‘YOU’VE DONE WHAT?’
I stare at Valentine across my desk and blink once, twice for good measure, and still feel like I can’t have heard him right. For twelve months I’ve been free and now my wings are being clipped. And all by some upstart who would’ve been in nappies while I was graduating with first class honours from Oxford.
‘I’ve arranged a dinner for Thursday night. There are people I’d like you to meet, politicians who can add weight to your charity agenda, influential people who—’
‘No, I got that, but Saturday, you said...?’
He flicks his navy tie out and settles back into his chair, too sure of himself and what he has to say. His pristine hair is combed back in what must be a blow-dried quiff. His face is closely shaven, not a blemish in sight, save for the scar through his eyebrow that makes me shiver with speculation, fascination. His chiselled jaw and prominent cheekbones all sculpted and golden, and his lips...
No, don’t go there!
I drop my gaze to his clothing. The sharp cut to his charcoal-grey suit that highlights his broad shoulders, his crisp white shirt smooth as it runs over what are sure to be washboard abs. Is there not a millimetre that doesn’t appeal? A millimetre of imperfection that I can focus on...my eyes flit to the scar again.
No. Not working. It only adds a bad boy vibe to his authoritarian air, and in my office, going over my schedule.
I have the ridiculous urge to climb over my desk and yank the navy flap of silk until he’s an inch from my face, muss him up while I make it clear I won’t be treated like this.
Not again.
‘I said I’ve made arrangements for us to attend a football match, a corporate box affair. I think the French striker Louis Dubois and his wife are the perfect replacement for you. The charitable work they’ve already done abroad makes them the ideal candidates to—’
‘I don’t disagree with their suitability. What I’m arguing with is the timing, the fact that you’ve taken it upon yourself to cancel my plans with my PA behind my back and you’ve not even been here five minutes.’
‘Twenty-four hours, if I want to be picky.’
My eyes flare at him.
‘As for the timing,’ he carries on regardless, ‘their calendars are tricky at best. They’re flying in for the semi-final, so it’s now or in a month or two, and you know it needs to be now.’
‘And like I said to you yesterday, it’s me you talk to, me you convince and gain agreement with, before you go anywhere near my PA and adjust my plans.’
‘You had a track day planned; it was hardly critical, not to mention—’
‘It’s my track day.’
‘There’ll be other track days; there won’t be another opportunity like this.’
‘That’s not the point, and you know it.’
He shifts in his seat. I’d like to think it’s because he’s uncomfortable, but he’s been in my office for an hour taking me through his plans and not once has he acted out of place, on edge. If anything, he’s in his element, telling me how this should all play out.
And yes, I’m impressed with the ideas he’s put forward. So far, they’ve been sound, easy decisions to make, but now we’re onto my diary, my free time and he’s taking over, just like...just like Nathan.
‘I spoke to Pippa and we agreed—’
‘You and my PA agreed?’ I splutter, choking on my rising anger. ‘Have you heard yourself?’
‘What I’m trying to say is, we talked through your Saturday plans and we agreed she would call you before firming anything up. When she couldn’t reach you, we made an executive decision.’
‘An executive decision about my Saturday, my free time? How utterly thoughtful of you.’
‘Like I explained, time was of the essence.’
‘I hardly think waiting a few hours for us to have this meeting would have hurt.’
‘I didn’t think it would be this much of an issue.’
‘Well, bully for you!’ I snap and then want to slap myself. Because I know I’m being juvenile, but hell, I’ve just escaped one controlling relationship to enter another. And not with a lover, a boyfriend, a husband or business partner, but a man employed by my board to fix me. And I’m angry. Hell, I’m angry.
‘When I discussed it with Alan and Pippa it made sound business sense.’
His words make my blood boil further. Having him ignore my outburst is worse than an outright dismissal of it. He might as well have sat there and said, Now, don’t you think you’re overreacting? Or, worse, his line from yesterday afternoon: ‘Will you stop behaving like a child?’
I suck in a breath, let it out, slow and measured. ‘You discussed it with them...what? Yesterday afternoon? The early hours of this morning?’
‘After our talk at your place I came back to the office and, like I said, Pippa did try to call you.’
My cheeks colour. It was just a talk, not an attempted seduction on my part...and Pippa did call me. Only I let it ring out as I enjoyed another glass of white followed by another. All in aid of forgetting: Nathan, work, Valentine, our talk, my seduction...
I can almost hear the inner laughter and it’s crippling me. You tried to seduce him—he was having none of it.
And why would he when he’s nearly twenty years my junior?
You silly deluded fool.
‘How old are you?’ I blurt out over the inner monologue that stings far too much.
‘I’m twenty-nine.’ He waves an easy hand at me. ‘Is that a problem?’
I shrug, my smile intended to be just as easy, just as self-assured. So I wasn’t graduating, but I was definitely at Oxford when he was running about in nappies. ‘I just wonder how much experience someone of your years can truly offer me.’
