MONDAY MORNING. THEY HAD flown to Paris the day before, and today he had a number of client and in-house meetings before him. The acquisition had gone through on Friday evening.
He had set Aideen up with a temporary studio space in the library of the chateau, and she planned on spending the day organising meetings with clients.
He jogged past the walled garden in the grounds of the chateau and then broke into a sprint. He had dined out last night with his French management team. Glad to have an excuse to leave the chateau and her offer to cook them dinner.
They had both worked on the plane over yesterday afternoon, but he had found his gaze repeatedly wandering towards her, intrigued by how absorbed she had been in her work. With her hair swept up into a messy bun she had stared at her laptop screen, her long fingers tapping the delicate column of her neck in thought. And he had wondered what it would be like to have those fingers run against his skin.
After that, the thought of sharing dinner alone with her had set alarm bells off in his brain. He had to keep his distance.
Taking the steps of the garden two at a time, he ran across the stone terrace that traversed the entire length of the back of the sixteenth-century chateau. He entered the house and walked towards the kitchen. Was that baking he smelt?
An explosion of household goods were scattered across the surface of the island. The shells of juiced oranges, an upturned egg carton, an open milk bottle teetering precariously on the edge of the unit. Behind them, a trail of baking tins and bowls was scattered along the kitchen counter.
He turned to the sound of footsteps out in the corridor. Aideen walked towards him, a huge bunch of multi-coloured tulips in her arms, a carton of eggs in her hand, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed, a wide smile on her face. Her hair, thick glossy waves of soft chestnut curls, fell down her back.
‘Oh, you’re back.’ She flashed him a quick smile before her gaze darted guiltily to the chaos behind him. ‘I thought you would be out for a while yet.’
‘What’s happened to the kitchen?’
‘I’m making breakfast. I hope you don’t mind.’
Actually, he did. He wanted his kitchen clean and tidy, as it usually was. Not this mess.
She sidestepped him and began to search through the kitchen cupboards.
He gritted his teeth and tried to resist the urge to start clearing up the mess himself. His stomach, however, had very different thoughts as it rumbled at the delicious sweet smells of baking.
She plopped the tulips in a vase she had found in a cupboard and placed it on the kitchen table. ‘I met your gardener earlier, and he gave me the use of his bike to cycle down to the village so that I could go to the boulangerie. But then I ran out of eggs, so I had to go again. The cycle down is easy but, boy, the hill back up is tricky. The countryside here is beautiful, and the village is so pretty. When I came back he gave me these flowers from the garden—aren’t they stunning?’
The tulips did look good, but something about their cheery presence in the kitchen niggled him...they were just too homely.
For a few seconds she looked at him expectantly. When he didn’t respond she smiled at him uncertainly, before rolling up the sleeves of her pink and white striped shirt.
‘I’ll tidy up here and then put some breakfast on. In honour of being in France, I’m going to make us oeufs en cocotte.’
He looked at her, bewildered. And slowly it dawned on him that she was expecting them to have breakfast together.
For a few brief seconds he was tempted to give in to the tantalising aroma of fresh baking filling the room. But a glimpse of her white lace bra as she bent over to swoop up the errant milk cap from the floor had him coming back to reality with a bang.
This wasn’t what her stay was supposed to be about. A bed and an office... Not seeing too much of her. That was what he had signed up for. Not this cosy domesticity. Not some breakfast routine that could quickly become a habit. Not feeling desire for a woman first thing in the morning.
‘I don’t eat breakfast.’
It was almost the truth. He usually just grabbed some toast and coffee and took it to his office, eager to start work.
She was going about gathering up all the empty packaging on the island unit and paused briefly to give him a quick look. ‘But that’s crazy. After exercising you should eat.’
His spine stiffened and his jaw muscles tightened. Irritated, he grabbed a mug from the cupboard and went about making himself a coffee. ‘I’m not hungry.’
At the sink, she rinsed out a cloth before she turned and caught his gaze. ‘Have something. I wanted to thank you for having me here. For the flight over...the accommodation. I have some croissants and a baguette I bought in the boulangerie earlier warming in the oven.’ She stopped and grimaced before admitting, ‘My first attempt at oeufs en cocotte didn’t quite work out, so I had to pop out for more eggs, but I’ll have them ready in ten minutes.’
For a moment he almost wavered. ‘I appreciate the gesture, but I’ll stick to my usual coffee.’
With a disappointed sigh she added, ‘If you won’t eat, at least let me make the coffee for you.’
He threw his hands up in surrender. ‘If you insist—two shots of espresso.’
