Читать книгу The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights: 6 Book Romance Collection - Jane Linfoot, Zara Stoneley - Страница 45

DAY TWO

– Saturday –

By half five I’ve already woken three times and I decide to give up on sleep. Needing time to shake off a foul mood and bleary daze of exhaustion, I grab a black coffee from the machine in the corner of my room.

Pulling back the navy double-lined curtains, I gaze out of the window at the awakening city. Mopeds are zooming along the narrow roads in the dusk, and in the growing light I can make out the skyscrapers looming over other smaller but more architecturally compelling buildings. I know from the tourism magazine on the dresser that along the coast people from the mainly Catalan population are already making their way to the numerous textile factories, to the production lines that form the foundation for hopes that Barcelona will one day be a major fashion capital.

Padding to the other window, I squint down at the marina. The sea looks so peaceful with the first few rays of sunlight glimmering over it, so inviting, that with eyes gritty through lack of sleep I long for a refreshing swim. Setting the cup down, I flick through the hotel brochure. Fantastic – the heated indoor pool opens at six, no doubt for guests wanting an early-morning workout. I have more than enough time for a few laps before meeting Alex for breakfast. While I search for the swimwear I stuffed in my case at the last minute, I realise it’s only been twelve hours since I left London in the bitter cold. Feels more like twelve years.

I pull out the black bikini from my trip to Turkey with Jess a couple of years ago. It was such a great holiday – sunbathing, sightseeing, water sports, laughter, drinks by the bar. I was too busy to take a break in the six months of last year when I had a job, and I now regret it. All the experiences missed in favour of long hours and dedication … and look where I am now. No proper job, no money, no prospects. Shaking the maudlin thought off, I wash quickly and brush my teeth, tying my hair in a low ponytail. Yanking the bikini on, I turn to the mirror, frowning at how little it covers. There’s an obscene amount of rounded cleavage on display aided by the push-up top and the bottoms are cut ultra high on the hip. It’s one thing wearing it on a beach and another at the facilities of a posh hotel, but unfortunately I’m stuck with it. It’s not like I’ve got the money to buy an alternative from the discreet boutique tucked away in hotel reception.

Pulling on the white, luxury towelling robe from the back of the bathroom door, I push my feet into matching slippers and leave the room, key card safely in my pocket, yawning widely as I follow signs to the gym, spa and pool. Alex and I are in the penthouse suite on one side of the top floor, but the other side of it houses the leisure facilities in an atrium. Traipsing along a short corridor and through a series of white doors, I wave my key card over the inbuilt sensors and gasp at the white-marbled women’s changing rooms.

After a moment I wander out to the pool. The room is gorgeous; the domed glass ceiling overhead letting in the early-morning sun; lush palms and vivid purple flowering plants surrounding me and filling the air with a heady floral fragrance. It looks like I’m the first one here to enjoy it this morning. Kicking off my slippers and shrugging out of my robe, the heated air feels glorious on my skin. After a quick rinse under one of the poolside showers, I dive into the pool, looping through the blue in a U-shape before rising to the surface. It’s sheer bliss. The water is soft and warm and I feel brighter and happier already, the sharp tang of chlorine in my nose, my ponytail sticking wetly to my back.

Swimming to the edge, I curl my legs against the side, grab the rim of the pool and push away hard, doing laps on my back before flipping over into an efficient front crawl. Fifteen minutes later I start tiring, so finish off with a few leisurely laps before climbing out and reclining on the nearest lounger. The padded navy cushion is cosy and the rising sun warm through the glass above me. I’ll just dry off for a few minutes before going back to my room.

I jerk upright with a gasp when there’s a splash and drops of water splatter me. Looking around for the culprit, I see a dark shape moving effortlessly through the pool, but I can’t make out whether it’s a man or a woman. Well, as long as they don’t splash me again we’ll both be happy. Lying back down, my eyes drift shut. I’m aware of the moisture on my skin evaporating in the humid air. One more minute, just one and I’ll get going …

‘Charley. Charley!’

The voice intrudes and I fight to open my eyes, focusing slowly on the delicious face from my x-rated dream. Lifting a hand, I run my fingers over his cheekbone, trace a thumb over the rough stubble on his jaw and slide my palm slowly round the back of his neck. I smile drowsily, pulling him down toward me, lips parting. ‘Alex,’ I croak.

‘Bloody hell!’ Wrenching his head away, he grabs my hand and yanks me into a sitting position, hauling me out of my fuzzy dreamscape. ‘Charley, it’s time to wake up.’

Blinking the world into focus, I foggily realise what I’ve just done – touched Alex in a way that’s definitely not within working boundaries. Bright anger battles with dawning humiliation. Shit and double shit.