‘And just like that, we’re back to your experience?’
And instead of the heat of shame returning at the reminder of my ‘failed seduction’, I’m warming with something far more appealing and dangerous to the professional nature of this meeting.
I’m not the only one either. I swear I see it firing in the depths of his sharp blue gaze.
‘My apologies; does the mere mention of my experience in the bedroom put you on edge?’
His eyes spark all the more and the desire to crawl over my desk and put it to the test burns deeper, stronger.
He clears his throat, his knuckles whitening around the arms of his chair and I know I have him backed into a corner and I’ve not even moved...yet.
And I did warn him. Yesterday. I made it clear I wanted him and that I always—always—get what I want. Now that Nathan is gone there’s nothing stopping me in my quest for life, for fun, for anything but the stunted life I had before.
‘Do you disagree with anything else I’ve proposed this morning?’
I know he’s changing the subject. I also know his body isn’t focusing on the tame words coming out of his mouth and the tell-tale tension in his gruff tone has a thrilling little shiver running through me, pushing me to goad him further.
‘Disagree? No, I wouldn’t say I disagree.’
I push myself out of my seat and walk around the desk. His eyes stay fixed on mine, never once shying away, to take in my open shirt collar...my open red shirt collar that matches the red soles to my black patent shoes. I’ve dared to wear red shoes to work, a red coat even, but that’s as far as I’ve pushed the black and white dress code Nathan enforced many years ago. I’m truly pushing boundaries, breaking the company mould and antagonising the board while I’m at it. But then they made the first hostile move when they brought Valentine in...
Though, if I’m honest, his presence is exhilarating, especially when I hold the high ground. Quite literally now as I press my behind into the desk edge beside his chair and look down at him.
‘The subtle tweaks to our corporate message that you’ve discussed with Susan are sound.’
I cross my legs at the ankle, pulling the fabric of my black pencil skirt taut around my thighs, and watch how he fights the urge to look his fill, his white-knuckled fist closest to me gripping the chair arm tighter as I take it all in.
‘An introduction to the politicians involved with Scotland’s plans to end homelessness in all its forms, with a view to achieving something similar in England. All sound.’
I fold my arms, pull my shoulders back, knowing full well it causes the red satin to strain across my chest, enhancing my cleavage and—bull’s-eye. I catch the way his eyes dip, their subtle flare, the twitch to his jaw that tells me he has it clenched.
A smile nags at my lips with the growing sense of victory and I force them to straighten as I continue on, wanting to get my point across even as my body wants so much to provoke the tension in his.
‘You see I have no problem with any of that. But when you want to make a change to my diary, it’s me who does it. Is that understood?’
He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. His eyes burn into mine, long and hard, and my pulse races away with itself. Does he know how hypnotic his eyes are? How the blue glitters in the overhead lights? Is he using their intensity now to put me on edge?
Of course he bloody is!
I try to breathe and the air seems to scrape through my lungs, every nerve-ending heightened as I try to stay in control. I wet my lips, lower my hands to the desk edge and grip it for support.
‘Is that clear, Valentine?’
He blinks, his lips curving ever so slightly at the corners. ‘Yes, consider yourself understood.’
I suppress the telling sigh of relief. ‘Good.’
But neither of us move. Our eyes are locked in some silent battle. This close I can see the dark line that surrounds his irises, making his eyes appear bluer, more penetrating. I can see the hint of sheen where his lips meet; even in their grim line they’re teasingly full. I can smell his cologne, fresh, tantalising, urging me to lean forward and breathe him in deep. His cleanshaven cheeks that make my palms itch to feel their softness before running my fingers through his hair and ruining its perfect form.
God, how I want to see him lose it, go wild, make him as imperfect as me.
To have the man who willingly walked up those stairs at my invitation that very first night at DareDevils to witness me with Electra. The man who I imagine to be so far removed from the one sitting in my office right now...though they are one and the same.
An idea starts to form. An idea that not only serves as payback, but gets him away from business, from the professional, the platonic. Gets him so very far away from here.
‘Pippa!’ I’m already heading for the door. I know she’s heard me because she’s now shuffling papers on the other side of the glass and trying to look busy when not two seconds ago her eyes were definitely on us. I yank open the door. ‘Pippa, can you join us for a minute, please?’
‘Of course.’ She stands, her smile wary and with good reason. She can read me like an open book and is sure to have noticed the tension building this side of the glass.
‘Is everything okay?’ She enters the room, glancing between us.
‘Yes, everything’s fine,’ I assure her. ‘Have you rescheduled the track day I had planned for this Saturday?’
‘No, I was going to ask you about an alternative date.’
I look back to Valentine, to his calm and composed exterior I’m so desperate to crack. ‘Can you reschedule it for next weekend?’
