Читать книгу Contract To Marry - Nicola Marsh - Страница 8

IT HAD been a long time since Darcy had taken a woman out for dinner. His ever-increasing schedule put paid to any social life he’d once had, not that any woman had held his interest long enough for him to consider pursuing her.

Until now.

He shook his head, mentally chastising himself for allowing his thoughts to head down that track. Fleur Adams was business, not pleasure, a fact he shouldn’t forget if he wanted his company to survive.

So what if he’d already decided to hire her before the interview? He’d needed to know more about the woman who held the future of his business in her hands, besides the basics. In a way, that was what tonight would be also, another ‘get to know you’ session.

So was that why he’d picked the fanciest place to dine in town? They had to eat and he’d sooner indulge his passion for fine food and wine at a recognised establishment than some poor imitation. God, he sounded like a pompous ass at times! He would frighten the poor woman off if he spoke like that.

Funnily enough, he already had the impression that Fleur thought he was an old fuddy-duddy; that was why he’d paid her a compliment, in the hope she would realise that he wasn’t above admiring a beautiful woman when he saw one, though her reaction had intrigued him. Young women these days rarely blushed and he wondered if her feisty words about ‘trying anything once’ were merely a front of false bravado too.

Maybe he could test her out? And maybe you need your head read!

Pulling up in front of the restaurant, he handed the car keys to the valet and almost bounced up the marble steps. Whoever had invented that stupid rule about not mixing business with pleasure? Tonight, he had every intention of pushing the boundaries.

Fleur took a steadying breath, tilted her chin up and walked into the elaborate dining room of the Potter Lounge, trying not to gawk. Muted chandeliers cast a soft glow on the antique furnishings and reflected off the polished silverware, creating a warm and inviting ambiance, while the crystal wineglasses shone in the flickering candlelight.

So much for keeping her imagination grounded. This place was built for romance, not business, and she had no idea why Darcy had suggested it.

Feeling self-conscious and hoping it didn’t show, she allowed the maître d’ to guide her to their table. Not just any table, it happened to be the cosiest one set in the furthest corner of the room and shielded from prying eyes by an exquisite hand-painted Japanese screen.

‘Great,’ she muttered under her breath, knowing that spending an evening dining with her handsome new boss had just taken on a whole new meaning—in her own head.

To make matters worse, Darcy stood up as she neared the table and her heart did that weird, somersault thing it had when they first met at the café. It had nothing to do with his clothes; he’d gone for the conservative look once again with a dark designer suit, white shirt and striped tie. However, the man inside the clothes exuded some powerful brand of pheromones that called to her; she hadn’t experienced such a strong attraction in ages—if she was completely honest, probably never.

He pulled her seat out for her, a quaint, old-fashioned gesture that made her feel ultra-feminine. ‘You look beautiful,’ he murmured close to her ear as she sat down, raising her pulse another notch.

‘Thanks.’ To her annoyance, she felt heat creeping up her neck towards her cheeks. What was wrong with her? She never blushed, especially not when men paid her compliments.

‘So you decided to go with cocktail attire, huh?’

‘When in doubt, stick with the LBD.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘LBD?’

Was he kidding? Surely he couldn’t be that old?

Fleur grinned, a knowing smile that put her back on the front foot again and restored her confidence no end. ‘Little black dress. The essential of every female’s wardrobe.’

‘Ah,’ he said and nodded, as if he knew exactly what she was referring to, though by the confused look on his face, he had no idea.

‘I thought a man like you would be used to dining with a host of women in LBDs,’ she teased, hoping to lighten the mood.

‘No time.’ He gestured to a waiter hovering nearby and placed an order for champagne—of the French kind.

Something about his assumption that she drank expensive champagne or should be impressed by it grated on her nerves before she reminded herself of the purpose of the night. ‘Tell me about your company. I don’t even know what you import,’ she said.

‘Gift ware, mostly.’

‘There’s a huge market for that type of product. Why isn’t the company turning a profit?’

He shook his head. ‘If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t need to hire you.’

Her eyebrows shot heavenward at his bitter tone.

‘What I meant to say was my staff aren’t as productive as they once were. Everyone seems to be infected with this strange kind of lethargy and, despite our trying a few things, nothing has shaken them out of it.’

Fleur remembered the receptionist and her cavalier attitude and knew exactly what he referred to.

