Читать книгу The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights: 6 Book Romance Collection - Jane Linfoot, Zara Stoneley - Страница 46

‘What do you want me to do next?’ I ask Alex as I zip his laptop into its bag.

‘Can you take notes during the group sessions?’ he asks absently, checking his smartphone. ‘They’re rotating coffee breaks with team meetings and group thought showers,’ he continues, swiping a finger across the screen. ‘We need some ideas for a new rewards programme for customers and employees. It’d be helpful if you could capture the ideas.’

‘Sure,’ I say easily, looking over at the small group of managers chatting in the corner. It’s gratifying to see it’s an almost even mixture of men and women. ‘See you later then?’ I sling the laptop bag over my shoulder against my handbag.

‘Hmm?’ He taps something else on the phone. ‘Yes.’

The phone seems permanently attached to either his ear or hand. Would it kill him to look at me when he’s talking to me? With a quiet harrumph, I turn to scoot over to the awaiting group.

‘Charley?’

‘Yes?’ I glance back.

‘Thank you.’ Alex gives me a grateful smile with a flash of white teeth, dark-blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

Almost staggering under the force of it, I return the smile weakly. ‘Uh-huh.’ The man is too bloody gorgeous for his own good.

Hotfooting over to the corner: ‘Hi, I’m Charley, Mr. Demetrio’s assistant for the weekend.’ A round of greetings and a few waves meet my words, with one familiar blonde woman nodding more rigidly. ‘I’m going to take notes of your session,’ I explain. ‘Shall we get started? I think we’re in the room across the hall.’

An hour later I’ve made four pages of notes filled with their ideas and have even contributed a few suggestions, all met with approving nods, though the blonde – Sara Eden – was less enthusiastic. She might have been the woman eyeing Alex up at dinner last night, though I can’t be sure.

Taking notes at three more meetings, it’s soon time for lunch in the main conference hall, which has been arranged with round tables and matching chairs dotted around the room. Sitting with a few managers from the first session, I breathe in the scents of savoury and sweet food, listen to the group gossip about work and partners and kids, and slowly relax, though not enough that my appetite returns.

Staring blankly at the tablecloth, I recall Alex’s remark about having a happy new year. I love the end of one year and the beginning of another. It’s an emotional milestone, not just a fresh page because the month has changed, but a shiny new calendar on the wall. No matter how rubbish the past twelve months have been, you can hope the next twelve will be better. God, the next twelve have to be better for me. It doesn’t feel likely at the moment.

It takes me a minute to realise it’s gone quiet. The man next to me clears his throat and coughs.

‘Are you all right? Do you need some water?’ I query but his attention is fixed above my head. I swing around and notice Alex beside me. ‘Oh.’ Pushing my plate away, ‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’ His gaze flickers over me then round the table. Do I imagine it slides over Sara more quickly than the others, as she flicks her hair and looks at him from under her lashes? ‘Sorry to interrupt.’ He touches my shoulder. ‘I need to talk to you about a few things please?’

‘Of course.’ Standing, I stack my practically full plate in the middle of the table. ‘See you later everyone.’

‘Don’t go without on my account.’ Alex frowns at my food.

‘I’m done thank you. I’m not very hungry.’

His eyes flicker over my body and darken, making me flash burning hot, but he says nothing, gesturing to an empty table across the room.

Following, I smile when he edges a glass of water out of my reach as we sit down. He hasn’t forgotten my clumsiness last night.

‘How are you finding it?’ He leans forward. ‘Everything all right? Any questions?’

Nodding to show it’s all under control. ‘Fine, yes and no. Are you pleased with how it’s going?’

‘Reasonably, yes.’

‘Oh. Only reasonably?’

Searching my face, ‘It’s not a criticism of you. Just other things I need to sort out.’

I give him a relieved smile. ‘Right. But you’d say, if there was anything I needed to improve?’

‘There isn’t.’

‘All right,’ I lower my voice. ‘It’s just that … this morning, by the pool. I owe you an apology—’

‘Oh, that.’ He straightens his tie. ‘Let’s not dwell on it. It’s already forgotten.’

‘Is it? I don’t want to dwell on it, believe me, but you made the comment about me napping and … I don’t want you to think I make a habit of—’

‘I’m sure you don’t,’ he interrupts. ‘And I’m sorry. About my comment.’

‘No, I’m sorry. It was unprofessional,’ my nails curl into my hands and I drop my voice to a whisper, ‘to touch you like that. I didn’t sleep well last night, was a bit fuzzy when you woke me. That’s the only reason it happened.’