‘I’ve set the table out in the courtyard. If you would like to go out and sit there I’ll bring you out the coffee.’
His head darted to the outdoor dining table in the courtyard. His fine china and cut glass sat on top of a white linen tablecloth. A jug of freshly squeezed orange juice sat next to silver salt and pepper pots. The courtyard was filled with an abundance of springtime flowers and the whole setting looked like a magazine feature on the ultimate romantic breakfast.
‘Thanks, but I’ll stay in here. I have to leave for work soon.’
At the kitchen table he clicked on to his usual newsfeed, using his tablet. He tried to concentrate on the various market analysts’ commentary on his acquisition but she’d switched on the kitchen music system to an upbeat radio breakfast show. The DJs spoke in rapid French, sounding like children who had overdosed on a breakfast of sugary cereal.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough she then proceeded to chat away herself, over their manic laughter. ‘What a beautiful morning! Going to the boulangerie this morning reminded me of the summer I spent here as a student. I had an internship in a design house and I was penniless. I ate baguettes for the entire summer. I used to stare longingly at the patisserie stands, wishing I could afford to buy an éclair or, my favourite, a millefeuille.’
She continued this monologue while fiddling with the coffee machine’s controls.
‘Do you want some help?’
‘No, I’m fine. I’ll work it out.’
As she fiddled and twisted Patrick stared at the financial reports, very little detail actually registering. What was registering was the round swell of her bottom, the long length of her legs in skinny faded denim. Which only added to his growing annoyance.
Was it because he hadn’t been with a woman for more than two years that he sometimes caught himself thinking that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met? It wasn’t just her prettiness, the seductive curves of her long-limbed body. Something shone through in her personality—a happiness, a strength of will that was beguiling.
He almost sighed in relief when she eventually popped a mug of coffee before him.
‘Milk or sugar?’
‘Neither, thanks.’
Sweet Lord, it was the strongest coffee he had ever tasted.
‘I’ve messed up the coffee, haven’t I?’
A crestfallen expression on her face, she waited for his answer.
He leant back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. ‘I could probably stand on it.’
She moved to take the mug. ‘I’ll try again.’
‘No!’ That poor machine couldn’t take it.
She planted her hands firmly on her hips. ‘I take it you’re not a morning person?’
‘Correct in one. I like good coffee, silence, and preferably a tidy kitchen—not Armageddon.’
For a brief second a mixture of hurt and anger sparked in her eyes before she turned away.
She switched off the radio and then quickly cleared the countertops. She wiped them down and then filled the sink with a gush of steaming water in readiness to wash the used pots and pans piled high next to it.
A small part of him wanted to relent, to give in to his hungry stomach and her chatter. To start off the day in something other than the usual silence. A silence he now realised was somewhat lonely.
But if this was to work he needed to stand firm. Start as they meant to go along. Better to upset her than to give her any unrealistic expectations of what their time together would be like.
‘I’m going for a shower.’
She didn’t turn around at his call, just nodded her head in acknowledgement. But when he reached the door she said, ‘I was only trying to show my thanks, you know.’
She turned from the kitchen counter and stared at him defiantly.
When he didn’t speak she reddened a little and crossed her arms. ‘I went to a lot of effort.’
He retraced his steps back across the room to where she stood. Her gaze rose up to meet his. ‘Firstly, I don’t eat breakfast. Secondly, I think we need to have some clear boundaries if this is going to work.’
She gave a tight laugh. ‘What on earth do you mean by “boundaries”?’
Her laugh rightly mocked his stuffiness, and although he knew he deserved it he was in no mood to defend himself. ‘Aideen, I want to help you in re-establishing your business. Nothing else.’
Her blush deepened, but her hands clenched tight at her sides. ‘I was making you breakfast. That’s all. What’s the big deal?’
‘I don’t want you getting any ideas.’
She drew herself up to her full height and plopped a hand on her hip. ‘Trust me—I won’t. A workaholic, taciturn, controlling man is the last thing I’m looking for in my life.’
Workaholic, he would admit. But taciturn and controlling? What on earth was she talking about?
‘Right—explain to me how I’m taciturn and controlling?’
‘You had the next month of my life all planned out before you even spoke to me the morning after the storm.’
‘So? It was the most logical plan. Even you agreed with it.’
‘Yes, I agreed with it. But not once did you stop to understand just how difficult it was for me to accept it.’
Baffled, he asked, ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean I lost not only my business last year. I also lost my pride and self-respect. Having to accept help from you made me feel like I was failing again.’