‘They used to have fun when they came to work but not any more.’

Suddenly, an image of Darcy’s stodgy office popped into her mind. ‘Do you have fun at work?’

He stared at her as if she’d spoken in some foreign language. ‘What do you mean?’

She sipped at her recently filled flute and savoured the tingle of bubbles sliding down her throat. ‘You know, the F word that people are scared to acknowledge at work. Is your work fun?’

‘Work is work. If I wanted to have fun, I’d employ a bunch of clowns.’

‘Well, maybe that’s what you need to do.’

He rubbed the bridge of his nose while she sipped at her champagne, as if what she’d said pained him. ‘Are you out of your mind?’

She sat up, suddenly businesslike. ‘No, but I’d like to plant some ideas in yours.’

She took a deep breath and hoped her new boss was ready to hear the truth. ‘OK, listen up. First impressions of your company are, quite frankly, that it’s tame, bland and boring. From the reception area to the furniture, I think you need a major overhaul. Urgently.’

Rather than appearing angry, he leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. ‘So, you think I’m boring?’

‘I was referring to your company.’ For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out which demon prompted her to add, ‘I don’t know enough about you yet to make that sort of judgement call.’

He ignored her jibe. ‘Tell me more.’

‘Most employees need to feel valued but, more importantly, they need to care enough about their job to want to excel at it.’ She paused to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, wondering if she had the courage to say exactly what she thought the problem was. ‘From first impressions, I don’t think your staff feel that way.’

‘Why?’ A frown creased his brow, adding five years onto his age and reinforcing what she was about to say.

She took several unladylike gulps of champagne, needing every ounce of fortitude she could muster. ‘Bottom line? They’re taking their cue from you.’

His frown deepened and she resisted the impulse to sink into her chair—or, better yet, slide under the table and slink out of the fancy restaurant. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

She exhaled, unaware she’d been holding her breath. ‘Well, you seem to be a bit stuck yourself.’

‘Stuck?’ His eyebrows shot upward and, if she wasn’t treading on such delicate ground, she would’ve laughed at his comical expression.

Crossing her fingers beneath the tablecloth, she continued and hoped to God she still had a job by the end of this. ‘You intimidate people. The way you look, the way you dress, how you carry yourself, all screams “unapproachable”. And if you don’t enjoy your work, how do you expect your staff to?’

She waited for the explosion. Heck, she would’ve given him a verbal spray if he’d had the audacity to tell her all that to her face after only one meeting. Instead, he leaned back, folded his arms and fixed her with a glare.

‘I can see where that psychology degree comes in handy. Now that you’ve analysed me and the company, how do you propose to sort the problem out?’

She quelled the nervous flutter within her gut. Whenever he looked at her like that, she couldn’t think straight. Something about the deep blue of his eyes had her focusing on all the wrong cues, starting with how she could lose herself in their depths.

‘That’s easy.’ She managed a smile, hoping it didn’t look more like a grimace. ‘We start at the top and work our way down.’

‘Now, that sounds like an interesting proposition.’ His eyes brightened with an almost imperceptible gleam which she recognised as interest and her heart thudded in response. For someone who appeared stuffy at first glance, he sure knew how to turn innocent words into innuendo.

‘I’d prefer to think of it as challenging. After all, you don’t strike me as the type of man who takes to change very well.’

‘I’m that easy to read, huh?’ He leaned forward, the simple act lending an immediate intimacy to the moment.

‘Call it intuition.’ She picked up the menu, needing to do something with her fiddling hands and distract her attention from his probing gaze.

To her amazement, he reached across the table and plucked the menu from her hands. ‘Let’s finish this discussion before we order. What needs to be done to turn this situation around?’

I need to run a thousand miles away from you and those damn eyes.

Maybe taking this job hadn’t been such a good idea! Sure, she was desperate for business, not to mention that wonderful commodity that made the world go round, but was it worth feeling this flustered, this unsure of herself? She’d never lacked confidence, therefore this guy’s ability to undermine her with a single glance was more than disconcerting. It was downright frightening.

‘How about I present a business plan to you over the next few days and we take it from there?’

‘But you mentioned starting at the top. I assume you meant with me.’