‘All right, I’m awake!’ I shake myself free, trying to ignore the flash of broad tanned chest with a sprinkling of hair, and the abs so defined they’re countable.

His comment resounds in my head. He’s right. It’s time to wake up, to the real world, where women who come onto colleagues uninvited ruin their professional reputations. Especially if they might have track records of that type of behaviour and the recipient is firmly against workplace relationships. Not that he knows about my track record yet but, when he finds out, me having grabbed him is hardly going to prove my innocence.

Irritation at myself and him ignites and sparks. Why was he so close to me when I was sleeping? And did he really have to yank me up like that?

‘Charley?’ he asks roughly.

Twisting on the lounger, unable to meet his eyes, I scramble over to my robe, hauling my arms through the sleeves and tying the belt with quick jerky movements. ‘I’m awake,’ I reiterate, ‘don’t worry.’ I bite the words out without turning, panic squeezing my windpipe. ‘See you in reception in a while.’

Bolting from the pool, I push through umpteen doors and jog down the corridor, not stopping until back in my bedroom. The next half an hour is hell. Shampooing my hair in a blistering shower, I scrub my body with exfoliator, trying to erase the embarrassing encounter with Alex along with the chlorine from my skin. All the while the mantra running through my head is don’t think, don’t think, do not dare to think.

Sprinting into the bedroom whilst drying with a fluffy towel, I brush my hair and pull it into a loose bun, yank on black underwear and perch on the bed to pull on dark-patterned tights. Then I climb into a grey sleeveless tailored dress with a short tulip skirt, grab the matching jacket and slip on a pair of black patent stiletto heels. Hanging the towel in the bathroom, I catch sight of my pale cheeks, bloodless lips and puffy eyes. Not a good look. I hurriedly apply the basics – pressed powder, eyeliner, clear lip gloss – and comb my fringe down with shaking hands. How will I face Alex?

I was going to kiss him.

And he knew it.

Oh, God.

I’ll just have to make the best of it. Apologise then maintain the biggest physical distance from him.

Arriving in reception, the polite professional smile I’ve pasted on falters when Alex steps forward from the front desk clad in a sharp black suit and narrow black tie, looking like he’s about to attend a funeral. Dark but devastating. Great. I address a spot above his left shoulder. ‘Shall we go in for breakfast?’

He drags his gaze over my outfit and frowns, carefully fixing his attention somewhere around my right earlobe. ‘Something’s come up,’ he says curtly. ‘I’ve got to sort out a problem with a new acquisition. Go ahead and eat without me.’

‘B–but,’ my throat goes achy and weird, ‘if it’s a business issue I should help you with it. Don’t you need me?’

He pauses, eyes raking over my face, expression guarded. ‘No,’ he replies tightly. ‘I don’t. I’ll see you later. Don’t look for me, I’ll find you.’

I don’t get a chance to say anything before he stalks off. Obviously he’s annoyed because of what happened by the pool, but that was just rude. And what can I do when he’s not given me the chance to say sorry? And what will I do if the almost-kiss has blasted away any professional respect he has for me, undermining my credibility? My plan will be totally shot.

The anxious thoughts whirl around in my jumbled head twenty minutes later as I push aside food I’ve only toyed with. Finishing my fresh orange juice, I stare down at the tablecloth, something inside hurting. I’ve got the horrid feeling it’s not just Alex’s opinion of me as an employee that matters. It’s his view of me as a woman too.

Despite everything, I want him to like me. We had such a good time at dinner last night. He was so funny once he relaxed, and I opened up to him more than I’d planned to. I enjoyed his company. And he is respectful of women after all, and—

No. Oh no. Don’t do it, Charley.

I’m being sloppy and sentimental. It’s the exhaustion of lost sleep talking, the stress of the last few months. Alex doesn’t – can’t – matter to me in that way.

I text Jess, not expecting an answer because of the time difference.

Morning sleepyhead, need to talk later. Made a complete fool of myself with Alex this morning. Could do with some advice. C x

As I order another juice and decide whether to wait for Alex as requested or go look for him, my phone vibrates.

Morning, no probs, but now I’m intrigued! Shall have to wait until 2nite to find out what the big mystery is. Until then, advice = whatever it is, keep your cool! J X

Easy for her to say – she isn’t stuck with The Most Gorgeous Man Ever for the entire weekend. Tucking my phone away, I jump as Alex appears beside me, one hand in the pocket of his exquisitely cut trousers, his buttoned-up suit jacket showing off his broad shoulders and flat stomach. Pure lust erupts inside me, along with a vision of the mouth-watering body I caught a glimpse of by the pool. Then Jess’s advice ping-pongs around my head. Keep your cool. It might not be easy to follow, but it is sensible. Winter ice cool, that’s what I’ll go for.

‘Hello,’ I clip politely. ‘Ready?’ I grab my bag and stand up.