‘It was?’ I must imagine the glint of disappointment in his rapidly shuttered gaze. ‘Of course it was.’ Shaking his head: ‘Look, I was a bit hard on you. Let’s just forget it. We’ve other more important things to focus on.’

‘Okay.’ Forget it? I still remember the sensation of his warm stubbly skin under my fingertips, his thick, dark hair soft against my palm. ‘There were things you wanted to brief me about?’

‘Just a reminder you’ll be with me this afternoon taking notes at management meetings.’

‘I remember. It’s probably quicker to type them straight into your laptop. Is that okay?’

‘Whatever you want.’

You naked in my bed? Thank God I don’t say it out loud. And that my dress is thick enough he can’t see the effect the thought has on my nipples, which immediately go hard and bead.

‘If that’s it then?’ I squeak. Clearing my throat, I rise from my chair.

His voice stops me. ‘What did you think of the presentation? It went well, didn’t it.’ His smile is a touch arrogant.

I won’t feed his ego by telling him how inspirational he was or how much he impressed but I’ll give credit where it’s due. ‘I liked your plans for the UK projects.’

‘Thanks.’ His fingers tap on the table. Quick, slow, quick, quick, slow. ‘I believe they’re worthwhile, especially if it means other people get involved.’

‘I’m sure they will.’ Pushing back from the table, ‘Catch you—’

‘What’s the worst thing about your job?’ he asks quietly, leaning forward.

Being sexually harassed by your creepy assistant? No, not the place for that conversation. Crap. What do I say? Think about it from a PA angle. ‘You’re not about to go off and do some Undercover Boss thing are you?’ I ask, to give myself time to think.

‘What?’ He looks blank.

‘The TV programme? Where CEOs go undercover on the front line to find out what’s really happening within their companies? Then deliver the findings back to the Board?’

‘I don’t watch much TV. And I’m sure most of it’s garbage anyway. And no, I’m not doing undercover whatever it was, I’m just … interested.’

‘Right.’ I place my chin on my hand in a deliberate thinking pose and make a mmmm sound. He stifles a smile. ‘Well, I guess it would be rapidly shifting priorities.’

‘Really? I didn’t think you’d be bothered by that. You can’t handle the pressure?’

‘Of course I can! I’m just answering your question.’ I take a breath. ‘And just because I don’t like it, doesn’t mean I can’t do it. Does that make sense?’

He nods jerkily. ‘Strangely, it does.’

What’s going on with Mr CEO? ‘So what are the worst things about your job?’ I follow a hunch.

‘Nothing. I love it,’ he answers robotically, dragging a hand through his hair. ‘Why?’ he shoots defensively.

I sit back in surprise. ‘I was just asking the question you asked me.’

He sits back too, frowns. ‘Ye–es,’ the word slides out. He’s thinking. Considering. ‘But that’s different.’

‘Because I’m a junior member of staff and you can tell me what to do?’

He waves off the remark. ‘It’s not about hierarchy in that way,’ he replies, ‘but I suppose it is.’

‘Meaning?’

‘You can share things. But I’m the one in charge.’

‘So you can’t share? Or won’t?’

‘I can’t let any doubts or weaknesses show.’

‘Rubbish! You’re as human as the rest of us. Aren’t you?’ Yanking my notepad and pen from my bag: ‘But just to keep you happy.’ I scrawl on my pad as I talk. ‘I, Charley Caswell,’ I declare, ‘promise not to blog/post/tweet/socially broadcast/sell to the papers/tell anyone anything Alex Demetrio discloses to me, or which happens, during the course of this assignment. Forthwith—’

His white teeth click shut and he rolls his eyes. ‘Very good. You’ve made your point. Now put it away.’

‘Yes, sir!’ Putting the pad aside: ‘So, the worst thing about your job?’

He starts fiddling with the arrangement in the middle of the table, a finger playing with a row of red beads entwined with the flower stems. I gulp and squirm in my seat. ‘The travel,’ he murmurs.

From the way he’s acting I was expecting something a bit juicier. ‘Oh. That’s it?’ I raise one eyebrow.

‘Isn’t it enough?’

‘I’d love to travel more, see the world.’

‘Yes but you don’t see the world, only an endless series of hotel bedrooms and conference facilities. If I’m lucky I eat in the restaurant, but I usually order room service so I can work at the same time.’

It sounds lonely. Joyless. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that. When you see it in movies it seems glamorous.’

