Harlequin Romance February 2016 Box Set

by Barbara Wallace

  Thrown by the sudden change in conversation, and knowing instinctively that he deliberately wanted to end their chat, she looked at her mobile phone. It was almost eight.

  ‘Do you have to take that call? You never seem to stop working.’

  He gave a quick shrug. ‘I have a problem with a system roll-out over there.’

  ‘But you must have endless directors. Do you really need to have such a hands-on role?’

  They exited the park and walked towards Bernard, who was waiting at the kerb.

  Patrick answered. ‘I like to be involved.’

  As they approached the car she said, ‘More like you like being in control.’

  He looked at her unhappily. ‘It’s not that simple.’

  About to slip into the car, she asked, ‘Are you sure?’

  He sat beside her and his rigid jaw and thinned mouth told her he was in no way happy with her comment.

  He turned and fixed her with a lancing stare. ‘It’s my responsibility to be in control. I will not let down those who are dependent on me—in the workplace or otherwise. I will not apologise to anyone for doing my job.’

  She was taken aback by the cold fury in his voice, but he had his mobile out and was speaking rapidly to someone before she could even respond.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A SET OF preliminary moss-green and off-white designs stared back at her from the laptop screen, as though willing her to make a decision.

  Ever since Patrick had asked her what she was going to do differently with her business the question had constantly played on her mind. Time and time again she came back to the one major decision she had to make. Would she stop designing for the upholstery market in favour of specialising exclusively in fashion textile design—her true love?

  And now she had to decide whether to submit these designs to Dlexa, a world-renowned upholstery textile manufacturer. Would she be crazy not to? It was a huge gamble to take. The upholstery business had often seen her through lean times. But it was also a distraction that ate into time she could be devoting to the fashion market.

  So many times during the past few days she had been tempted to go and talk it through with Patrick, to get his advice. So much for her resolve to do this on her own...

  Not that she had seen enough of him during the past few days to have such a conversation anyway. Their paths seldom crossed...and she had a sneaking suspicion that he had engineered it that way. Yes, they were both working incredibly long hours. And he was either out at meetings or locked away in his office at the chateau. Once or twice he had appeared in the kitchen while she was preparing a meal. But he’d always had an excuse to leave—something needing his attention elsewhere.

  She tried not to let it get to her. Tried not to dwell on the fact that it was probably because she had said too much the other night. Asked too many questions. Tried to get to know him a little better.

  At times she’d got a glimpse of a different man from the work-obsessed CEO the world saw. But as quickly as he opened up that fun and playful side he would shut it down again.

  What did she expect, anyway? The man ran countless multimillion-pound companies. He wasn’t going to have time to chat to her over a coffee.

  She constantly felt as though she was waiting for him to appear, with a low-lying nervous anticipation she couldn’t dispel. Each night disappointment sat heavily in her chest as she walked to her bedroom, knowing that yet another day had gone by without her seeing him for more than a few minutes. And in the mornings that disappointment was transformed into equally inexplicable excitement at the prospect of seeing him.

  The designs for Dlexa would take at least another twenty to thirty hours of work to complete. Would it be worth the investment of her time? Her gut was telling her to specialise, to follow her dreams. But flashing in neon lights in her mind’s eye was the total sum in her bank account, which had made her blanch when she’d checked it earlier today.

  She needed a coffee.

  His housekeeping staff had left for the day, leaving behind, along the chateau’s corridors, the smell of beeswax and the air of contentment that settled on a newly cleaned and polished space.

  In the kitchen she tackled the beast of a coffee machine. It still made her nervous. There were way too many knobs and buttons for her liking. But she was slowly getting the hang of it and its temperamental nature. Thankfully so, because it produced the best coffee she had ever tasted.

  She was about to head back to the studio when she spotted a parcel on the kitchen table, wrapped in luxurious cream paper and thick gold ribbon. The card on top was addressed to her.

