Читать книгу Brides, Babies And Billionaires - Мишель Смарт, Rebecca Winters - Страница 12
ОглавлениеSHE WAS A terrible liar.
The expression on Max’s face had been sceptical at best when she’d reeled out the line about leaving her last job, but Cara thought she’d pulled it off. At least he hadn’t told her to sling her hook.
Yet.
She got the impression he was the type of person who wouldn’t tolerate any kind of emotional weakness—something she was particularly sensitive to after her last boyfriend, Ewan, left her three months ago because he was fed up with her ‘moaning and mood swings’. So she was going to have to be careful not to let any more momentary wobbles show on her face. It was going to be happy, happy, joy, joy! from here on in.
After slipping the last document into the filing cabinet, taking care not to let him see how much her hands were still shaking, she grabbed her coat and bag and, after taking a great gulp of crisp city air into her lungs, went to the café to pick up some lunch for them both, leaving the door off the latch so she wouldn’t have to disturb Max by ringing the bell on her return.
Inevitably, she bought a much bigger selection of deli wares than the two of them could possibly eat in one session, but she told herself that Max could finish off whatever remained for his supper. Judging by the emptiness of his cavernous fridge, he’d probably be glad of it later.
This made her wonder again about his personal situation. Poppy had told her very little in the email—which she’d sent in a rare five minutes off from her crazy-sounding filming schedule in the African desert. Cara didn’t want to bother her cousin with those kinds of questions when she was so busy, so it was up to her to find out the answers herself. For purely professional reasons, of course. It would make her working life much easier if she knew whether she needed to take a partner’s feelings into consideration when making bookings away from the office.
Surprisingly, Max didn’t put up much resistance to being dragged away from his computer with the promise of lunch and came into the kitchen just as she’d finished laying out the last small pot of pimento-stuffed olives, which she hadn’t been able to resist buying.
‘Good timing,’ she said as he sat down. ‘That deli is incredible. I wasn’t sure what you’d prefer so I got just about everything they had—hopefully, there’ll be something you like—and there should be plenty left over for tomorrow, or this evening if you don’t already have dinner plans.’
Good grief—could she jabber more?
Clearly, this had occurred to Max too because he raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say a word.
Trying not to let his silence intimidate her, Cara passed him a plate, which he took with an abrupt nod of thanks, and she watched him load it up with food before tucking in.
‘So, Max,’ she said, taking a plate for herself and filling it with small triangular-cut sandwiches stuffed with soft cheese and prosciutto and a spoonful of fluffy couscous speckled with herbs and tiny pieces of red pepper. ‘How do you know Poppy? She didn’t tell me anything about you—other than that you’re friends.’
He gave a small shrug. ‘We met at university.’
Cara waited for him to elaborate.
He didn’t. He just kept on eating.
Okay, so he wasn’t the sort to offer up personal details about himself and liked to keep things super professional with colleagues, but perhaps she’d be able to get more out of him once they’d built up a rapport between them.
That was okay. It was early days yet. She could bide her time.
At least she had some company for lunch, even if he wasn’t interested in talking much. She’d spent all her lunchtimes at her last place of work alone, either sitting in the local park or eating a sandwich at her desk, forcing the food past her constricted throat, trying not to care about being excluded from the raucous group of PAs who regularly lunched together. The Cobra Clique, she’d called them in her head.
Not to their faces.
Never to their faces.
Because, after making the mistake of assuming she’d be welcomed into their group when she’d first started working there—still riding on a wave of pride and excitement about landing such a coveted job—she’d soon realised that she’d stepped right into the middle of a viper’s nest. Especially after the backlash began to snap its tail a couple of days into her first week.
Fighting the roll of nausea that always assaulted her when she thought about it, she took a large bite of sandwich and chewed hard, forcing herself to swallow, determined not to let what had happened bother her any more. They’d won and she was not going to let them keep on winning.
‘It’s a beautiful house you have, Max,’ she said, to distract herself from the memories still determinedly circling her head. ‘Have you been here long?’
