Romancing the Undercover Millionaire

by Clare London

  All of Tate’s nice and calm deserted him in a second. Had Stuart come back to the warehouse without Tate seeing? His office had a view of the main entrance, but no one had come or gone since he’d arrived. Perhaps someone had snuck in through the delivery bay at the back. The staff at the nearby bays had paused in their work, puzzled. There was the sound of running feet in the distance.

  “Stop him!” came Alex’s imperious tone. “He’s been in the store, and he’s taking a bottle of Angel’s Breath to that van!”

  Someone else shouted: there were raised voices, then a thump, as if a box had been dropped to the floor. Not the Angel’s Breath! Tate prayed desperately. Louise came running around the end of bay six.

  “He’s coming down bay seven!” she yelled. She was panting, had never been very fit, but the determination on her face was epic. “Alex’s trying to cut him off!”

  Tate had a wild desire to giggle. It was all like some kind of Western. That was, until he realized the footsteps were coming his way instead—Stuart must have changed direction and was now powering down the aisle of bay five. Its exit lay diagonally across from Tate’s office door.

  Tate’s blood was fired up in seconds. This bloody man had tried to destroy his livelihood, had assaulted Alex and also landed Percy in the hospital. He’d been causing trouble, and now stealing, probably passing their secret launch over to the competition.

  No more!

  A man rounded the corner of the aisle, staff scattering around him in shock.

  “Tate!” Louise yelled from the other direction, and he thought he could see Alex racing toward him as well, but several yards behind her.

  Tate pounced, but it didn’t end as he planned. Despite years of school rugby, he seemed to have misjudged the tackle. He crashed into a body thinner than he expected, his grip slipped on the man’s arms, and he staggered sideways. The man shoved back at him, and Tate crashed against the nearest shelf with an oof of shock. He was disoriented for a second, temporarily dazed, trying to regain his balance. How close was Alex? Was Stuart making his escape already?

  The man had stopped, however, his hands on his knees, wheezing. He seemed scared and confused, unsure where to run. To Tate’s shock, it wasn’t Stuart.

  “Jamie?” he gasped. He gripped the shelving and righted himself. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “F-fuck off!” the young man growled at him. “Leave me alone. Wh-what’s it got to do wiv you?”

  “Jamie, are you the saboteur? The thief?” Jesus. Things started to slot into place. Jamie always in the same places as Stuart, always hanging around the delivery vans, always overeager to help load and unload. Jamie was just as able on the forklift, just as familiar with the warehouse routine. Jamie’s passion for toffees, Jamie’s previous job at Fenchurch’s.

  Jamie backed up against the opposite shelving unit, still wheezing, obviously even less fit than Lou. And he looked close to tears. “It’s all gone wrong. I fucked up, I fucked up! What’ll he do to me?” He looked around wildly, staff members gathered at the mouth of the bays, staring in amazement and confusion. “Fuck you all!” And he turned to make a dash for the warehouse exit.

  Suddenly, a large, bulky object hurtled across in front of Tate like a charging rhino. Tate stepped back instinctively, only recognizing Percy at the last minute, throwing himself in his own version of an aggressive tackle at the fleeing Jamie. They both fell to the ground with an alarming crash, Percy landing heavily across Jamie’s torso. There was no way the skinny young man would get out of that.

  Percy gripped Jamie by the collar and yanked up his head so their noses almost met. “What have you been doin’, y’ little sod? What’s this all about?”

  “I had to, I had to,” Jamie squealed. “I owe Tristram Fenchurch more’n a fousand pounds!”

  “Fenchurch’s snobby son ’n’ heir?” Percy gripped harder. “At that bettin’ shop he owns? What did he tell you to do?”

  Jamie was in genuine tears now, though Tate wasn’t sure it was from Percy’s weight on top of him or from fear. “Get a job at Bonfils, he said, we’ll pretend we let you go. Just mess fings up a bit, he said, and he’d waive half the debt. I had to do it, Percy! Just nick some paperwork, that was all he wanted. Mess up some deliveries. Ruin some labels. Cause ’em hassle, he said, while they’re getting ready for the Awards.”

