by Lucy King
Half an hour later, he parked outside Kate’s building, leapt up the five steps to her front door and pressed the buzzer for her flat.
‘Hello?’ came the tinny response an exasperating thirty seconds later.
‘Kate, it’s Theo. Let me in.’
There was a moment’s silence and he thought grimly that she’d better not be deliberately keeping him waiting as she had done last night, because this afternoon he was in no mood for games.
‘First floor on the right,’ she said eventually and he let out the breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding.
The door clicked and in he went. He took the stairs two at a time and swung to the right and there she was, standing in the doorway to her flat, still in her work clothes although barefoot. Was she pleased to see him? Surprised? Annoyed? He couldn’t tell. Her expression was giving him nothing, which was fine because what she thought of him turning up like this was of zero importance. He just wanted her back in line.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked coolly, as if totally unaware of the disruption she’d caused.
‘What are you doing here?’ he countered.
‘I resigned.’
‘I heard.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘So?’
‘May I come in?’
She frowned for a second, as if debating whether to let him into her space, and then shrugged, as if it didn’t matter either way. ‘Sure,’ she said, turning her back on him and padding into her flat.
Ignoring the inexplicable irritation he felt at her indifference, he followed, automatically assessing the space as he did so. Bathroom on the left. Two bedrooms on the right. Compact open-plan kitchen, dining, living room at the end, flooded with light that poured in through two huge sash windows.
‘Nice place,’ he muttered. But on the small side. How was that going to work when the baby came along? he wondered before reminding himself sharply that it was none of his business and he couldn’t care less.
‘Thanks.’ She walked into the kitchen and shot him a glance over her shoulder. ‘Tea?’
‘No.’
‘So what do you want, Theo?’ she asked as she filled the kettle with water and switched it on.
‘I want to know why you resigned.’
‘My situation was...untenable.’
Damn, he knew it. He flexed his hands. ‘What did they say?’
‘What did who say?’
‘Anyone. Give me names.’
‘No one said anything. It just felt awkward what with you and me and—’ she waved a hand in the direction of her abdomen ‘—this. You own the company. Beyond congratulations, my colleagues didn’t know what to say. And in all honesty I couldn’t see it getting easier. So I resigned.’
His jaw clenched. ‘I see,’ he said, dismissing the jab at his conscience when the sacrifices she was having to make because of him inconveniently struck. ‘Do you want another job?’
‘At some point.’
‘I have contacts. If you want one, you’ll have one.’
‘Thank you,’ she said with a chilly smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘But so do I.’
Of course she did, he thought as the kettle pinged and she poured the water into a mug and stirred it. She didn’t need his help. But she’d have it anyway. ‘Whatever decision you choose to make,’ he said, ‘I will ensure that you’re financially secure. Both of you.’ That much he could do. ‘I’ll set up a fund.’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
Too bad. ‘Nevertheless, it’ll be there.’
‘But you won’t.’
‘No.’
‘Just out of curiosity, why not?’
Well, that was a question he wasn’t going to answer with the truth. ‘There is no space in my life for a child,’ he said, instantly crushing the brief, sudden surge of denial.
‘You could make some.’
‘No. I couldn’t.’
‘That’s a shame.’
Not a shame. A necessity. ‘That’s reality.’
‘Right,’ she said, taking a sip of tea and setting the mug back down on the counter. ‘So was there anything else?’
‘There was one more thing.’ He dug around in his pocket and pulled out the small blue velvet box he’d brought with him. ‘This should help dispel any doubts people may have about us.’
For a moment she just looked at the box in silence. And then she stepped towards him and took it from him, her fingers brushing his and her proximity doing odd things to his equilibrium.
When she opened it, her eyes went wide and she let out a soft gasp that would have instantly transported him back to that evening in his office if he let it. ‘Wow.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘Who wouldn’t? Is it real?’
‘Yes.’
She frowned. ‘Borrowed?’
‘No.’
‘It’s too much,’ she said with a faint shake of her head as she closed the box and handed it back.
Theo felt the faint sting of something undefinable and ignored it. ‘Just wear it,’ he said sharply. ‘It’s important. For the narrative.’
‘Okay, fine,’ she said with a careless shrug that somehow stung even more. ‘But only when we’re out together.’
‘I don’t mind what you do when you’re on your own,’ he said. ‘As long as you remember your role when we’re out in public.’
‘I’m unlikely to forget with this on my finger.’
As was he. Which was, after all, the point. ‘And speaking of which,’ he said, dismissing as ridiculous the inexplicable urge to demand she put it on now, ‘tomorrow night we’re going to the opening of a new wing at the National Gallery that my company has funded. And this time, Kate, don’t keep me waiting.’
* * *
A fortnight later, Kate eased off her shoes after yet another function, and with a grateful sigh flopped onto her bed.