  Intrigued, she opened the card.

  Aideen,

  We are sorry the sea ate your shoes. We gathered all our treat money together to buy you a new pair.

  Love, Mustard and Mayo

  PS: We promise not to chew them when you return to Ashbrooke. We hope you are enjoying Paris.

  Inside the parcel, wrapped in individual silk pouches, she found the most exquisite ivory ankle-strap sandals. High enough to make her feel a million dollars, low enough for her to actually be able to walk in them.

  They were stunning; if she had seen them in a store she would have fallen over herself to hold them just for a little while. But she couldn’t accept them. Her pride had already taken a severe dent at the amount of help she’d had to accept from Patrick. It was humiliating to take so much and give so little in return.

  And, given his remoteness in recent days, she didn’t even understand why he was giving them to her.

  She needed to go and speak to him—figure out why he was giving them to her and then somehow explain why she couldn’t accept the gift.

  She knocked and waited at the partially open door of his office. He opened the door with a phone to his ear and gestured for her to come inside.

  He sat down behind his desk, his eyes moving speculatively to the package in her hand.

  Her belly tightened and she turned away, inspecting the modern paintings hanging on the French Grey walls, failing to convince herself that his deep, authoritative and decisive voice had no effect on her. She tried not to listen to his conversation but was intrigued by the way he was able to quickly fire out the pros and cons of purchasing an office block in Rio de Janeiro. He ended the call with an order to proceed with the sale.

  Her chest swelled with admiration. She wanted to be like that. Certain and unwavering in her decision-making.

  His office was incredibly neat. The desk contained four different monitors, a keyboard, a ream of paperwork neatly stacked into a pile and nothing else. No empty cups, pens askew, or sticky notes scattered with random thoughts like on her own desk. No wonder he thought her messy. The guy was a perfectionist. Perhaps, to achieve what he had, he’d had to be.

  ‘Take a seat.’ He gestured over to two silver-green velvet-upholstered sofas that sat before the fireplace. He replaced the handset in its cradle before he moved over to sit on one himself.

  She sat, and placed the parcel on her lap. For a moment she stared down at it, the shoe-lover in her reluctant to give it up. But then she placed it on the coffee table between them and pushed it towards him.

  ‘Thank you for the shoes but I can’t accept them.’

  To that he simply raised an eyebrow.

  A knot of tension grew in her belly.

  ‘Giving me accommodation and a place to work for a month, flying me to Paris... You’ve been more than generous. I can’t accept anything else from you—it wouldn’t be right.’

  ‘They’re just a token from Mustard and Mayo.’

  She couldn’t help but say in amusement, ‘Dogs who internet-shop? Now, that’s clever.’

  For a moment he looked as if he was going to insist, but then he leant towards her. ‘Why don’t you tell me why you can’t accept them?’ When she smiled, he held his hands up in admission and said, ‘See? I do listen to you. This time I’m going to try and understand why before I try to persuade you otherwise.’

/>   ‘It’s not that I don’t like them...they’re beautiful...or that I’m not grateful.’ She came to a stop and her heart was beating so wildly she felt light-headed.

  She bent her head and inhaled deeply, clasping her hands. She squeezed her fingers extra-hard.

  ‘I think I should explain...’

  Was she crazy, telling him this? But she wanted him to know. So that he would stop ruining all her plans to be independent by giving her so much.

  She glanced at him quickly, and then looked away from his frown and stared out of his office window, seeing the tips of the trees blowing in the light breeze.

  ‘After I lost my business I swore I would never be dependent on or beholden to another person again.’

  ‘What do you mean by “beholden”?’ His tone was sharp.

  She struggled to find the right words to explain what she meant. ‘I mean...not indebted to another person. I don’t want to feel that I always have to be grateful—that I owe someone else. That I have no right to voice my opinions. But it’s not just that... I have to prove to myself that I’m not a failure. And accepting all your help feels like I’m cheating, somehow.’