‘Yes, thank you.’ His voice is equally bland. ‘Ready to go and run over the PowerPoint presentation?’

‘Yes, thank you. Lead the way.’

After striding across the lobby, we climb a small flight of carpeted stairs leading to a short corridor filled with gold-handled doors. He holds one open for me wordlessly.

‘Thanks.’ I slip into a large conference room, more like a hall. Stepping over to a box-filled table, I tuck my bag away as Alex stalks to the front of the room. ‘I’ll just get set up,’ I call over. ‘Give me five minutes.’

‘No problem,’ he responds distractedly, fiddling with his laptop.

A few minutes later I’m satisfied the name badges, delegate list, notepads and pen pots are laid out properly and walk along the blue-carpeted aisle created by the two sections of chairs set out in lines. Stepping onto the slightly raised stage, Alex is standing at the podium, adjusting the microphone with a deep line cutting between his dark eyebrows.

He gestures to the wireless laptop set on a glass table over to the side and I nod, hustling over to it. Sitting down, I tap a finger on the Enter key and a sign-in screen appears.

‘Password?’ I prompt.

‘Sorry, I didn’t expect it to have gone into sleep mode already.’ I jerk as the words flow directly into my ear, his warm breath sweeping over my cheekbone. A shiver runs up my back. I can’t sigh out loud, so I hold my breath instead. ‘Here.’ Reaching across me, he types his password in whilst I try not to flinch, holding my position as I will myself not to stare at his long lashes and the faint stubble along his jaw. He’s close enough I can smell his trendy male scent. It’s gorgeous; clean, masculine and sexy. Just like him. As I start to unwittingly lean closer, he straightens.

‘Okay?’ he asks.

‘Yes.’ I breathe out.

‘Well?’

‘Yes?’ I swing my head to look at him.

‘It’s ready for you to use.’

I must look blank because he gestures to the laptop, mouth curving in a slight smile. ‘Care to rejoin me on planet Earth so we can get started?’ He pauses. ‘I interrupted your nap earlier, perhaps you’re still tired?’

The mild sarcasm makes me flush. ‘That was an accident. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I just didn’t sleep properly last night.’

‘Hmm,’ slipping me a sideways glance, ‘I know the feeling.’

Not sure what he means, I ignore his comment. ‘Look Alex, I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have—’

‘Now’s not the time. Let’s get on with this.’ Not waiting for an answer to his comment, he strolls back to the microphone.

I bite my lip. ‘Fine. But we’ll talk later,’ I mutter crossly under my breath. ‘That’s a promise.’

The next few hours are ridiculously busy. It’s exhilarating, even if not the work I’m used to any more. After syncing the laptop to the massive SMART board above the stage, we run through Alex’s presentation three times before he’s happy with it. He has a clicker to control the slides, but insists I know the timings in case of technical faults, in which case I’ll use the laptop to change the slides.

I greet the few dozen employees and some of the shareholders as they flood in, Alex explaining to me in a low voice that anyone not present can vote by proxy or electronically. Giving out badges, ticking off lists and making small talk, I enjoy the buzz in the air. There are probably about two hundred attendees and they all look pleased to be here.

Whilst coffee is served ahead of the meeting, it strikes me as bitterly ironic to be representing the global umbrella organisation of the company in the capacity of a temporary PA when my ultimate ambition was to fast-track into a promoted position elsewhere in the group. If it weren’t for Tony, one day I might have been attending an AGM as a senior manager. It’s not fair.

Face burning with troubled thoughts, I’m glad when Alex nods at me across the room to get started. I close the doors and dim the lights, hotfooting it onto the stage to join him at the glass table, adjusting the laptop so it’s right in front of me. As Alex rises from his seat, I notice a faint sheen of sweat across his forehead. If it was anyone else I’d wonder if it was nerves, but he’s so self-assured I scrub the idea. Maybe he’s not feeling well.

‘Ready?’ He buttons his jacket and licks his lips. I nod, puzzled. Is he okay? Without another word, he walks over to centre stage.

‘Good morning everyone,’ he says, adjusting the microphone slightly. ‘Are we ready to begin?’ Conversation dies down and people turn their heads to give their full attention. ‘Good,’ he replies, ‘then I’ll start. I’m Alex Demetrio, CEO of Demetrio International.’ I can see his hands where they’re resting on the podium. His fingers are clenched and white, but no trace of doubt shadows his clear, firm voice. ‘Welcome to our AGM.’

The presentation should be boring because I’ve heard it so many times, but it is fascinating because Alex warms after the first few minutes, confidently running through annual reports for the previous year and year to date, explaining the financial forecasts for the forthcoming two. He looks more comfortable and I’m pleasantly surprised when he is wryly humorous about the privileges and pitfalls of running the company. It’s honest and brave and interesting.