His gaze shot to hers and she was alarmed to see him frown. ‘Three years,’ he said, with a clip of finality to his voice, as if wanting to make it clear he didn’t want to discuss the subject any more.
Okay then.
From the atmosphere that now hummed between them, you’d have thought she’d asked him how much cold hard cash he’d laid down for the place. Perhaps people did ask him that regularly and he was fed up with answering it. Or maybe he thought she’d ask for a bigger wage if she thought he was loaded.
Whatever the reason, his frostiness had now totally destroyed her appetite, so she was pushing the couscous around her plate when Max stood up, making her jump in her seat.
‘Let me know how much I owe you for lunch and I’ll get it out of petty cash before you leave,’ he said, turning abruptly on the spot and heading over to the dishwasher to load his empty plate into it.
His movements were jerky and fast, as if he was really irritated about something now.
It couldn’t be her, could it?
No.
Could it?
He must just be keen to get back to work.
As soon as he left the room, she let out the breath she’d been holding, feeling the tension in her neck muscles release a little.
The words frying pan and fire flitted through her head, but she dismissed them. If he was a friend of Poppy’s he couldn’t be that bad. She must have just caught him on a bad day. And, as her friend Sarah had pointed out after she’d cried on her shoulder about making a mess of her recent job interviews, she was bound to be prone to paranoia after her last experience.
Once she’d cleared up in the kitchen, Cara got straight back to work, using the link Max gave her to log in to his online diary and work through his travel requirements for the next month. His former ire seemed to have abated somewhat and their interaction from that point onwards was more relaxed, but still very professional. Blessedly, concentrating on the work soothed her and the headache that had started at the end of lunch began to lift as she worked methodically through her tasks.
Mid-afternoon, Max broke off from writing his document for a couple of minutes to outline some research he wanted her to do on a few businesses he was considering targeting. To her frustration, she had to throw every molecule of energy into making scrupulous notes in order to keep focused on the task in hand and not on the way Max’s masculine scent made her senses reel and her skin heat with awareness every time he leaned closer to point something out on the computer they were huddled around.
That was something she was going to have to conquer if they continued to work together, which hopefully they would. She definitely couldn’t afford a crush on her boss to get in the way of her recuperating future.
After finally being released from the duress of his unnerving presence, she spent the remainder of the day happily surfing the internet and collating the information into a handy crib sheet for him, revelling in the relief of getting back into a mindset she’d taken for granted until about six months ago, before her whole working life had been turned inside out.
At five-thirty she both printed out the document and emailed it to him, then gathered up her coat and bag, feeling as though she’d done her first good day’s work in a long time.
Approaching his desk, she cleared her throat and laid the printout onto it, trying not to stare at the way his muscles moved beneath his slim-fitting shirt while she waited for him to finish what he was typing. Tearing her eyes away from his broad back, she took the opportunity to look at his hands instead, noting with a strange satisfaction that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring on his long, strong-looking fingers.
Okay, not married then. But surely he must have a girlfriend. She couldn’t imagine someone as attractive as Max being single.
He stopped typing and swivelled round in his chair to face her, startling her out of her musings and triggering a strange throb, low in her body.
‘You’ve done well today; I’m impressed,’ he said, giving her a slow nod.
She couldn’t stop her mouth from springing up into a full-on grin. It had been a long while since she’d been complimented on her work and it felt ridiculously good.
‘Thank you—I’ve really enjoyed it.’
His raised eyebrow told her she’d been a bit over-effusive with that statement, but he unfolded his arms and dipped his head thoughtfully.
‘If you’re still interested, I’m willing to go ahead with the one-month trial.’
Her squeak of delight made him blink. ‘I can’t promise there’ll be a full-time job at the end of it, though,’ he added quickly.
She nodded. ‘Okay, I understand.’ She’d just have to make sure she’d made herself indispensable by the end of the month.
He then named a weekly wage that made her heart leap with excitement. With money like that she could afford to stay in London and keep on renting her flat.
