Читать книгу Her Favourite Rival - Sarah Mayberry - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

ZACH WASN’T ABOUT to kid himself—there was no way he would get any work done with Audrey’s words bouncing around inside his head.

I don’t want to think about Zach in relation to my clitoris or any other body part.

He’d entered the bar just in time to catch Audrey’s words, and he was burning to know what she and Megan had been talking about before he arrived.

Him—obviously—but had the conversation been led by Megan or Audrey? And had it been the kind of conversation a guy liked to think women might have about him when he wasn’t around, or the kind that could leave a man scarred for life?

He made a frustrated noise as it hit him that he would never know. The odds of Audrey ever willingly broaching the topic again were slim to none, and he certainly wasn’t going to harangue her into confessing. That would give her too much power.

He would simply have to learn to live with the mystery. Yet another unanswered question where she was concerned, to be added to the host of other things he wanted to know about her.

Like what she did when she wasn’t working, and why he found her so compelling, and if the pale, downy skin at the nape of her neck was as soft and fragrant as he imagined....

He loosened his tie and gave himself a mental slap, pushing thoughts of Audrey into a dark, deep corner. Where they were going to stay, for the sake of his peace of mind and his career.

He made a point of not noticing if Audrey’s office was still lit as he made his way to his car an hour later. He drove home via the supermarket and walked in the door just after eight o’clock. He kicked off his shoes, made himself a chicken sandwich and ate in front of the TV. Even though he was tired, he felt wired, his brain unable to focus on the screen.

Maybe he should go out, catch a movie or something. Or maybe read a book. He walked to the bookcase in his study and checked out the shelf he’d reserved for fiction. Two lonely, dusty spy thrillers sat there, and he’d read both of them. Still, it had been a while. The odds were good he’d forgotten enough of the plot to still go along for the ride.

He returned to the couch, one of the books in hand, and muted the TV. He settled down with his legs outstretched, a cushion behind his head. He opened the first page and started reading.

He was intensely aware of the silence in the house, so much so that his own breathing sounded loud in his head. It hit him that this was the first time in months that he’d taken some time for himself, and even though he was ostensibly chilling out, there was still a voice in the back of his mind telling him he should check his email and go over another report.

He set the book down on his belly and let his head drop back. Was it possible to lose the ability to relax? Because if so, he was there.

He stared at the stain on the ceiling from where the roof had leaked and wondered what Audrey was doing tonight.

“Idiot.”

He stood abruptly, the book sliding to the floor.

This little crush he was developing stopped now. No more self-indulgence. No more flirting with the possibilities.

Even though it was dark outside, he changed into his running gear and hit the street. An hour later, he was drenched in sweat, his thigh muscles burning. Most importantly, his mind was blessedly clear.

It would stay that way, too. He had the conference coming up, then a series of catalogs to plan for. Plus whatever drama Whitman would no doubt stir up.

Then there was his mother.

More than enough for one man to handle.

* * *

AUDREY ARRIVED AT work the next morning with a plan: to acknowledge Zach’s generosity in helping her with her car while simultaneously avoiding him as much as possible in the hope that they could both forget the clitoris thing. On the surface they were two agendas at odds with each other, but she was hoping she could swing it. She started her campaign by leaving a box of protein bars on his desk, complete with a breezy note. Thanks for your help yesterday and for the much-needed snack the other night. Both much appreciated. A.

It had taken her a whole hour last night to compose those two sentences, and while she wasn’t entirely happy with them, she figured her note covered the first part of her plan. The second part—the avoidance part—would require more effort and vigilance. The merchandising department might employ in excess of thirty people, but it was essentially a fishbowl and they all swam around one another all day. There were multiple opportunities to run into Zach in the hall, in the staff room, at the printer, near the photocopier, so she needed to stay sharp and be quick on her feet.

And spend a lot of time hiding in her office.

A couple of days should do it, she figured. Long enough for her to stop blushing every time she remembered that moment in the bar, and hopefully long enough for him to forget what he’d overheard.