  He looked taken aback, and then he argued, ‘You’re not a failure if a business deal goes wrong. It happens to a lot of people. At least you had the guts to risk everything in creating a business in the first place. Not everyone could do that. And accepting the help of a neighbour is not cheating.’

  He stood and paced the room, his jaw working.

  ‘And I certainly will never—and I mean never—make you feel obliged or indebted. I am not that type of person.’

  She flinched at the annoyance in his voice. She was making a mess of this. She needed to tell him everything. Then maybe he would understand.

  ‘I’m trying to be honest with you. I want you to understand and I’m sorry if I’m offending you. Let me try and explain...then you might understand. My business partner... Ed. He was my boyfriend, too.’

  Heat rose in her cheeks and she stopped as humiliation gripped her throat. She bit the inside of her cheek.

  ‘Not only did he manoeuvre it so that I had no option but to walk away from the business, but he was also having an affair with our finance director.’

  She jumped when she heard him utter a low expletive, and was taken aback by the dark anger that flared in his eyes.

  ‘What an idiot.’

  ‘I know. Him...and me.’

  ‘No! The guy’s despicable. Don’t for one second think you were in anyway responsible.’

  ‘But that’s the problem. I was. I shouldn’t have agreed to him owning a higher percentage share in the business. I shouldn’t have believed all the lies he told me. I honestly can’t believe I was so stupid. That’s what I hate most—I’m now so wary of others. It’s one of the reasons why I can’t even accept the shoes. It’s not just that they’re way too expensive, but I keep wondering why you’re being so kind and generous.’

  He stopped pacing and looked at her with breath-stealing intensity. ‘Because just maybe we are not all jerks. Some of us might actually have a heart and want to do the right thing.’

  ‘I’m finding that hard to believe.’

  ‘Don’t let him have the power to change you, to make you unhappy.’

  ‘I know... In my heart I know all that. But I can’t stop these feelings.’

  Across from her he folded his arms on his chest. A look of frustration joined his anger. ‘You don’t trust me, do you?’

  Completely taken aback she gabbled nonsensically. ‘No! Yes... I’m not sure... We don’t really know one another. Oh, God, I’m sounding really rude. I didn’t come here to insult you, and I’m sorry if I have. I just want you to understand why I can’t accept anything else from you. It’s not that I’m not grateful...call it pride, self-respect... I just can’t. I hope you can understand?’

  With a raised eyebrow and a quick shrug he said, ‘I’m trying to.’

  Part of her wanted to turn and run. This conversation had not been a success by any stretch of the imagination. She had insulted him and annoyed him and possibly even hurt him. She needed to try to make amends. Starting with showing some trust in him.

  She inhaled a deep breath and began to talk. ‘I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t come here to insult you. I wanted to explain about the shoes. But I also came in the hope of some advice.’

  His brow had creased with doubt but she forced herself not to stop.

  ‘I’ll keep it short. You said I should think about my business strategy. Well, there’s an area of my business that brings guaranteed revenue, but it’s time-intensive work and it’s in an area I don’t particularly want to specialise in. I’m thinking of not submitting work in that area again, but I’m worried about the revenue.’

  ‘What’s the worst-case scenario?’

  ‘I lose revenue for a few months.’

  With a quick nod he fired another question at her. ‘Can you absorb that loss?’

  ‘Just about.’

  ‘And if the drop in revenue continues for longer?’

  ‘I can always re-enter that market... It will take time to build my portfolio back up, but it’s doable.’

  He didn’t ask any more questions, but instead walked back to his desk. After a while she realised he was waiting for her to speak. And she also realised she had her answer.

  With a light shrug, she smiled. ‘I think I know what I should do.’

  He nodded. ‘I think you do.’

  As she went to leave the room he called after her.

  ‘Are you certain about the shoes?’