  “You stupid, stupid boy,” Percy growled. “One for gamblin’ in the first place, two for bitin’ the hand that feeds y’.”

  “Take it easy, Percy.” Tate was worried Percy would yank Jamie’s head off, but he didn’t feel like calling him off completely, not just yet.

  Another set of running footsteps arrived at the group. “Where’s my security card?” Stuart was blustering, anger and panic in his eyes. “That’s the third time I’ve lost it this month, don’t know what the hell makes me so bloody careless nowadays. I need it to get back into Packaging. Jamie, have you picked it up for me like the other times?” He stopped, staring with shock at Jamie on the floor. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “Y’ve been usin’ Stuart’s pass to get about, haven’t you?” Percy gave Jamie an extra shake, as if to dislodge more words. “What else have y’ done?”

  Jamie wailed. “Let go! I only meant to put the wind up ’im.”

  “What? Who?” Tate asked.

  Jamie groaned. Percy was still sitting on him. “Tristram wasn’t happy wiv what I did, see? It wasn’t enough, he wanted more information. Wanted a look at the new bubbly! I shifted boxes around so I could get to the good stuff quickly, was gonna add a bottle to a usual delivery, then drop it off at Fenchurch’s along the way. But Prince Harry was nosing around, like he knew what I was up to, what I’d done. I thought it’d scare him off if he had an accident.”

  Percy was very red-faced. “Did y’ loosen the straps on the shelvin’ that day? No other way that would’ve happened. Do y’know how bloody dangerous that could have been, boy?”

  “Just to scare him!” Jamie repeated piteously. “I didn’t think it’d fall like that, honest!”

  “And today?” Alex barked at him. “What were you doing today?”

  “Get Percy off me! I was only gonna take one bottle—”

  “Just one would have been enough to cause Bonfils inestimable damage,” came a deep voice from behind Tate.

  Everyone spun around, and even Jamie turned his head toward the voice. A tall, handsome, mature man stood in the doorway of the warehouse, dressed incongruously in a beautifully tailored three-piece suit. Behind him stood Tina Archer, a look of fearful regret on her face.

  “Mr. Charles?” Louise said, still gathering her breath after chasing Jamie down.

  “Dammit. Papa.” Alex whispered so quietly, probably only Tate could hear his weary resignation.

  “It seems Tina returned from her holiday none too soon to bring me up to speed,” Charles said grimly. “Please climb off the young man, Mr. Grove, and call the police at once.”

  TATE fussed over Percy in his office while they waited for the police to arrive, and Alex and his father watched over the now openly weeping Jamie.

  “You’re meant to be in hospital,” Tate scolded him.

  “I left,” Percy said bluntly, his grimace showing his distaste at having been taken there in the first place. “There were things to attend to here. I’m fine, boy, don’t fuss. It was just a bit of extra sleep, for which I’m truly and wholly ashamed.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. Jamie had a tub of his mum’s sleeping tablets in his pocket. I reckon he slipped a handful into your drink so he could have uninterrupted time to nose about in the warehouse.”

  “Yeah, I guessed that. I’ve been thinkin’ things through while I was laid up. If I’d been quicker to go look for him, we wouldn’t have had this farce today, but I stupidly—”

  “—fell asleep on your way through the bays.” Tate could have bitten his tongue at the stark look on Percy’s face. “But like I say, it wasn’t your fault. And he put yo
u on a chair. He obviously didn’t want you to come to harm, lying on the floor where you dropped.”

  “Stupid boy,” Percy still grumbled. Tate didn’t know if he meant Jamie or Tate.

  “I warned Edward Fenchurch that it would be a troublesome distraction if he let Tristram open his own disreputable business,” Charles said from the doorway.

  Tate tried not to yelp. Damned man kept creeping up on them!

  “Not exactly a den of iniquity, Papa. Just a modest bookmakers shop, with a few fruit machines on the side,” Alex said, appearing at his father’s heels.

  “Enough for you to have noticed?” Charles raised a single, aristocratic eyebrow. Perhaps that was where Percy had picked it up from.

  “Enough to lead Jamie astray,” Tate said, probably a little too sharply. “Idjit that he is.”

