her mouth. Playful, bordering on devious, and he had the distinct impression that she was up to no good.

She stepped closer, closing the gap between them, then reached up with one hand and gripped his tie. She gave it a firm tug, and he had no choice but to lean over—it was that or asphyxiation. And when he did, she rose up on her toes and kissed him. A tender, teasing brush of her lips against his own.

Before he could react, before he could cup the back of her head and draw her in for more, it was over. She had already let go of his tie and backed away. His lips burned with the need to kiss her again. His hands ached to touch her.

He wanted her.

“What was that for?” he asked.

She shrugged, as though she accosted men on the street on a regular basis. “Just thought you should know what you’re missing.”

Victoria knew that kissing Charles was a really bad idea, but he had looked so adorably bewildered by their conversation in the restaurant, so hopelessly confused, she hadn’t been able to resist. She thought it would be fun to mess with his head, knock him a little further off base. But what she hadn’t counted on, what she hadn’t anticipated, was the way it would make her feel.

She’d kissed her share of men before, but she felt as though, for the first time in her life, she had really kissed a man. It was as if a switch in her brain had been flipped and everything in her being was saying, He’s the one.

Which was as ridiculous as it was disturbing.

Yet her legs were so wobbly and her head so dizzy that once she’d rounded the corner and was out of sight, she collapsed on a bench to collect herself.

What was wrong with her? It was just a kiss. And barely even that. So why the weak knees? The frantically beating heart and breathless feeling? Why the tingling burn in her breasts and between her thighs?

Maybe that was just the effect he had on females, something chemical, or physiological. Maybe that was why he dated so many women. They genuinely couldn’t resist him.

That was probably it, she assured herself. Pheromones or hormones or something. And the effect was bound to wear off. Eventually she would even grow immune to it altogether.

She just hoped to God that he hadn’t noticed. That before she let go he hadn’t felt her hands shaking, that he hadn’t seen her pulse throbbing at the base of her throat or the heat burning her cheeks. That he hadn’t heard the waver in her voice before she turned and walked away. If he knew what he did to her, he could potentially make her life—the next few weeks, anyway—a living hell.

When she felt steady enough, she walked the two blocks to her flat. She unlocked the outer door and headed up the stairs to the third floor. The building was clean and well tended, but the flat itself was only a fraction the size of her suite at the family estate.

She stepped inside and tossed her keys and purse on the table by the door. It would be roomier once she emptied all of the boxes still sitting packed in every room. But her heart just wasn’t in it. It didn’t feel like home.

The light on her answering machine was flashing furiously. She checked the caller ID and saw that every one that day was from her father. He was probably eager to talk to her about the royal family, tell her more lies to cover his own mistakes.

Well, she wasn’t ready to talk to him. The sting of his betrayal was too fresh. She would end up saying something she would later regret.

She erased the messages without listening to them and turned off the ringer on her phone. At times like this she wished she had a best girlfriend to confide in. Even a casual friend. Only now, with her career in the toilet, was she beginning to realize what she’d missed out on when she made the decision to devote herself entirely to her career. For the first time in her life she truly felt alone. And when she thought of her father’s betrayal, the feeling intensified, sitting like a stone in her belly.

All those years of dedication and hard work, and what had it gotten her? Thanks to her father, she had lost nearly everything.

But was it fair to blame it all on him? Didn’t she shoulder at least a little bit of the blame? Had she allowed it to happen by not questioning his handling of the finances? By not checking the books for herself?

By trusting him?

But what reason had he given her not to?

She shook her head and rubbed at the ache starting in her temples. Self-pity would get her nowhere. She needed to get over it, pick up the pieces, and get on with her life. And the first thing on her agenda: finding Charles a new assistant and finding herself a new job. Despite their desire to keep her in their employment, she would never feel comfortable working for the royal family. She couldn’t shake the idea that their job offer had nothing to do with skill, that they had hired her out of pity.

She would never feel as though she truly fit in.

First thing in the morning she would place an ad for the assistant’s position and phone her contacts at the various employment agencies in the bay area. In no time she would have Phillip a new assistant. A capable assistant.

And until then, she would stay as far from Charles as humanly possible.