  Her hand on the door, she paused, and it was a while before she could turn around. After all she had said he was still being kind. But maybe he was also indirectly asking if she still didn’t trust him.

  Her heart turning over, she faced him. ‘Maybe some time in the future?’

  His eyes narrowed at that, and she fled down the corridor before either of them had a chance to say anything further.

  * * *

  Standing at his office window later that evening, Patrick spoke to his chief financial officer while staring out at yet another incredible dusk sky. This evening it was a riot of pink, lilac and lavender, with faint wisps of cloud to the forefront.

  A movement on the terrace caught his attention. Aideen was out there, photographing the sunset. Wearing jeans and a silver and grey top, she had her hair pulled back into a high ponytail, exposing the delicate angles of her face, her full lips, the smooth jawline and long, slim neck.

  Too distracted to concentrate, he ended the call early and stood watching her.

  Their earlier conversation had been difficult. The shoes had been his way of saying he was sorry about everything she had lost in the flood...and for being so tetchy in recent days.

  After their walk in the park the other night he had opted to keep his distance from her. He had revealed too much of himself. And he didn’t like how good it had felt to be in her company. Her comment about being a good brother to Orla had only reminded him of how he had failed, and of all the reasons why he needed to keep his distance from Aideen.

  But the shoes had unwittingly hit a raw nerve with her.

  He cursed out loud when he remembered the raw pain etched on her face when she had described her ex’s betrayal. No wonder she was slow to trust him. Not that it hadn’t stung to hear her admit it.

  But knowing what she had gone through strengthened his resolve that nothing could happen between them. He had to suppress his attraction to her. She had just come out of a destructive relationship. The last thing she needed was to be hurt again. And a messy relationship with him was a sure way for her to get hurt.

  She needed practical support right now—not a lover. Not all the complications and misunderstandings and raw emotions and intimacy that went with that.

  He opened the door from his office out on to the terrace and walked to where she was now sitting, on a wooden bench on the first tier of the terraced garden. T
he grass muffled his footsteps and when he called her name she looked up in surprise.

  ‘I saw you taking some photos.’

  Angling the camera towards him, she asked, ‘Would you like to see them?’

  He sat beside her and watched the images as she flicked through them on the viewfinder.

  ‘They’re beautiful. Will you use them in your work?’

  ‘Probably. They will look great in silk.’

  As she kept on flicking the pictures of the sky disappeared and a family portrait appeared in the viewfinder.

  With a fond laugh she said, ‘Welcome to my family.’ She zoomed in closer. ‘That’s my mum and dad. My brother Fionn.’ Then she flicked through another few photos until she found a close-up of a family of three. ‘And this is my brother Gavin and his wife Tara, with their little girl, Milly.’

  In the photo Gavin and Tara gazed down at their baby with utter devotion. Something kicked solidly against his gut. And kicked even harder when Aideen flicked on to a close-up of Milly.

  ‘Isn’t she so beautiful? I never realised just how much I would fall in love with her. The day Gavin rang to say she had been born...’ She paused and shook her head in wonder. ‘I honestly have never been so happy. You might even have heard my screams of excitement all the way up in Ashbrooke!’

  Aideen’s enthusiasm and love for Milly slammed home just what he was going to miss. He was never going to get to know Orla’s baby. He coughed as a sharp pain pierced his heart.

  She looked at him in concern and said, ‘Are you okay?’

  What was it about her that made him want to tell her? Was it that he was tired of holding in all the hurt and anger inside himself? Was it that she was so open herself?

  ‘My sister Orla is expecting a baby. Next month, in fact.’

  Her mouth dropped open in surprise. ‘Really? That’s fantastic. You must be so excited. Oh, wait until it’s born. It really is the best feeling in the world. You wi—’

  He cut across her. ‘It’s not that straightforward.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Orla and I haven’t been getting on.’

  ‘Oh, listen—I argue with my brothers all the time. You’ll be fine.’