‘It’s not.’ His expression is grim, lips pale. He’s wound so tight. I feel a ridiculous urge to offer him comfort, but that’s not allowed. ‘It’s tiring and relentless.’ He sighs. ‘Especially when there are people you’d rather be spending your time with.’

A girlfriend? My mind magics up an image of him kissing a skinny blonde. Ick. A friend? The look on his face doesn’t invite further questions so I settle with a soft, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ he grinds out. ‘I wasn’t looking for your sympathy.’

But he does need someone to talk to, and if it’s me, perhaps he’ll listen in return when I tell him about Tony? ‘I’d never dare offer you sympathy,’ I answer, tongue in cheek, ‘but what else?’

‘What else?’

‘What else do you not like about the job?’

‘I really shouldn’t—’

‘Just say it, Alex. No judgement, I promise.’

He checks if there’s anyone around to overhear but most people are picking over the fresh fruit and light desserts laid out on a long table on the other side of the room. My nose twitches at the rich aroma of coffee but I don’t want to leave the conversation, not when he’s showing trust in me.

‘Chairing disciplinary panels or grievance hearings,’ he shares. It’s quiet and torn from him.

It’s also a perfect opening. ‘You get involved in those?’

‘Yes, if they get to a certain stage in the group, not for the smaller companies. It’s rare, because they go through management, and directors hear appeals, but a few times I’ve been hearing officer where it’s involved very senior people.’

Maybe he wants me to interrupt, stop the flow of words but I won’t. I shift further forward in my chair so he can keep his voice down.

‘It’s difficult sometimes,’ he confesses, ‘because you never really know what’s happened, especially in a grievance where it’s two people at odds. There’s that saying about two sides to every story, isn’t there? Well, I’ve found each person has their own views and the truth generally falls somewhere in the middle.’

I wonder what he’d say about my situation. Will he believe I provoked Tony? Or deserved what happened to me?

He runs a hand through his hair again, leaving it spiked up and ruffled. I prefer the messy look. He looks younger, sexier. I shake my head and focus on listening. It’s the safest option. ‘And?’ I nudge. He hesitates. ‘It’s fine as long as you don’t talk about particular cases, isn’t it?’ I ask. ‘You won’t be breaching any confidentialities.’

‘No. Still, if an employee overheard me talking about it, even in general terms—’

‘I’m an employee.’

‘Not a direct one. And not after this weekend. Besides—’

‘Besides?’

‘Nothing.’ His cheekbones darken.

He’s not– Is he blushing? No. It must be a trick of the light. ‘Maybe your employees would appreciate you not taking this stuff lightly. Maybe they’d be gratified to hear how much care you take, that if they were ever to go through a formal process you’d be serious about the responsibility.’

‘I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ he concedes, drumming his fingers on the tablecloth.

‘It’s part of how we learn, isn’t it? Exchanging views with others, sorting through the different opinions for the ones which make the most sense to us.’

‘Not many people share their views with me. They’ll tell me what they think if I ask but don’t offer their thoughts freely. And I’m not sure how honest those opinions are.’

‘Ah.’ They probably don’t dare. One wrong opinion might get them fired. Yet from what Alex just said, and from the impression he gives of being fair, I don’t think it’s likely.

‘It’s the bullying allegations I find hardest,’ he circles back. ‘Is it a manager being a bully or them trying to proactively manage someone, bring them to account, and the employee not liking it?’ Blowing out an exasperated breath: ‘In the end it comes down to someone’s perceptions, and those are coloured by their personal attitudes, experiences and emotions. Unfortunately, by the time those cases get to me, sometimes too much has happened. The working relationship is at breaking point. It’s sad. We’ve lost good people that way.’

Would he class me as one of them? ‘I can see what you’re saying.’ I stretch across the table, grab a glass and pour some water into it, carefully. Letting delight at his emotional intelligence show would be premature. But it gives me hope.

As though a cork has popped from a bottle of suppressed feeling, he keeps going. ‘The biggest thing for me is that I’m fair. Disciplinaries and grievances involve real people. You’re making decisions about their employment that can really affect their lives. What if I get it wrong?’

‘You have doubts?’ I take a sip of water, the liquid cool on my tongue.

‘Of course I do. Even when it’s a robust process. There have been cases where I’ve had to make judgements based on the balance of probabilities.’

‘What does that mean?’ I probe. Throwing my head back, I gulp down the rest of my water. When I put the glass down Alex’s eyes flicker back to my face. Where was he looking?