‘That wasn’t my intention.’
‘I know. But maybe if you’d stopped and thought about how I might possibly feel—if you’d asked me my opinion—then you might have understood.’
She had a point, but he wasn’t going to admit it. So instead he challenged her. ‘And taciturn?’
‘Do you really need to ask? You have barely spoken to me in the past two days.’ Biting her lip, she studied him before she added, ‘If you don’t want me around why did you invite me to stay with you?’
Her bluntness left him for the first time in his life slightly speechless. But then anger rose up in him. ‘I don’t do breakfast...or small talk. I’m not going to be your friend. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to get ready for work.’
He marched away, down the long corridor and up the stairs to the master bedroom, yanking off his tee shirt as he went. Irritation ate into his bones.
As he stood in the shower he scrubbed his hair and defended himself against what she’d said. He wasn’t controlling...or taciturn. She was exaggerating. She was saying he was wrong for being decisive. Well, ‘decisive’ had got him where he was today.
But as the water pounded down on his scalp the uncomfortable realisation that her words might have some truth began to creep into his consciousness.
Had focusing solely on work for so long numbed him to others’ feelings? Yes, he was decisive and logical...but did he sometimes steamroller over others?
And as he dressed he began to grasp why he had been so disturbed by her attempts to make him breakfast. Why it had irked him so much.
It had unsettled him just how good it was to arrive home to activity, to the comfort of having another person in the house. Of course the fact that it was Aideen, looking so happy and gorgeous, added to that uncomfortable realisation. Because it would be so easy to fall into the trap of enjoying her company, of wanting more with this woman.
* * *
Aideen emitted a low groan and dropped her head down on to the smooth mahogany wood of the library desk.
Could this day get any worse? First she had messed up with Patrick at breakfast. What was supposed to have been a small gesture of thanks had blown up in her face. Why hadn’t she just let him walk away? Did it really matter that he hadn’t wanted to accept her gesture of thanks?
He had left for meetings soon after, with a curt goodbye, and she had spent the day alone in this breathtakingly beautiful chateau, on a hill overlooking the Seine, annoyed about their argument but having to be cheery as she made phone calls to organise her own meetings for the coming days.
Several times with prospective new clients she hadn’t even got past the receptionist. But she had eventually managed to organise enough meetings to make the trip worthwhile—some with colleagues she hadn’t seen since she’d lost her old business.
Just now she had ended another call to an ex-client. The entire call had been a tense mixture of arduous questioning and awkward silences that had left her feeling completely flustered.
‘Tough call?’
Her head jerked up and her stomach lurched as she saw Patrick standing in the doorway.
‘The usual.’
She was cross with him—and hurt, and embarrassed. And she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. But when he came and sat on the table she was working at she couldn’t help but glance in his direction.
‘I’m sorry for not being tidy...for taking over the kitchen. I just wanted to say thank you for everything you have done by making you breakfast... I guess it backfired.’
‘You don’t need to thank me. I suppose I’m finding it a little strange to be sharing my home with someone else.’
She’d only been here a day and he was regretting it already. She shuffled some books and placed fistfuls of marker pens and pencils into canisters, glad that her hair had fallen forward and blocked his view of her face. Which was burning in embarrassment.
‘I can move out, if this isn’t working for you.’
The touch of his hand on her arm had her jerking back in surprise. Her stomach flipped and her throat tightened when she looked at him, her eyes transfixed by the perfection of his thick dark eyebrows, now drawn into a frown, and by the length of his fingers when he drew a hand over his cheek in a gesture of exasperation.
‘No. That’s not what I mean. I think we need to give each other space, but also adapt to the other person’s way of doing things. I’ve been under time pressure recently, with the demands of my work. I might have rushed to make decisions without taking how you would feel into consideration.’
She felt stupidly relieved by his words, and without much thought said teasingly, ‘Are you apologising to me in a very roundabout way?’
His lips quirked a fraction. ‘I suppose I am.’
‘So, basically, I need to stop making a mess of your kitchen and you’ll try not to be so grumpy?’
His gaze challenged hers playfully. ‘And I’ll try to eat some breakfast.’
‘You have a deal.’
He pushed himself back a little further along the table, creating more distance between them. ‘Now, do you want to talk about that call? Who’s Ed?’
Her stomach flipped over. The designer had asked her bluntly why she should use her consultancy over Ed’s—her ex. She had put forward her track record in designing, her competitive price points, but she knew the designer was still unconvinced.