‘I’ll see you here at nine tomorrow then,’ he concluded, turning back to his computer screen.
‘Great. Nine o’clock tomorrow,’ she repeated, smiling at the back of his head and retreating out of the room.
She floated out of the house on a cloud of joy, desperate to get home so she could phone her landlord and tell him she was going to be able to make next month’s rent so he didn’t need to find a new tenant for her flat.
It was all going to be okay now; she could feel it.
Back in her flat, she dialled her landlord’s number and he answered with a brusque, ‘Yes.’
‘Dominic—it’s Cara Winstone. I’m calling with good news. I’ve just started at a new job so I’ll be able to renew my lease on your property in Islington.’
There was a silence at the end of the phone, followed by a long sigh. ‘Sorry, Cara, but I’ve already promised my nephew he can move in at the end of the week. I got the impression you wouldn’t be able to afford the rent any more and I’ve kept it pitifully low for the last couple of years already. I can’t afford to sub you any more.’
Fear and anger made her stomach sink and a suffocating heat race over her skin as she fully took in what he’d just said. He was such a liar. He’d been hiking the rent up year on year until she’d felt as if she was being totally fleeced, but she hadn’t wanted the hassle of moving out of her comfortable little flat so she’d sucked it up. Until she wasn’t able to any more.
‘Can’t you tell your nephew that your current tenant has changed her mind?’ Even as she said it she knew what his answer was going to be.
‘No. I can’t. You had your chance to renew. I couldn’t wait any longer and my nephew was having trouble finding somewhere suitable to live. It’s a cut-throat rental market in London at the moment.’
That was something she was about to find out herself, she felt sure of it.
‘Do you have anywhere else available to rent at the moment?’ she asked, desperately grasping for some glimmer of a solution.
‘No. Sorry.’
He didn’t sound sorry, she noted with another sting of anger.
‘You’ve got till the end of the week, then I want you out,’ he continued. ‘Make sure the place is in a good state when you leave or I’ll have to withhold your damage deposit.’ And, with that, he put the phone down on her.
It took a few minutes of hanging her head between her knees for the dizziness to abate and for her erratic heartbeat to return to normal.
Okay, this was just a setback. She could handle it.
Just because it would be hard to find a decent flat to rent in London at short notice didn’t mean she wouldn’t find somewhere else. She’d have to be proactive though and make sure to put all her feelers out, then respond quickly to any leads.
That could prove tricky now that she was working so closely with Max and she was going to have to be very careful not to mess up on the job, because it looked as though she was going to need things to work out there more than ever now.
* * *
The rest of the week flew by for Max, with Cara turning up exactly when she said she would and working diligently and efficiently through the tasks he gave her.
Whilst it was useful having her around to take care of some of the more mundane jobs that he’d been ignoring for far too long, he also found her presence was disrupting his ability to lose himself in his work, which he’d come to rely on in order to get through the fiercely busy days.
She was just so jolly all the time.
And she was making the place smell different. Every morning when he came downstairs for his breakfast he noticed her light floral perfume in the air. It was as though she was beginning to permeate the walls of his house and even the furniture with her scent.
It made him uncomfortable.
He knew he’d been rude during their first lunch together when Cara had asked him about the house and that he’d been unforthcoming about anything of a personal nature ever since—preferring to spend his lunchtimes in companionable silence—but he was concerned that any questions about himself would inevitably lead on to him having to talk about Jemima.
Work was supposed to be sanctuary from thinking about what had happened and he really didn’t want to discuss it with Cara.
He also didn’t want them to become too sociable because it would only make it harder for him to let her go after the promised month of employment.
Clearly she was very good at her job, so he had no concerns about her finding another position quickly after her time was up, but it might still prove awkward when it came down to saying no to full-time employment if they were on friendly terms. He suspected Cara’s story about taking voluntary redundancy wasn’t entirely based on truth and that she and Poppy had cooked up the story to play on his sympathy in order to get him to agree to take her on. While he was fine with allowing his errant friend to push him into a temporary arrangement to appease her mollycoddling nature, he wasn’t going to allow her to bully him into keeping Cara on full-time.