  “Mr. Charles, sir.” Percy interrupted, red in the face again but maybe for different reasons. “I’ll have my notice on Mr. Somerton’s desk by the end of the day.”

  “What?” It was a chorus from both Tate and Alex.

  “All my fault for lettin’ this go on.” Percy shook his head with every point made. “I employed the boy in the first place, told Tate I was sorry for him not fittin’ in at Fenchurch’s, when he was still workin’ for them all along. I missed all the mischief he got up to. And then I let myself get distracted by…” He was obviously aghast at saying it but screwed up his courage. “A cup of hot chocolate.”

  Charles Bonfils looked amazed. And was that a smile teasing the edge of his mouth, one he was trying to suppress?

  Before Charles could reply, Alex pushed in front of his father. “As Alexandre Bonfils, and a member of the family company, I refuse to accept this man’s resignation. In fact, he’s a damned hero, and should be promoted.”

  A ripple of voices rose behind the two Bonfils men, where the more persistently inquisitive staff had gathered outside the office. Tate winced. Alex’s secret was truly out now—the warehouse rumor mill would start grinding in exactly five seconds flat.

  “Thought as much,” Percy muttered.

  “What?” Startled, Tate stepped closer to him. “You knew who Alex was? When? How?”

  “Don’t y’ ever read the bloody newsletters?” Percy grumbled. “I’ve known Mr. Charles since he took over this company from his father, and I can spot a son of his a mile off. Even with that cheap hair dye thing he’s got goin’.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I reckoned there’d be a reason he was snoopin’ around like an idjit boy,” Percy said. “First I thought he was a spy for Head Office audit, which he kinda was, but not the way I dreaded. Then I thought it was a charity stunt. Or maybe one of those reality shows my missus watches all the time.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” Tate shook his head slowly, stunned.

  “Well, then I could see the pair of y’ getting cozy—”

  “Cozy?”

  Percy deliberately ignored him. “So, I thought I’d let y’ get on with it. Y’d sort it out between y’selves sooner or later.”

  Tate didn’t know whether to yell at Percy or hug him for his misplaced tact. “We did,” he replied, his voice softening as he glanced at Alex. “We have.” Alex and Charles had withdrawn to the doorway and were conversing in low, urgent tones. Tate hoped Alex wasn’t being fired—again.

  Mr. Charles stepped back into the office. “Mr. Grove,” he began in his most serious tone. “As my son rather impetuously but honestly said, I will not accept your resignation. It is completely unwarranted. In fact, I will be promoting you to Assistant Manager of the warehouse from the first of next month.”

  For once, Percy was struck speechless.

  “And Mr. Somerton?”

  Tate straightened, determined to face his boss with courage and confidence in what he’d done. “Mr. Charles, sir. I’m really sorry about all this—”

  “Why should you be?” Charles interrupted. “You’ve brought the perpetrator to justice. We’ve been lax with security, though none of us could have anticipated such a ramshackle campaign as this. I’ll be speaking to Edward Fenchurch later today to let him know what his son has been up to. I suspect the betting shop will soon be removed from the Fenchurch portfolio. And I will be demanding assurances from Tristram’s father that this pathetic attempt at industrial espionage was nothing more than a spoiled child’s petulance.”

  “Kids, eh?” Alex said cheekily, then paled as his father turned to him.

  “And you.” Charles glanced back over Alex’s shoulder at the staff gathered outside the office. He didn’t say a word but watched and waited until they all scurried away. Mobile phones were already in their hands, to spread the latest gossip.

  “You, Alexandre, have been astonishing.”

  “In, you know… a good or bad way?” Alex asked.

  “Did you think you could rummage around in the company records on a Sunday without someone alerting me? And no, it wasn’t that poor manager you bullied on his day off, but someone who takes the time to examine Head Office movements on her day off.”

  “Bloody Tina,” Alex muttered.

  “Tell me, why on earth were you unofficially working in Bristol in the first place, and why didn’t I know a thing about it?”

  “Now wait a moment,” Tate found himself saying. “Alex has been determined to protect this company from the very beginning.” Charles’s expression was inscrutable, Alex’s was shocked, yet he stared at Tate with sparkling eyes. “He should be praised for what he’s done. I reckon,” he added quickly.