As she knew to her cost, Ed could be very persuasive and economical with the truth. There had been little point in protesting that a lot of the designs Ed claimed as his own were in fact hers. The designer wasn’t likely to believe her. Of course she could take Ed to the courts as a way to claim her rightful ownership, but she didn’t have the financial resources to do so.
And Patrick had heard her conversation.
Embarrassment flamed on her cheeks. She had only told her friends and family some of the details, too hurt and humiliated to tell them everything. So how on earth could she be expected to tell a billionaire that she had been so naïve and trusting? This stunning chateau alone told the story of his incredible success and obvious business acumen.
Also, as stupid as she knew it was, it still hurt that he hadn’t wanted her breakfast. And every time she saw him she fancied him even more, which was starting to drive her a little crazy.
She lifted a box on to the table. She couldn’t speak. Hurt, attraction, embarrassment all swirled away inside her, turning her brain to mush and catching hold of her tongue.
She worked with her back to him, but Patrick could still see how her fingers trembled as she scattered folders and loose cuts of material on to the desk. It was clear that she was going to pretend not to have heard his question. The surface of the desk was quickly disappearing under a mountain of her belongings.
Who was Ed and what hold did he have over her to cause this unease? Something that felt suspiciously like jealousy twisted in his stomach. He breathed it out. He wasn’t going there. This was about helping her professionally. Nothing more. And although he was curious about this he would hold off asking her about him again...for now.
As she fought with the now empty cardboard box a low sigh of exasperation sang from her lips. Strangely compelled to ease her upset, to see her smile again, he stepped towards her and took the box, twisting it flat. A quick glance at the messy desk had him saying, ‘This won’t do. This room is all wrong. Come with me.’
He grasped her hand in his and almost at a run led her down the corridors of the vast chateau.
‘Where are we going?’
‘You’ll see.’
What on earth was he doing? She should be protesting, should be working. But it felt so good to be chasing down corridors with him, to have his hand holding hers.
He brought her to a vast empty room, bathed in evening sunshine, with the warmth of the sun bouncing off the parquet flooring. White wooden doors and windows formed the entire length of the garden-facing walls.
‘This is the orangery, but while you’re here you can use it as your studio. The library is too dark and small—especially for someone like you, who likes to...’ His mouth lifted ever so slightly and after some thought he said, ‘Who likes to spread their work around. This is a better space for you to work in. There are some trestle tables stored in an outside storage room. There’s other pieces of furniture stored there, too, that you can use. I can get my staff to move them in here tomorrow morning, when they start work, or if you want we could go and get them now ourselves.’
She was completely thrown, and moved by his suggestion. The room would be perfect to work in. She had two options: thank him and run the risk of the emotion in her chest leaking out in gushing thanks, or brazen it out and tease him back.
It was an easy decision. ‘Are you saying I’m messy?’
‘Based on the evidence of the papers scattered around the library just now...and the kitchen this morning...then, yes, I’d say pretty confidently that you’re messy.’
She gave him a mock withering look. Once again she felt completely disarmed by his thoughtfulness. ‘This would be perfect. The light and space in here is incredible. Thank you.’
‘Good. Now, how about we go and get those tables?’
* * *
A little while later, as he helped to unpack a box, he gestured towards her company’s logo.
‘Where did you get the idea for your business name? Little Fire?’
‘It’s what Aideen means in Gaelic.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘It also felt like a very apt name for the type of business I want. I want to create a small bespoke design consultancy—to be an innovator in the industry. A consultancy that is respected for its passion.’
‘It suits your personality, too.’ He said it in a deadpan voice, but once again there was a faint hint of humour sparking in his eyes.
Taken aback, she looked away. When she eventually glanced back the humour was gone.
‘Are you going to tell me who Ed is?’
She didn’t want to. She wanted to bury him in the past. But she needed to answer his question in some form.
‘He was my business partner. I set up the company by myself and he joined me a few years later. I was having cash flow problems and he was able to inject capital into the business. We had been to university together and it felt like a good fit for him to come on board.’
‘I’m hearing a big but here.’
‘A very big “but”, unfortunately. He insisted on taking a majority share in the business. After that we expanded too rapidly—spent capital on projects we shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have agreed to him having a majority share—it led to an inequality in our partnership and gave him the leeway to overrule me. We started arguing. Eventually it became clear that he wanted me out of the business and he made life difficult for me. I tried hanging in there, but in the end I knew I had to go.’
Perched on a trestle table opposite her, he looked at her sombrely. ‘What did he do?’