He didn’t need her.
After waking late on Friday morning and having to let an ebullient Cara in whilst still not yet ready to face the day, he had to rush his shower and hustle down to the kitchen with a pounding headache from not sleeping well the night before. Opening the fridge, he found that Cara had stocked it with all sorts of alien-looking food—things he would never have picked out himself. He knew he was bad at getting round to food shopping, but Cara’s choices were clearly suggesting he wasn’t looking after himself properly. There were superfoods galore in there.
He slammed the fridge door shut in disgust.
The damn woman was taking over the place.
Cara was in the hallway when he came out of the kitchen a few minutes later with a cup of coffee so strong he could have stood his spoon up in it. She waved a cheery hello, then gestured to a vase of brightly coloured flowers that she’d put onto the hall table, giving him a jaunty smile as if to say, That’s better, right? which really set his teeth on edge. How was it possible for her to be so damn happy all the time? Did the woman live with her head permanently in the clouds?
They’d never had fresh flowers in the house when Jemima was alive because she’d suffered with bad hay fever from the pollen, and he was just about to tell Cara that when he caught himself and clamped his mouth shut. It wasn’t a discussion he wanted to have this morning, with a head that felt as if it was about to explode. The very last thing he needed right now was Cara’s fervent pity.
‘I thought it would be nice to have a bit of colour in here,’ she said brightly, oblivious to his displeasure. ‘I walked past the most amazing florist’s on my way over here and I just couldn’t resist popping in. Flowers are so good for lifting your mood.’
‘That’s fine,’ he said through gritted teeth, hoping she wasn’t going to be this chipper all day. He didn’t think his head could stand it.
‘I’ll just grab myself a cup of tea, then I’ll be in,’ she said.
Only managing to summon a grunt in response, he walked into the morning room that he’d turned into an office. He’d chosen it because it was away from the distractions of the street and in the odd moment of pause he found that staring out into the neatly laid garden soothed him. There was a particular brightly coloured bird that came back day after day and hopped about on the lawn, looking for worms, which captivated him. It wasn’t there today, though.
After going through his ever-growing inbox and dealing with the quick and easy things, he opened up his diary to check what was going on that day. He had a conference call starting in ten minutes that would probably last till lunchtime, which meant he’d need to brief Cara now about what he wanted her to get on with.
Where was she, anyway?
She’d only been going to make herself a hot drink. Surely she must have done that by now?
Getting up from his chair with a sigh of irritation, he walked through to the kitchen to find her. The last thing he needed was to have to chase his PA down. It was going to be a demanding day which required some intense concentration and he needed her to be on the ball and ready to knuckle down.
She was leaning against the table with her back to the door when he walked into the kitchen, her head cocked to one side as if she was fascinated by something on the other side of the room.
He frowned at her back, wondering what in the heck could be so absorbing, until she spoke in a hushed tone and he realised she was on the phone.
‘I don’t know whether I’ll be able to get away at lunchtime. I have to fetch my boss’s lunch and there’s a ton of other stuff I have to wade through. His systems are a mess. Unfortunately, Max isn’t the type you can ask for a favour either; he’s not exactly approachable. I could make it over for about six o’clock, though,’ she muttered into the phone.
The hairs rose on the back of his neck. She was making arrangements to see her friends on his time?
He cleared his throat loudly, acutely aware of the rough harshness of his tone in the quiet of the room.
Spinning around at the noise, Cara gave him a look of horror, plainly embarrassed to be caught out.
Definitely a personal call then.
Frustration rattled through him, heating his blood. How could he have been so gullible as to think it would be easy having her as an employee? Apparently she was going to be just as hard work to manage as all the other PAs he’d had.
‘Are you sure you took redundancy at your last place? Or did they let you go for taking liberties on the job?’ he said, unable to keep the angry disappointment out of his voice.