‘I also want to thank the senior team and all support staff for their hard work and dedication, which make all the difference to the success of the organisation. The Board of Directors and I truly appreciate the passion and energy of our employees.’ Alex gazes across the audience, taking the time to meet people’s eyes, smiling so widely his cheeks must hurt.

His voice drops slightly and several people lean forward to hear better. ‘I’ve gone through the finances, the strategies and the ambitions, how we’re going to expand, but I want to talk about something else I feel we should focus on over the next three to five years. Something important. Something worth doing. I hope you’ll agree with me and understand why.’ His face becomes serious and I’m mesmerised, like everyone else. ‘What I want to say is this. Every one of us has a responsibility to the companies we run, to each other and to other colleagues, to local economies and markets. But we also have a responsibility to the wider world. That’s why we’ll continue to fund hundreds of charities with a diverse range of good causes, as well as maintain a drive for carbon-neutral working and energy efficiency across the whole organisation. It’s also why there’s an Economic Social Responsibility programme for managers, which includes spending a month abroad in Africa helping to rebuild villages. I’d like to show you a short film of that now before I continue.’

I can’t help but be inspired by his passion, especially when he plays footage of the organisation’s best and brightest management trainees covered in sweat, caked in mud and heaving cement and bricks in the scorching sun. They interact with smiling villagers, children getting underfoot and kicking footballs to the cameraman against upbeat background music. It’s more usual to see TV celebs or pop stars, or a British prince or two undertaking this kind of work, but even without the glitterati, the short film is moving and captivating and the result at the end is a new school for the community. It’s truly heart-warming. Imagine being able to make that type of difference to people’s lives. Imagine how it must change you as a person, to be something that is so much bigger than yourself. I sigh. I might have gone on the programme if things had turned out differently. The metallic taste of rage floods my mouth. Tony Ferrier has robbed me of so much. I feel sick.

The film ends and Alex reclaims the microphone. ‘What you just saw is the reason we’re proposing to extend the programme from one month to three, open it to other employees and double the number of people we send over there.’ Alex pauses to let everyone adjust to the idea. ‘It’s also why there’s a plan to increase the yearly donations by an extra … ’ My mind boggles as he announces a number with an inordinate number of zeroes. A few men in the front row blanch. One wearing a loud purple tie looks as if he might fall off his chair. I hold back a laugh, wondering how many shares he owns.

‘The other thing I want to suggest is in the information pack you were sent.’ Alex booms. ‘There’s a saying that charity begins at home, but I think we’ve been missing it. My family are from Corfu and the company was started three generations ago by my grandfather, but we’re also British and the UK feels like home.’ His voice wavers for a split second and I wonder if anyone notices. ‘We need to launch more projects in the UK. Community projects in deprived areas, housing where there are shortages, a national apprenticeship scheme so that we can drive down the number of NEETs across the country, that is young people not in education, employment or training. We have an ageing population and no default retirement age, so we need to respect the experience of the older generation while also helping the next into work and out of poverty. We need to take action now and lead from the front and hope that other businesses follow. We’ll improve our corporate image and increase the motivation of our staff, but more importantly we will feel proud.’ He pauses. ‘We will be proud. Who,’ he demands, looking around the room, ‘is with me?’

The room is silent, then clapping begins. I feel like I’m at some political pep rally. I fully expect to see Barack Obama appear with Michelle, but there’s just Alex, who can be both so distant and in the next moment so charming, standing at the front of the stage, charged with compassion and energy. For a moment I lose my breath. He is such a complicated guy, but everything he’s just said fills me with warm positivity.

The rest of the meeting is quick, shareholders approving the previous year’s accounts and dividends per share and voting overwhelmingly in favour of Alex’s plans, ending with the composition of the Board. Everyone is re-elected and Alex seems satisfied as he wraps up, summarising the last slide.

‘Thank you all for your time,’ he says finally, smiling. ‘Now I’m going to go and lie down in a dark room with a glass of Retsina.’ A small laugh erupts from the audience. ‘You’re all welcome to stay for light refreshments next door before leaving, unlike the members of staff staying for breakout sessions and a working lunch, followed by a long afternoon of individual meetings. You know who you are!’ He waits a beat. ‘If there are no questions?’ he addresses the room. ‘Good. Enjoy the food and I wish you all a safe journey home. Thank you. Oh, and a belated Happy New Year to you and your families.’

As Alex steps from the podium, people stand, stretching and chatting and making for the door. I exit the PowerPoint and start shutting down the laptop. I’m really confused. Who is the real Alex? The formal, sharp closed-off guy, or the witty, compassionate one?

I shouldn’t care. It doesn’t matter to me who he is – as long as he believes my story when I need him to.