All went well, avoidance-wise, until midafternoon when she arrived three minutes late for the weekly departmental meeting to find only one seat left. Right next to Zach, naturally.

Well, shit.

Shaking a mental fist at fate, she slid into the empty seat. Zach glanced at her briefly before focusing on Gary, who had the floor. Audrey flipped to a new page in her notebook, determined to get past this silly self-consciousness where he was concerned.

So, she’d said something stupid and potentially revealing in front of the one colleague whom she really didn’t want to do any of the above with. It wasn’t the end of the world. Right?

Right?

Megan sat diagonally opposite, her eyes dancing with suppressed laughter. Audrey pressed her lips together, sure her friend was remembering last night.

At least someone was getting something positive out of the situation. That was nice.

Gary talked about the sales results for the first week of the current catalog, and she made notes to compare some of the figures with her own data. She steadfastly refused to glance sideways at Zach, but she could feel heat stealing into her face anyway, a slow, steadily growing burn.

She concentrated fiercely on her notes, taking down almost every word Gary said, and slowly her embarrassment subsided—that is, until Zach shifted beside her, bumping her shoulder, and the whole rising-tide-of-heat thing started all over again.

By the time the meeting ended she had damp armpits and was desperate for five minutes alone to regain her equilibrium. The moment Gary signaled they could go she was on her feet, gathering her things as though school had been let out for summer.

“Audrey, could I have a word?” Gary called as she all but sprinted for the door.

She pulled up short. “Sure. Of course.”

She joined him at the head of the table, mentally reviewing her to-do list. Maybe he wanted to talk about the new proposal they’d had from one of their lighting suppliers. Or the additions she wanted to make to the rechargeable battery range.

But Gary’s gaze was focused over her shoulder. “You, too, Zach.”

Of course he wanted to talk to Zach at the same time. Today was clearly her day. Not. She hugged her papers to her chest as Zach joined them.

“I’ve got a meeting in ten so I’ll cut to the chase,” Gary said. “Whitman has asked us to put together a competitor analysis. Strengths, weaknesses, growth areas. You know the drill. I thought maybe you two would like to handle it.”

Okay, now she knew fate really was dicking with her. The last-remaining-seat situation was one thing, but offering her a chance to score some major corporate brownie points while linking that same opportunity to her having to work hand-in-glove with Zach? That was simply cruel.

“Sounds good,” Zach said easily. “But I’m happy to handle it on my own if Audrey’s snowed.”

She blinked, drawn out of her own thoughts by his casually worded attempted coup. She bet he’d be happy to handle the analysis on his own. He’d probably love to give Whitman a little shoulder rub and polish his car, too.

“Oh no, I’m up for it,” she said brightly.

Only belatedly did she consider how her words might be construed, given what Zach had overheard her say last night. “I mean, I’m not snowed.” That didn’t sound good, either. Not when she was talking to her immediate boss. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m busy, but I’d like the opportunity.”

“Good. You’ve got two weeks. Whitman wants a presentation after the conference.” Gary gave her a curious look before heading for the door.

She cleared her throat and faced her temporary partner in crime. Determined to be professional about this, no matter what.

“So...how do you want to do this?”

“I guess we should divide up the workload. Write our sections separately, then pool data and conclusions,” Zach said.

She forced herself to look at him directly for the first time all day. He was wearing a dark blue shirt, the color lending extra depth to his eyes. For once he wasn’t laughing at her. A small win.

“Sounds good. Do you want to reconvene after five, draw up a schedule...?”

“Can we make it six? I’ve got a conference call with some of the guys from Perth.”

“Sure, suits me.”

He gestured for her to precede him from the room and they parted in the hallway.

In her office, she gave herself a little pep talk. This report was an opportunity, and she was going to hit it out of the park. End of story.

She applied herself to her task list with a Terminator-like zeal, aware that she would have to carve out the time to research and write her share of the analysis over the coming week. Since no one had miraculously added a couple of extra hours to every day, she was going to have to work harder and smarter to fit everything in.