She swallowed hard and he found his gaze drawn to the long column of her throat, its smooth elegance distracting him for a second. Shaking off his momentary befuddlement, he snapped his gaze back to hers, annoyed with himself for losing concentration.
‘I do not expect behaviour like this from someone with six years of experience as a personal assistant. This isn’t the canteen where you waste time gossiping with your mates instead of doing the job you’re being paid to do. Things like this make you look stupid and amateurish.’
She nodded jerkily but didn’t say anything as her cheeks flushed with colour and a tight little frown appeared in the centre of her forehead.
Fighting a twist of unease, he took another step forwards and pointed a finger at her. ‘You do not take personal phone calls on my time. Is that understood? Otherwise, you and I are going to have a problem, and problems are the last thing I need right now. I took a chance on you because you came recommended by Poppy. Do not make a fool out of my friend. Or out of me.’
‘I’m sorry—it won’t ever happen again. I promise,’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
The look in her eyes disturbed him. It was such a change from her usual cheery countenance that it sat uncomfortably with him. In fact, to witness her reaction you’d have thought he’d just slapped her around the face, not given her a dressing-down.
‘See that it doesn’t,’ he concluded with a curt nod, an unnerving throb beginning to beat in his throat.
As he walked back into his office, he found he couldn’t wipe the haunted expression in her eyes from his mind, his pace faltering as he allowed himself to reflect fully on what had just happened.
Perhaps he’d been a bit too hard on her.
Running a hand over his tired eyes, he shook his head at himself. Who was he kidding—he’d definitely overreacted. For all he knew, it could have been a sick relative on the phone whom she needed to visit urgently.
The trouble was, he’d been so careful to keep her at arm’s length and not to let any of his own personal details slip he’d totally failed to ask her anything about herself.
And he was tired. So tired it was making him cranky.
Swivelling on the spot, he went back out of the room to find her, not entirely sure what he was going to say, but knowing he should probably smooth things over between them. He needed her on his side today.
Walking back towards the kitchen, he met her as she was coming out, a cup of tea in her hand.
Instead of the look of sheepish upset he’d expected to see, she gave him a bright smile.
‘I know you have a conference call in a couple of minutes, so if you can walk me through what I need to tackle today I’ll get straight on it,’ she said, her voice steady and true as if the past few minutes hadn’t happened.
He stared at her in surprise, unnerved by the one hundred and eighty degree turn in her demeanour.
Had he imagined the look in her eyes that had disturbed him so much?
No, it had definitely been there; he was sure of it.
Still, at least this showed she wasn’t one to hold grudges and let an atmosphere linger after being reprimanded. He appreciated that. He certainly couldn’t work with someone who struggled to maintain a professional front when something didn’t go their way.
But her level of nonchalance confused him, leaving him a little unsure of where they now stood with each other. Should he mention that he felt he’d been a bit hard on her? Or should he just leave it and sweep it under the carpet as she seemed keen to do?
What was the matter with him? This was ridiculous. He didn’t have time for semantics today.
Giving her a firm nod, he turned around and walked back towards the office. ‘Good, let’s get started then.’
* * *
Determined to keep her hand from shaking and not slop hot tea all over herself, Cara followed Max back into the office, ready to be given instructions for the day.
She knew she couldn’t afford to show any weakness right now.
Based on her experiences with Max so far, she was pretty damn sure if he thought she wasn’t up to the job he’d fire her on the spot and then she’d be left with absolutely nothing.
That was not going to happen to her today.
She needed this job, with its excellent wage and the prospect of a good reference from a well-respected businessman, to be able to stay here in London. All she had to do was keep her head down and stick it out here with him until she found another permanent position somewhere else. She had CVs out at a couple more places and with any luck another opportunity might present itself soon. Until then she’d just have to make sure she didn’t allow his blunt manner and sharp tongue to erode her delicate confidence any further.
The trouble was, she’d allowed herself to be lulled into a false sense of security on her first day here after Max’s compliment about her being a good ambassador for herself, only for him to pull the rug out from under her regrouping confidence later with his moods and quick temper.