  Charles nodded slowly, then turned again to his son. “You have a fine champion here, Alex. What do you say on your own behalf?”

  “I wanted….” Alex paused, perhaps unable to articulate that in front of his father.

  “To be your own man, yet also a Bonfils man. To help the company. Yes, I understand that now.” Charles hesitated for only a second, then put his hand on Alex’s arm. “I think that we may discuss at the next board meeting a role for you going forward. Maybe in Human Resources, as you’ve proved so knowledgeable about staff motivation.”

  And to Tate’s delight, it was Alex’s turn to be speechless.

  TATE and Alex traveled home together that night after work on the bus, Alex having returned the hire car. Tate had secretly hoped for a lift, especially as the bus was unusually crowded, but he supposed it was time to get back to reality.

  “Why did you want to see the staff application forms?” Alex asked as they swayed side by side, squashed up in the wheelchair and baby buggy area. “When we were at Head Office? I still have the copies.”

  “I have the forged customs declaration form,” Tate said. “I think we’ll find Jamie’s handwriting matches to that.”

  “Additional evidence. Good thinking.” Alex nodded sagely as if he were masterminding the final Agatha Christie-type denouement of a crime. “In case Percy hadn’t squashed him until he confessed wholeheartedly to his crimes.”

  “Alex,” Tate warned him, though he couldn’t help smiling. The woman across from them had caught the bit about “crimes” and someone being squashed and looked very alarmed. Alex made an exaggerated zipping motion across his mouth—inevitably another thing he’d picked up from the Packaging staff—and was quiet for the rest of the journey.

  The house seemed too quiet to Tate. Then he caught sight of Louise in the kitchen with the family and knew she’d told them the whole story. They all stared with awe at Alex as he followed Tate into the room.

  “Okay, kids,” Tate said firmly. “He’s still the same bloke, we’re all still the same. I don’t want any weird or gushy behavior.”

  Hattie turned to Hugo and they both mouthed “gushy?” and rolled their eyes.

  “It’s time for Amy’s bath, and has anyone taken Freddie out? Then I need help with supper and the laundry—”

  “All done,” Gran interrupted gleefully. Everyone nodded vigorously, even Freddie on the kitchen floor at Gran’s feet.r />
  Louise chipped in. “They wanted to get things done before you came home. Sausage and mash is in the oven, and all homework’s finished. They want the whole story, Tatty!”

  Tate blinked. He felt strangely disconcerted. “Okay. So I just need to get up to speed on what’s happened while I was away.”

  Louise took his arm. She wore the studiedly patient expression she used for when someone elderly was feeling under the weather. “One night away, Tatty. That’s all it was. You mustn’t worry so much. The kids have been fine. Gran and I have looked after them. Amy washed her own hair for the first time last night, and we decided the twins will be in charge of laundry from now on. And maybe, with my help and a new chores rota, Gran can take time out for that holiday in Ibiza her bowling friends are planning.”

  “But wait a minute—”

  “Tatty, what I’m trying to say is that, although they love you to bits, it’s time for some you time, too. They don’t need you worrying twenty-four hours of the day. They’re growing up—”

  “Regressing, in my case,” Gran said airily.

  “And they want you and Alex to have time to enjoy your relationship.”

  “What? Oh.” Tate was truly touched, truly stunned, truly… scared. “But Alex won’t be working at the warehouse any longer, he’ll have a new job in London. He has his own place there, too.”

  Alex cleared his throat. “Way to answer for me, Tatty,” he said with a frown that had more than a hint of mischief about it. “Maybe I want to stay in Bristol. I can handle my job at any location.”

  “You…?” Tate seemed to be losing the power of articulate speech.

  “We want him to stay. We love Alex,” Amy said, as firmly as if she’d brook no more discussion on the topic.

  “Everyone loves him, Tate,” Louise added. She leaned in to mutter in his ear, “Don’t be a dick about this, BFF. Grab him while you can. What have I always said? You snooze, you lose.”

  “He loves you,” Hattie said. “So he’ll stay. He makes good crumpets. Much more butter than Gran lets us have.”