Accordingly, she was armed with some initial thoughts when she made her way to the meeting room at six. Zach hadn’t arrived yet, so she set herself up at one end of the long table, spreading printouts and past reports in front of her.

Makers had three major rivals—two corporate “big box” type retailers and a group of smaller independents that had banded together. While Makers kept a keen eye on all players, the company hadn’t commissioned a comprehensive competitor analysis for more than four years. A major oversight, in Audrey’s opinion, and she wasn’t surprised Whitman had made it one of his first priorities.

She worked her way through the last report, highlighting figures that would need updating in fluorescent pink.

“Sorry. We had a bad connection and the call went over.” Zach dropped into the chair next to her, sighing heavily. He considered all the printouts she’d laid out. “You’ve been busy.”

“I pulled some old reports. Most of them are irrelevant now, the market has moved on so much. But there’s good background information in some of them we might be able to use.”

“Good plan.”

He leaned across to grab one of the reports and a spicy, mellow scent drifted her way. She recognized it as the aftershave he had stashed in his desk and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She didn’t want to notice his aftershave. Even if it was really delicious.

“We need to pull in a lot of data,” she said. “I’ll put out a shout to the state marketing coordinators tomorrow to get them started on some figures.”

She was aware of Zach looking at her, but rather than make eye contact she turned another page and lifted her hand to tuck her hair behind her ear.

“If we’re going to divide this up, how do you want to do it?” she asked.

When he didn’t answer immediately, she lifted her gaze. He was watching her, his eyes crinkled at the corners. Clearly amused by something. As always.

“I could take on Mathesons, and you could do Handy Hardware. Which leaves us with Home Savings—we can split that last one,” she suggested.

“Sounds good. Gary mentioned a consulting firm we can call on for industry data?”

They talked over the details of the project for half an hour, making notes and plans. Every now and then she glanced up and caught him smiling that small, amused smile, but he didn’t offer to share the joke and she wasn’t about to ask. The cup of tea she’d had before joining him was starting to make its presence felt.

“Won’t be a moment,” she said as she stood.

He was busy making a notation in the margin of one of the older reports as she left the room. She rolled her shoulders as she made her way to the ladies’. She really needed to learn to loosen up around him; her shoulders felt like they were set in concrete.

She saw the mark on her face the moment she entered the bathroom—a big fluorescent pink streak from the middle of her cheek up into her hairline.

“What the—?”

Then she remembered pushing back her hair with the highlighter in her hand. D’oh.

No wonder he’d been smirking at her.

“Thanks for the heads-up, buddy,” she muttered to herself as she scrubbed her face clean. She took care of business, then returned to the meeting room, aware that she was, yet again, at a disadvantage where he was concerned. Just once it would be nice if he was the one who looked like a dick.

She waited for him to say something about her face—finally—when she entered the room, but he simply gave another one of those small almost-smiles and pushed a printout her way.

“There’s some good stuff in here about projected revenues. We can springboard off historical predictions and talk about how the entry of the second big-box retailer into the market has changed the environment.”

“I’ll make a note of it.”

She tried to concentrate on what she was doing, but she couldn’t let go of the fact that he’d sat next to her for more than half an hour, laughing privately at her striped face, amusing himself at her expense.

The more she thought about it, the more steamed she got, and finally she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“You could have said something.”

“Sorry?” He looked up from the page he was reading, his expression distracted.

“The highlighter on my face. You could have said something.”

His gaze went to her cheek. “Could I?”

“Yes, you could have.”

“But then we would have gotten into the whole ‘where is it?’ and ‘have I got it all?’ thing. Next thing you know, I’d be spitting on my hanky and wiping your face.” He smiled, inviting her to share the joke.

At last.

“You enjoy laughing at me, don’t you?” The words popped out of their own accord.

He frowned. “Do I?”

“You know you do.”

“Actually, I don’t. Why would I want to laugh at you?”

Because he thought he was better than her. Because it was the way of handsome, entitled, arrogant men to be amused by lesser beings.