To call the last two weeks a whirlwind of activity was an understatement. She’d attended eight events, one antenatal appointment and a hospital scan. She’d been to see her sister to explain the engagement and the pregnancy as best she could without going into detail, and had been relieved when Milly had accepted without question that she was going to be an aunt. In fact, her sister had been delighted, had immediately announced that she was going to take up knitting. Their WhatsApp chat channel was now filled with pictures of tiny bootees, hats and cardigans in various stages of progress and Kate’s heart squeezed at every one.
She’d also been getting used to not going into work. Being at home on a weekday felt very odd; however, she hadn’t really had any option. Once the news of her engagement had broken, her astonished colleagues had initially swooned but then backed off, as if any office gossip might reach Theo’s ears at which point they could all well be fired. She’d come to the swift conclusion that things would only get worse and had promptly handed in her notice, after which her entire floor had seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
What she’d do about work in the future she had no idea. Discriminatory or not, she couldn’t see a prospective employer jumping for joy about her condition. The hole in her bank account was still pretty big and any maternity benefit she might receive would hardly fill it. But she’d figure something out, maybe by reigniting the freelance bookkeeping she’d started, because she had no intention of ever touching Theo’s money.
That he was going to set up a fund as he’d promised she had no doubt. Not so long ago he’d told her that there was barely a problem that couldn’t be solved by throwing money at it and he clearly considered both her and their baby just such a problem.
As she sat up, it struck Kate once again that the way Theo had no interest in their child was strange. Weren’t men, especially the alpha males among them, pre-programmed to instantly claim possession of their offspring, as
a sign of their supremacy or virility or continuation of the bloodline or something? Wasn’t it in some way evolutionary?
Well, Theo was as alpha and male as they came, yet he appeared to buck the trend. It was as if he was determined to distance himself from the very idea of it, and she couldn’t help wondering why. Was it simply inconvenient? An obstacle en route to global domination? Was he really just too busy? Or did he genuinely not want a baby? She remembered thinking at one point, when she’d first delivered the news, that she’d caught a glimpse of pure terror in his eyes, but she must have been mistaken because she’d never met anyone less afraid of anything, so what was it?
However much it intrigued her, she could hardly ask. She’d already tried once, the afternoon he’d pitched up at her flat and filled her space with his dominating, disturbing presence, and had been firmly shut down. He didn’t do personal and he didn’t share anything other than the most superficial of information. The conversations they’d had over the last fortnight through necessity had been desultory at best, and, really, she didn’t need to know.
To her surprise, though, he had taken on board her comments about his lack of participation when it came to faking their engagement. At the events they’d recently attended, he’d left no one in any doubt about his supposed intentions towards her. He no longer glowered in her direction. He even managed the occasional smile that flipped her stomach every time he bestowed it on her. He focused wholly on her, which was heady stuff, and ensured the ring he’d given her did not go unnoticed. And even though she knew it was all for show, that she shouldn’t feel a million dollars when she was with him, her poor battered self-esteem lapped it up.
But she had to remember that this whole thing was nothing more than an elaborate charade, that the attention Theo paid her wasn’t real, she told herself for the billionth time as she levered herself off the bed and unzipped her dress. He continued to show no remorse, no regret for the way he’d blackmailed her, and she couldn’t fall again into the trap of crediting him with traits he didn’t have. She had to stop drifting off into daydreams where every touch, every smile, was real. And she had to stop secretly putting the ring on at home, turning her hand this way and that so the beautiful stone caught the light and cast dancing sparkles on her walls, and pretending she had a man who loved her. The wave of longing she felt every time she succumbed to temptation did her no good at all.
Oh, how she wished she’d insisted on a time limit. There’d still been no word for Daniel Bridgeman and she didn’t know how much longer she could keep it up. The pressure was immense. The battle between her head and her body was exhausting. And what was taking so long anyway? Their appearances in public had been noted, although thankfully with considerably less vitriol than experience had warned her to fear, and their performance had been entirely credible.
What if Mr Bridgeman had no intention of ever signing? Would she be locked into this absurd charade until Theo decided to release her? How would she bear it? She should never have agreed to it in the first place. She should have been tougher. She should have called his bluff and—
Her phone buzzed and she turned from the wardrobe where she was hanging the dress to reach down to fish it out of the evening bag that lay on the bed.
A message flashed up on the screen. From Theo.
Where was she to be paraded next? A charity ball? Business drinks?
No.
Italy, according to the text. On Friday. For the weekend. Because Daniel Bridgeman had finally, at long flipping last, been in touch.
CHAPTER NINE
‘I CAN SEE why you like to travel by private jet,’ said Kate, yanking Theo’s attention from the document he’d been perusing for the past ten minutes with zero idea of its contents. ‘I haven’t bashed my knees once. It’s heavenly.’
No, he thought grimly, watching her settle on the sofa as the plane climbed to thirty thousand feet and stretch her endless legs out. What was heavenly was the way she looked. And smelled. All the damn time.
Today she was wearing a pair of wide silky white trousers that clung to her legs whenever she moved and a blue top that matched her eyes. She looked fresh and lovely and she was immensely distracting. And even though he ought to be used to it after two weeks of outfit after incredible outfit and enforced proximity, he wasn’t, because everything about her seemed to demand attention, whether she was with him or not, which was plain ridiculous.