‘Of course.’
‘And tell them I’m bringing a friend.’
‘You are?’ Her brow lifts to me in surprise and I feel a weird pang deep inside, tying up my tongue. I shouldn’t be so surprised that she’s surprised. It’s not like I often bring a plus one to anything. My sister is often too busy with the kids and Nathan dominated my social diary just as much as my professional one.
I plaster on a smile, give a definite nod. ‘Yes.’
‘Very well.’ I’m relieved she makes no further comment, relieved even more when she reminds me of my purpose by adding, ‘Please can you send me their licence details? They like to have it all sorted up front.’
‘Oh, yes.’ My smile is easy now as I look back to Valentine and catch his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Oh, yes, Boretti, you’re getting the gist of where this is heading... ‘I’ll get those to you as soon as possible.’
‘Great.’
‘Fabulous.’
‘Any other special requests?’
‘No. Just make sure they have the fastest and the best available. I’ll make it worth their while.’
‘Sure.’
She heads back to her desk and I swing the door closed.
‘There you go, Valentine, all’s well.’ I dust off my hands as I walk to my desk and sit back down. ‘This weekend we do football, and next weekend we do supercars.’
I look to my computer screen as I move the mouse to wake it up.
‘Hang on, Olivia, I haven’t agreed to—’
‘Tit for tat, Valentine. You want me there this weekend, you’ll be with me next weekend.’ I flick him a look. ‘Then you can consider us even on the diary front.’
‘Do you really think testing out supercars gives the right image so soon after your accident?’
I shake my head. ‘Get over yourself, Valentine. It’s a racetrack. It’s safe and fun. And something tells me you’re in dire need of the latter.’
‘This isn’t about me; it’s about you. You need to change the narrative, Olivia. You need to show people you’re as stable as you ever were and that all this—all this adrenaline-seeking craziness is over.’
My entire body stills, my stare as chilled as I feel. ‘For your information, the car accident was just that, an accident. I aquaplaned and it could have happened to anyone, in any car. You can’t control how the media interprets something.’
‘No, but you can control the ingredients that make up the story and reduce the collateral damage.’
I study him for a long, intense second, his words merging with my sister Fee’s. But I have no interest in changing how I choose to live my life now that it’s my own. Not for anyone—or anything—else.
‘Are we done here?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says gravely. ‘Are you taking on board what I’m saying?’
‘Are you saying I need to live the life of a saint, regardless of what makes me happy?’
‘I’m saying you just need to tone it down, at least until we have the charity front sorted. Take a back seat from the media. Don’t give them cause to speculate about your mental health.’
I laugh now. Abrupt. Harsh.
‘My mental health?’
He doesn’t even flinch. Instead his eyes soften, a line forming between his brows, and I want to look away from the concern shining so clear in the pools of blue, do anything but drown in them. ‘I’m serious, Olivia, you need to take better care of yourself.’
A weird pressure builds in my throat, closing it up, my eyes sting. I blink. I swallow. But it just keeps coming.
‘There are people close to you who are concerned for your wellbeing. The press aside, it’s time you started to listen to them.’
I scoff and push away from my desk, stalk to the window and stare out. Anything to stop him witnessing the way his words strike through the very heart of me.
‘Consider your point made. Are we done here?’
He’s quiet. Too quiet.
I spin to face him, arms folded, back straight.
‘I repeat.’ Louder. Stronger. ‘Are we done here?’
He shakes his head, his shoulders ever so slightly falling. ‘For now.’
He rises out of his seat, bending to take up his laptop bag from the floor.
‘I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty for dinner, Thursday. Wear something...’ His eyes trail over me as he straightens, their sudden heat making my skin prickle. Christ, even my nipples harden against the boning of my bra, eager for more than a look from him when not two seconds ago I was chilled to the core and eager for him to leave. ‘Wear something conservative.’
‘Conservative?’ A laugh erupts, my mood shifting so quickly that I’m dizzy on it.
‘It’s just a standard request. Dress to suit the occasion.’
‘Oh, right. A standard request. You say the same to all your clients, do you?’
He clears his throat.
‘I tell you what,’ I say. ‘How about I send some pictures through of various possibilities? That way you can choose my entire outfit...all the way from the base layer up.’
He looks ready to choke over the suggestion. ‘I don’t think you need to go that far.’
I bite my lip, fighting back laughter. ‘I don’t know. I think it could be kind of fun.’
He shakes his head and strides for the door.
‘Running away again, just as things were starting to get interesting?’
He reaches for the door handle and looks back at me over his shoulder. ‘I’ll see you Thursday.’
‘You will.’
He pulls open the door.
‘Oh, and, Valentine?’
He turns to me once more and I give him a smile so full of satisfaction his eyes are already narrowing before I even speak.
‘Don’t forget to send me your driving licence details...a scanned copy would be just splendid.’