She pulled a wooden bistro chair to the trestle table she’d been working at and sat. She needed to do something while she spoke to avoid having to look at him. To pretend this was an inconsequential conversation. So she started to order by colour the pile of swatches she would take to her meetings in the coming days.
‘He overruled all my decisions. He belittled me in front of clients. He dropped heavy rumours that I was difficult to work with.’
‘Is that why you’re so hesitant about visiting clients?’
‘Yes. It’s embarrassing. I don’t really know how much he said to our clients and whether they believed him. I’m hoping not... But I’m going to do everything I can to make this a success. I love my job. Adore the creativity involved and all the opportunities I get to work with different designers. No two days are the same. I just have to make sure I build up my client base quickly to meet my overheads.’
She glanced up and caught his eye.
‘And you know what? I want to prove Ed wrong, too. He said I would never make it on my own.’
‘That’s understandable, but be careful that proving him wrong doesn’t distract from your energy, from your focus.’
She wasn’t quite certain what his point was...and she wasn’t sure she wanted to fully understand...so she shrugged it off. ‘It won’t.’
And he knew she had, because without missing a beat he said, ‘Okay, tell me what you’re going to do differently with this business.’
It was a good question. She knew instinctively a lot of things she would do differently, but hadn’t consciously addressed them. She had been in too much of a rush to start again.
For a few minutes she thought about it, her fingers flicking against the edges of a blue cotton swatch. What would she do differently?
‘I need to manage my cash flow better—not expand too quickly. Meet with my clients on a more regular basis...communicate with them.’
He nodded at her answer, but fired another question at her immediately. ‘Fine, but at a strategic level what are you going to do differently?’
For a while she was lost as to how to answer him. And then she thought about her client base. ‘I need to think through what my target market is... Perhaps I’m too diversified at the moment.’
‘Spend time thinking about those issues—those are what matter. Not Ed. Don’t waste any more time on him. He’s not worth it. You lost that business, which was tough. But it’s in the past now. Your focus must be on the future.’
Her pulse raced at his words but she forced herself to smile. ‘I know. You’re right. I need to go and get some more files from the library.’
She practically ran from the room. She heard him call her name but she didn’t turn back. Of course he was right. But the hurt of losing the business lingered stubbornly inside her and it was hard to move on from it. To just push it aside. Everything he said was true and right, but she wasn’t ready to hear it yet...especially from a billionaire.
* * *
His assistants in Dublin and Berlin had long gone home, but after finishing a conference call with his development team in Shanghai later that evening Patrick checked in with his assistant in Palo Alto. He updated his calendar with her for the coming days and ended the call.
He spent the next hour reading the daily reports he expected each of the managing directors of his subsidiaries to file.
The projected revenue for a new construction industry project management database was not performing as expected. He emailed the management team responsible and listed the new sales strategy he wanted them to follow.
When that was done he checked the time on his monitor. It was not yet nine. In recent months he had frequently worked until twelve. It felt a little strange to have all this spare time. He switched off the bank of monitors on his desk and walked over to the windows overlooking a dense copse of trees. In the dusk, flocks of birds swirled above the treetops, a pink-tinged sky behind them.
How was Orla doing? Should he call her? One of them would have to end this impasse between them. But it was she who had caused it. It was up to her to call.
From the corner of the window he caught a glimpse of Aideen working in the orangery. She was sitting at a trestle table, staring out towards the garden, lost in thought.
Anger bubbled in his stomach at the treachery of her former business partner. He could understand her desire to prove him wrong. If it was him he would exact revenge. But the guy wasn’t worth it. She needed to focus on the future and not on the past.
He was tempted to go and speak to her. What was it about her that drew him to her? He certainly admired her tenacity and her determination to start again. And the moment he was in the same room as her, he was sidetracked by her radiance and beauty. By her positive outlook on life. By her smile. By the thick curtain of hair that seemed to change colour according to the light—chocolate-brown at times, filled with highlights of cinnamon and caramel at other times. By her body, which called to the most elemental parts of him...
Yes, she talked too much, and was way too messy...but after two years of silence part of him yearned for her chatter, for her warmth, for her positive outlook on life.
Another part of him wanted to shut it all out. At least that way he wouldn’t be able to mess up a relationship again.
And at times her honesty and openness left him floundering. This morning and this evening she had spoken with an emotional honesty that had made him stop and think. And he wasn’t sure if he liked that. She spoke about the past while he preferred to ignore it.
Knowing now, though, what she had gone through with her business collapse, made him want to protect and help her even more. He wanted her business to succeed and he would give her all the support that she required.
He just needed to ensure that he kept it strictly professional.