His decision to give their fake engagement a hundred per cent had undoubtedly been the right one, but that didn’t mean it had been easy. Keeping Kate’s no kissing, no inappropriate contact condition at the forefront of his mind had required more strength than he could have possibly imagined. Every time he touched her elbow or her back, he wound up wanting to touch a whole lot more and wondering how far he could go before it became unacceptable. And then there was the ring, blinding him at every opportunity it got. With hindsight he should have gone for something smaller but at the time, for some unfathomable reason, he’d wanted there to be no doubt whatsoever that she was his.
All in all, the last fortnight had been a more gruelling experience than he’d expected, and Daniel Bridgeman’s invitation could not have come at a better time. Because while he had no intention of ever giving up on his goal, he’d found himself seriously considering his options on more than one occasion, which was disturbing in itself because once he’d embarked on a course of action he never doubted it.
‘I’m delighted you approve,’ he said, deciding he might as well give up on work and park the perplexing nature of his response to Kate in order to sit back and admire the view.
‘It’s hard not to. It’s very comfortable.’
‘How do you usually travel?’
‘I don’t much.’
Oh? ‘I thought it was one of your hobbies.’
Her eyebrows rose. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘It was on your profile. Along with music and books.’
‘Oh. Right. Yes,’ she said after a pause. ‘I’m surprised you remember.’
‘I remember it all,’ he said. ‘The pictures in particular.’
She flushed and looked away. ‘Ah. Yes. Those.’
‘They seemed out of character.’
‘I was desperate and had had three glasses of wine.’ She gave a slight shrug. ‘Not a strategy I can currently deploy, unfortunately.’
‘Do you need to?’ he asked, wondering for a moment whether she was as unsettled by him as he was by her and finding it an oddly pleasing thought.
‘No, of course not,’ she said dryly. ‘What could possibly be stressful about being blackmailed into a fake engagement?’ Which, to his mild disappointment, firmly dispelled that idea. ‘Anyway, my real hobby is numbers.’
‘Numbers?’
She nodded. ‘That’s partly why I became an accountant. Outside work, I love puzzles and brainteasers and things, and don’t get me started on calculus. But I couldn’t exactly put that in my profile. Numbers are hardly sexy.’
They were when she was talking about them. Her whole face lit up and her eyes sparkled. ‘What do you like about numbers?’ he asked with a baffling desire to expand the topic so he could see her light up some more.
‘The reliability of them. They’re black and white. They never let you down.’ The look she shot him then was pointed. ‘You know where you are with numbers.’
‘Yet they’re easy to manipulate.’
She arched an eyebrow. ‘And you’d know all about manipulation, wouldn’t you?’
He ruthlessly ignored the flaring of his conscience. ‘I’m not going to apologise, Kate.’
‘I’d be flabbergasted if you did,’ she said. ‘So what about you? How do you relax?’
‘I don’t.’
‘Don’t you have hobbies?’
‘I don’t have time.’
‘All work and no play...’
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br /> ‘Are you suggesting I’m dull?’
She tilted her head and regarded him, her gaze leaving trails of fire in its wake as it ran over him. ‘Dull is not the word I would use to describe you.’
‘Then what is?’
‘Single-minded. Devious. Merciless. Cold. Calculating. Completely lacking in empathy. Oh, and mercenary.’
The adjectives tripping off her tongue so easily were entirely accurate, yet, oddly, her opinion of him stung. ‘Please, don’t hold back.’
‘You did ask.’
And he wouldn’t be making that mistake again. He didn’t know why he had. Her assessment of him didn’t matter. Her attitude, however, well, that did. ‘We’re going to be under scrutiny this weekend, Kate,’ he said deliberately flatly. ‘It’s in everyone’s interest to wrap the deal up as soon as possible, so I suggest you lose the prickliness.’
She levelled him a look and let out a sigh. ‘Okay, fine,’ she said with a shrug that made her silk shirt ripple enticingly over her chest. ‘I can do that. I can play nice. Anything to expedite the goal.’
‘Good.’
‘So what happens when we land?’
‘We drive to the Villa San Michele.’
‘And then?’
‘Tonight we’re having dinner with the Bridgemans. Tomorrow there are meetings, and in the evening is their anniversary party.’ Which he could definitely do without.
‘Ah, yes. Fifty years,’ she said with a trace of wistfulness he’d never understand in a million years. ‘Can you imagine?’
No. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. ‘Unfortunately it can’t be avoided.’
‘Did you get them a present?’
‘No.’ He saw little to celebrate about marriage however long it lasted, quite frankly.
‘Don’t you think you should?’
‘This whole weekend is purely about business. Gifts are not required.’
She looked at him for a moment, as if debating whether to push, but then, to his relief, said, ‘It’s your show,’ and she was right. It was. Not that he had any intention of explaining himself to her. ‘And on Sunday?’
