by Jessica Hart
‘Companies have natural life cycles,’ he said comfortingly. ‘Three generations isn’t a bad run. It’s a classic pattern: one generation to make a fortune, one to consolidate it, and one to spend it. It happens a lot.’
‘It hasn’t happened to Knighton’s.’
‘No,’ Rafe admitted. ‘I’m the fourth generation, and I don’t intend to be the one to let it fall apart either, in spite of what everyone thinks.’
His expression had hardened, and when Miranda looked at him she saw that his mouth was set. Deep inside her, something shivered into life for a brief moment before she suppressed it firmly.
‘Then should you be out wasting time on a Monday thinking about a ball?’
‘The ball is part of my strategy.’
Rafe put down his own coffee and leant back, stretching his arms along the back of the bench. He wasn’t touching Miranda at all, but she was desperately aware of his hand behind her shoulder. He seemed to be taking up an awful lot of space, and she found herself stiffening and edging along the bench.
‘Strategy?’ Her voice was humiliatingly thin and high, and she cleared her throat. ‘What strategy?’ she tried again.
‘What do you know about me?’
Miranda hesitated. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Had you ever heard about me before I caught you abusing that photocopier?’
She would have loved to have denied it, but she had never been any good at lying. ‘Of course.’
‘So what am I like? Go on, there’s no need to be polite,’ said Rafe. ‘What do the gossip columns say about me?’
‘Well…that you’re a playboy, I suppose. You’re wild and extravagant and very rich. You go out with lots of beautiful women.’
‘That’s it?’
‘I don’t know what you want me to say. You seem to have an incredible jet set life, skiing with movie stars and sailing in the Caribbean with models. You know, just the same old, same old.’
‘But what do I do?’
‘Nothing.’
There was a tiny pause. ‘Right, so I just drift around going to parties and sleeping with a lot of women, is that it?’
Miranda bristled a little at his tone. ‘I haven’t seen you do anything else,’ she pointed out. ‘The first time I met you, you were wandering around the office as if you didn’t know what to do with yourself. Then you were at that stupid party with a model hanging on your arm. This morning I came in to work for you, and the first thing you do is drive off in a sports car to have lunch in the country and talk about a ball.’
‘Hmm, it doesn’t sound good when you put it like that.’
‘How would you put it?’
‘I wander round the office so I get to know how the different departments work and who does what. I only went to that party because it was a book launch, and I thought I might meet some interesting people there-wrong, I know! I’d never met Kyra before that evening, and I didn’t sleep with her, and today…well, this is part of my plan to change my reputation.’
‘I think you might have to work a bit harder to do that!’
CHAPTER FOUR
‘T HE board think like you do,’ said Rafe, and to Miranda’s relief he dropped his arms and leant forward to rest them on his knees instead. ‘They think like my father did. They’re horrified at the idea of me taking over Knighton’s, but there isn’t much they can do about it yet. They’re hoping that if they give me enough time, I’ll screw up, and then they’ll be able to get rid of me, but I don’t intend to do that.’
‘What are you going to do about it?’
‘It’s clear that I’m never going to get anywhere as long as they think I’m just the spoilt party boy I used to be,’ said Rafe. ‘I know I was wild. I made plenty of mistakes, and I’m sorry for them, but I’m not that boy any more. I’ve accepted responsibility for the stupid things I’ve done, and moved on. Now all I want is for the board, and everyone else, to recognise that.’
‘It’s hard to change people’s expectations of you,’ said Miranda, thinking of her own family. For as long as she could remember, she had been the sensible, practical sister, the one the others relied on to sort things out and deal with any problems, and she couldn’t imagine Belinda or Octavia ever thinking of her as any different. She couldn’t imagine being any different now.
‘We get pigeon-holed as a certain type of person quite early on, and sometimes it’s difficult to know whether we’re really that person, or whether we become that person just because that’s how everyone expects us to be.’
‘Exactly.’ Rafe’s eyes lit with relief as he turned to look at her. She was the first person who had ever understood.
‘My father always thought of me as an irresponsible boy, so that’s the way I was for a long time,’ he told her. ‘I got a degree, but everyone just assumed that it was given to me on a plate, and I knew that if I got a job, they would all think the same. My father didn’t trust me with any responsibility at Knighton’s, so I ended up messing around, taking stupid risks and behaving badly and generally being determined to live down to my father’s expectations.’
Miranda shifted a little uncomfortably. She had never troubled to think about why Rafe might have behaved as he had. She had been like everyone else, damning him on appearances, and assuming that anyone showered with wealth and privilege and good looks must have the easiest of existences.
Rafe was shaking his head ruefully at the memory of his younger self. ‘The trouble is that a single-minded pursuit of fun and excitement wears pretty thin after a while. It isn’t a very satisfying way to live. One day I realised that I’d had enough of it. I knew I would never change what my father thought of me, but I could change what I thought about myself.’
She studied him thoughtfully. Changing how you thought about yourself probably wasn’t nearly as easy as it sounded. ‘How did you do that?’
‘I went to work as a volunteer setting up micro-finance projects in West Africa. I’m not completely useless,’ he said, reading Miranda’s astonished expression without difficulty. ‘I studied economics at university and I did actually read some books.’
‘Yes, but…’ Miranda had been expecting him to say that he had gone travelling perhaps, or done some trendy self-development course. She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture, unable to express what she thought. ‘I’d no idea,’ she said at last.