‘Taking all the evidence into account and deciding what’s most likely to have happened.’

‘Sounds heavy.’ I kick myself. What an insensitive way to describe something which obviously causes him anxiety. Even worse because I know more than anyone the depth of distress caused by those situations.

He raises both eyebrows. ‘That’s one way of describing it.’ He gives a one-shouldered shrug, his beautifully cut black suit gleaming in the overhead lights. ‘I suppose even the justice system isn’t infallible, they get it wrong sometimes, and innocent people get sent to prison.’

‘But you’re not condemning people to be locked away.’ Shaking my head, ‘You’re too hard on yourself, Alex. And anyway, if you get it wrong, there must be someone to scrutinise your decision?’

‘No. I deal with cases at appeal stage, so the next step is tribunal.’

I shiver. It’s the perfect ‘in’, the perfect moment to move forward with the crucial part of the plan I came here to see through. I should tell him now, whilst he’s in this mindset, never mind where we are. With a deep breath, I go for it. ‘Actually Alex, on that subject there is something I wanted to—’

‘I hate going to tribunal,’ he announces, ‘though I guess no employer likes it. But I’ve seen so many vexatious claims made by people to get money, usually through a pre-hearing settlement.’ Temper smoulders in his eyes. ‘They drag everyone through the mud, uncaring of how much stress they cause.’

His condemnation immediately gets my back up. ‘Don’t you think that’s a sweeping generalisation? Some of them must be genuine cases. What about their stress? And don’t forget they’ve paid out money to have the case heard and someone has thought it credible enough to make it to tribunal court.’

He stares at me, blue eyes rapidly cooling and capable of causing the Arctic to chill by a few more degrees. ‘If they’re genuine I can’t understand how it couldn’t have been resolved earlier. It’s the sexual harassment cases that bother me, where it’s so hard to tell whether there’s been any actual harassment or not, and who, if anyone, is responsible. You never know exactly what’s happened between a man and a woman in the workplace, especially without witnesses. That’s why it’s easier to remove any possibility of those kinds of claims.’

His comments hit the biggest raw nerve possible. ‘Perhaps some aren’t resolved earlier because people feel unable to come forward?’ I retort. ‘They might be embarrassed or ashamed, or think they can handle it alone. Or not see it coming until it’s too late.’

‘These are grown adults we’re talking about, not playground schoolchildren.’

‘It’s not immature to be scared, or to worry about the ramifications of your actions. And how can you cast judgement if it hasn’t happened to you?’ I stop, take a breath, dizzy with anger. ‘Has it happened to you?’

‘No.’

‘So you don’t know what it feels like, what choice you would make.’ I spring out of my chair, hold myself steady with my hands flat on the table, shaking. ‘And how are you going to remove the possibility of those claims? Unless you’re going to try and segregate men and women, you’ve got a problem. And it’s not necessarily about men and women, is it? There could be a same-sex claim.’

‘Segregation?’ He looks shocked, rising from his chair. ‘Don’t be silly. I meant having a no-workplace relationships policy. For everyone, whatever their sexual orientation.’

Feeling stupid for my hasty remarks, I turn sunset red. ‘You can’t get people to control their emotions like that, Alex. They’re not robots. Haven’t you ever heard the heart wants what the heart wants?’

His face closes down. ‘Sometimes what the heart wants isn’t what the person attached to it needs. And in my experience, a lot of the time it’s hormones doing the wanting, not the heart.’

Is he saying he sleeps around? ‘Do you think it’s realistic to expect people to adhere to that kind of policy? Plus it wouldn’t necessarily stop sexual harassment claims.’

‘It can minimise them, and yes, if the clause is written into the employment contract.’ He rubs his temples. ‘It’s not about feelings, Charley. It’s about trying to keep the organisation alive and productive. It can’t be either of those if it’s imploding because people are falling out when it all goes wrong. Which it inevitably does.’

‘Wow. That’s cynical.’

Tucking his chair under the table, he nods, ‘What can I say? Sometimes, sadly, it’s the safest way to be.’

I shove my chair under the table, making the glasses rattle. ‘You’re right,’ I state, staring him directly in the eye. ‘That is sad.’ His mouth falls open. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me,’ I seethe, unable to see clearly, think clearly, ‘I’m going to get some fresh air.’

‘Take as long as you like,’ he barks.

Stomping from the room, I wonder if I’ve blown it and if he means I shouldn’t bother coming back at all.