The very last thing she needed was to work with another bully.
Not that she could really blame him for being angry in this instance. It must have looked really bad, her taking a personal phone call at the beginning of the working day. The really frustrating thing was that she’d never done anything like that before in her life. She was a rule follower to the core and very strict with herself about not surfing the Net or making personal calls on her employer’s time, even in a big office where those kinds of things could go unnoticed.
Putting her drink down carefully, she wheeled her chair nearer to Max’s desk and prepared to take notes, keeping her chin up and a benign smile fixed firmly on her face.
His own professional manner seemingly restored, Max outlined what he wanted her to do throughout the day, which she jotted down in her notebook. Once he appeared to be satisfied that he’d covered everything he leaned back in his chair and studied her, the intensity of his gaze making the hairs stand up on her arms.
‘Listen, Cara, I’m finishing early for the day today,’ he said, surprising her with the warmth in his voice. ‘I’m meeting a friend in town for an early dinner, so feel free to leave here at four o’clock.’
She blinked at him in shock before pulling herself together. ‘That would be great. Thank you.’
There was an uncomfortable pause, where he continued to look at her, his brows drawn together and his lips set in a firm line. He opened his mouth, as if he was about to tell her what was on his mind, but was rudely interrupted by the alarm going off on his phone signalling it was time for his conference call.
To her frustration, he snapped straight back into work mode, turning back to his computer and dialling a number on his phone, launching straight into his business spiel as soon as the person on the other end of the line picked up.
Despite her residual nerves, Cara still experienced the familiar little frisson of exhilaration that swept through her whenever she heard him do that. He’d set up a small desk for her next to his the day after he’d offered her the trial, which meant there was no getting away from the sound of his voice with its smooth, reassuring intonation.
He really was a very impressive businessman, even if he was a bit of a bear to work for.
Forcing her mind away from thinking about how uplifting it would be to have someone as passionate and dedicated as Max for a boyfriend—especially after the demeaning experience of her last relationship—she fired up her laptop and started in on the work he’d given her to take care of today.
After a few minutes, her thoughts drifted back to the fateful phone call she’d taken earlier, before their confrontation, and she felt a twitch of nerves in her stomach. It had been a friend calling to let her know about a possible flat coming onto the rental market—which was why she’d broken her rule and answered the call. If she managed to get there early enough she might just be able to snag it, which was now a real possibility thanks to Max’s sudden announcement about leaving work at four o’clock.
Come to think of it, she was a little surprised about him finishing early to meet a friend in town. He’d never done that before, always continuing to work as she packed up for the day and—she strongly suspected—on into the evening. That would certainly account for the dark circles under his eyes. And his irascible mood.
The man appeared to be a workaholic.
After an hour of working through some truly tedious data inputting, Cara got up to make them both a hot drink, aware that Max must be parched by now from having to talk almost continuously since he’d begun his call.
Returning with the drinks, she sat back down at her desk to see she had an email from the friend that had called her earlier about the flat for rent.
Hmm. That couldn’t be a good sign; she’d already mailed the details through earlier.
With a sinking feeling, she opened it up and scanned the text, her previously restored mood slipping away.
The flat had already been let.
An irrational impulse to cry gripped her and she got up quickly and made for the bathroom before the tears came, desperate to hide her despondency from Max.
Staring into the mirror, she attempted to talk herself down from her gloom. Her friend Sarah had offered to put her up on her sofa for a few days, so she at least had somewhere to stay in the interim. The only trouble was, her friend lived in a tiny place that she shared with her party animal boyfriend and he wouldn’t want her hanging around, playing gooseberry, for too long.
The mere idea of renting with strangers at the ripe old age of twenty-seven horrified her, so she was going to have to be prepared to lower her standards to be in with a chance of finding another one-bedroom flat that she could afford in central London.
That was okay; she could do that. Hopefully, something would come up soon and then she’d be able to make some positive changes and get fully back on her feet.
Surely it was time for things to start going her way now?