She nodded. ‘I have a few ideas but I’d like to interview some of your staff to get a general feel for the place before I present my plan. That’s how I usually work.’ A small white lie but she had no intention of letting him know this was her first real assignment. Besides, she’d honed her own business plan to the nth degree and knew she could handle anything her new boss had to dish out. Within reason.

‘Fine.’ He handed her the menu. ‘I look forward to hearing this master plan of yours.’

She sighed in relief, though it was short-lived.

‘Just remember, Fleur. I’m expecting big things from you. And I don’t like to be let down.’

‘You don’t need to worry,’ she said, knowing that she’d be doing enough of that for the both of them.

Darcy turned the key in the lock, surprised to find the front door to his house open. He could’ve sworn he’d locked it when he left earlier that evening. Maybe the thought of having dinner with Fleur had rattled him more than he’d anticipated?

However, as he entered the house and heard the pounding bass reverberating through the hallway, he knew why the door was unlocked.

He took the stairs two at a time, torn between wanting to hug his wayward brother and throttle him for being away so long. Sean’s bedroom door stood open, explaining the ear-splitting noise from some heavy-metal band Darcy had probably never heard of.

‘Hey, bro; long time, no see.’ Sean jumped up from the bed, piece of pizza in one hand and a beer in the other, a wide grin plastered across his face.

Darcy turned down the volume before answering. ‘Is that what you call three years? A long time?’

Sean’s smile slipped a notch. ‘Come on, man. Don’t be so…parental. Aren’t you glad to see me?’

The familiar anger surged through Darcy’s body, rooting him to the spot. He’d raised Sean from the age of eleven yet the passing years hadn’t instilled maturity into his brother. Sean had never recognised the sacrifices Darcy had made in raising him, preferring to see him as some sort of ogre rather than a caring brother who’d been thrust into the role of parent at too young an age.

If anything, Sean still lived the life of a carefree boy and it irked Darcy more than it should. Why should he be the one to always shoulder all the responsibility? Now that his brother was thirty years old, surely it was time he started acting like it?

‘Two phone calls in three years. Don’t you think I’ve earned the right to be concerned?’

Sean shook his head and took a swig from his beer. ‘I can see you haven’t changed much.’

‘Neither have you.’ Darcy clenched his fists, surprised that the years away hadn’t matured his brother. He still spoke and behaved like a wayward teenager, from his smart mouth to his taste in music. ‘So, how long are you staying around this time?’

Sean shrugged, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. ‘Who knows? I might hang out here for a while, see what Melbourne has to offer these days.’

‘How’s the cash situation?’ Darcy resisted the urge to cringe; as much as he tried, he couldn’t shake the role of a worried father, probing his son for scraps of information about his life. He knew Sean didn’t like it and he sure as hell wished he could stop it. However, it had been a habit for almost twenty years and he’d be damned if he stopped caring now.

‘Stop worrying, bro. Is it any wonder you’ve got grey hairs?’

‘I have not!’

‘Sure you have. You’ve got one, right about there.’ Sean threw the pizza crust back in the cardboard box and walked towards him, pointing to Darcy’s temple. ‘Yep, I see it. Actually, it’s more white than grey.’

‘Brat!’ Darcy swatted Sean’s hand away and finally smiled, allowing a glimmer of affection to show in his eyes.

‘Yeah, I’ve missed you too, bro.’ Sean enveloped him in a bear hug and Darcy returned it, slapping his brother on the back.

Once they’d broken apart and looked away, unsure how to break that awkward pause that inevitably accompanied men embracing each other, Darcy headed towards the door. He stopped on the threshold and looked back, happier than he’d been in a long time. ‘It’s good to have you home, Sean.’

Sean grinned, the same cheeky grin he’d had as an eleven-year-old. ‘Good to be back, even if I have to look at your ugly mug!’

Darcy pulled a face and turned away, wondering what Fleur would think if she could see him now. He’d managed to forget about their interesting evening once he’d entered the house, though the memory of her now resurfaced.

She’d looked incredible in that black dress with the neckline cut high enough to be classy yet low enough to entice. He’d been impressed, from her sleek hair—it must’ve taken her at least an hour to straighten those gorgeous curls he’d admired when they first met—to her sequined sandals and everything in between. In fact, he’d had a hard time keeping his mind on the conversation when his attention kept wandering to the ‘everything in between’.

Though he had gained one pertinent fact. The lady thought he couldn’t lighten up.

Well, he would show her.