But she wasn’t about to say either of those things out loud. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“We don’t have time for this.” She made a big deal out of sorting through the papers in front of her.

“You brought it up, not me.”

“Forget I said anything.”

“You can’t throw an accusation like that out there and then shut down the conversation. Why on earth would you think I was laughing at you?” He looked and sounded genuinely perplexed.

“Because you always smile when you see me, for starters.”

His eyebrows shot up, as though she’d astonished him. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe—crazy idea—I might actually enjoy your company?”

It was her turn to be astonished. “No.”

“Wow. Okay.” He shook his head as though she’d confused the hell out of him.

“You want the next category manager’s role. Don’t pretend you don’t. And you know I’m your toughest competition.”

“So, what, we can’t be friends?”

She didn’t even need to think about it. “No. My career is too important for me to screw it up by allowing other considerations to enter into the equation.”

“That’s uncanny. You sounded exactly like Gordon Gekko in Wall Street when you said that.”

“I’m not ashamed of being ambitious. I’m the only person in the world I can rely on, and if I don’t make things happen, they don’t happen. I’m not going to apologize for that.”

Suddenly he looked very serious. “You think I don’t understand that?”

She caught herself before she scoffed out loud. He had to be kidding. He was a walking advertisement for indulgence, from the luxury watch to his silk-and-wool suit to his Italian leather shoes. His pen alone represented a mortgage payment on her tiny place. As the daughter of two hardworking GPs, she’d grown up in a house where money had never really been an issue, but Zach reeked of a whole different level of privilege. The kind where houses were “estates” and children had numerals after their names to differentiate them from their noble forebears.

“There’s a difference between wanting something and needing it. For example, I’m sure you want your polo pony, but I need to pay my electricity bill.”

He blinked. Then he sat back in his chair. He looked...stunned was the only word she could come up with. As though she’d sneaked up and goosed him.

“You think I have a polo pony?”

She had no idea how the other half lived—or, more accurately, the one percent—but her point still stood. No way would he ever be as hungry as she was.

“If you’ve got it, flaunt it, right?” she said.

When he continued to look baffled, she pointed to his shoes. “Hugo Boss.” She glanced at his wrist, where the gleam of his slim, elegant rose-gold watch peeked out beneath the cuff of his jacket. “Patek Philippe.” She indicated his suit. “Armani.”

“Okay. I like nice things. Your point is?”

“That you and I come from very different places in the world.”

He stared at her. Up close, his eyes appeared almost gray instead of dark blue. The gunmetal color of the ocean before a storm.

“Look. Maybe we should just concentrate on getting this project sorted and we can both get on with our lives,” she said.

He still didn’t say anything and she shook her head slightly. She didn’t get why he was looking so gobsmacked. Did he really think people hadn’t noticed he was different?

“I’ll take this stuff home and draw up an outline for my sections. If you do the same, we can meet again tomorrow after work and finalize our brief before diving in. How does that sound?”

His frown was gone now, his expression impenetrable. “Whatever suits.”

“Good. Same time tomorrow?”

“That works for me.”

He stood and scooped up his things.

“Hang on, I think you’ve got my phone...” she said, frowning.

He flipped up the protective cover and checked. “You’re right, sorry,” he said, his tone clipped as they swapped handsets.

She was about to tell him that it was an easy enough mistake since they all had the same company-issued handsets and covers, but before she could say another word he was gone. She stared at the empty doorway. She felt uncomfortable about what had just happened. She should have bitten her tongue and swallowed her impulsive words, for the sake of the project if nothing else. If she hadn’t been feeling so dumb after the highlighter incident, maybe she would have, but she’d hated the thought of him being amused at her expense. Sitting there laughing at her up his sleeve while she’d been doing her best to make this project fly.

She made a growling noise in her throat.

Why did she always wind up second-guessing herself where Zach was concerned? No one else in her world made her feel so self-conscious and uneasy.

She didn’t know what it was, but she didn’t like it. The sooner this project was over, the better.