‘No one has. They all think I’ve been partying for the past four years.’
Having assumed precisely the same thing, Miranda had the grace to blush. ‘I can’t imagine you in Africa.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because of the way you dress, I suppose.’ She gestured at him. Even in jeans and a casual shirt, he looked immaculate. ‘You’re always so…well groomed.’
He looked amused. ‘You wouldn’t have thought that if you’d seen me there, I promise you.’
Perhaps not, but Miranda was prepared to bet he had never looked hot and sticky and crumpled and dusty the way she surely would if she had to work in the crushing heat.
‘What was it like out there?’
‘Africa? I loved it.’ Rafe’s voice was warm with enthusiasm. ‘I met so many wonderful people and learnt so much. It was the best thing I’ve ever done.’
Miranda tried to picture him in a dusty African village, but it was hard. He was too much there, beside her, looking as if he had stepped out of an ad for designer clothes. He was leaning back once more, long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle. His shirt was rolled up to reveal powerful-looking forearms covered in fine dark hairs, and the open neck revealed a strong brown throat.
Her eyes flickered to his profile, to the forceful lines of his cheek and jaw and the cool curl of his mouth, and a disturbing warmth quivered into life deep inside her. He was so strong, so solid. How could she ever have dismissed him as little more than a clothes horse? This was no wild boy with nothing to recommend him but his looks and his charm. This was a powerful man whose magnetism ran far d
eeper than the clothes he wore.
Suddenly breathless, Miranda made herself look away. ‘Why did you come back if you loved it so much?’ Amazingly, her voice came out perfectly normal.
‘My father died.’ Rafe’s expression sobered. ‘We’ve got that in common. Both our fathers have died recently. Whatever his private doubts about me, mine left me a controlling share in the Knighton Group. I wish I’d come back before he died so he could see what I’d learnt and how I’d changed, but we always think there’ll be time enough…’
His voice trailed off and he lifted a shoulder as if trying to shrug off regret. ‘I thought he was so disappointed in me that he might have made other arrangements, but he was a believer in duty and family and perhaps he wanted to give me a chance.’
‘Or perhaps he just loved you and wanted to leave you everything he had?’
Rafe’s smile was crooked. ‘Perhaps. Either way, he’s entrusted me with the group, and it feels as if keeping the company successful is my responsibility now. It’s something I need to do for him, and want to do for myself. I hadn’t realised how much the firm means to me until I came back. It’s in my blood, I suppose.’
‘It must have been a bit of a shock taking over a company like Knightons, after working in villages,’ said Miranda, still trying to come to terms with this new, disturbing knowledge of him. She felt completely thrown.
She wished she didn’t know what he had been doing for the past four years. She wished she could still think of him as spoilt and superficial. She wished she hadn’t noticed the pulse beating in his throat and the texture of his skin and the power of his long, lean body. It had been easier before.
Swallowing, she reminded herself sternly that she was here in a professional capacity, no matter how unlikely a sunny pub garden might be as a workplace. This was her job, and for now Rafe was her boss. It would be inappropriate to feel attracted to him, physically or otherwise.
Inappropriate, and completely pointless.
It was depressing to realise that she was at risk of becoming a walking, talking cliché herself. Surely she knew better than to fall for her boss, no matter how attractive he might be? And surely-surely-she knew there was no point in even hoping that he might ever find her attractive in return?
Get real, Miranda told herself. You’re not Octavia. You’re plain and prissy and practical, and there’s no way a man like Rafe Knighton is ever going to look at you as more than an efficient secretary. Don’t be so silly.
‘It was. It still is,’ said Rafe ruefully recalling his initial culture shock on his first day back at Knighton’s.
To Miranda’s relief, he seemed completely unaware of her jittering with awareness beside him. Perhaps he was used to women going weak at the knees when he was near? The thought that she risked being one of such a large crowd stiffened Miranda’s spine. She was not going to be like all the others. If an efficient assistant was all he wanted, that was what she would be.
‘But I’m not going to give in,’ he was continuing. ‘I know the board are sitting there like vultures, waiting for me to make a mistake before swooping in, but I’m not going to let them.’ His jaw set in a resolute line. ‘They think I’m still the boy my father thought I was right to the end. I just have to prove them wrong.’
‘How are you going to do that?’ Miranda was proud of her cool tone. She had herself back under control after that rather embarrassing little wobble, which she blamed entirely on her hormones. It must be the time of the month. She wasn’t normally that silly.
‘I’m going to get married.’
‘Married!’ In complete defiance of the fact that it was supposed to be firmly under control, Miranda’s heart lurched into her throat, performed a sickening somersault and landed splat back between her ribs. ‘Congratulations,’ she managed after a moment. ‘I didn’t realise you were engaged.’
‘I’m not,’ said Rafe. ‘Yet. But I’d like to be.’ He grinned at her. ‘That’s where you come in.’
Off went her heart again, blundering around her chest. Don’t be ridiculous, Miranda told herself. Rafe wasn’t suggesting marrying her.
‘I’m not sure I understand,’ she said carefully.
Rafe sat up straighter. ‘I came home to take over the Knighton Group, and I’m glad I did,’ he said. ‘The company and its success are important to me. It’s not my capability that’s the problem, it’s trying to get people to take me seriously and acknowledge that I’ve changed. I feel as if I’m beating my head against the proverbial brick wall, hoping that my directors will recognise who I am now, not who I was even four years ago.’
‘It might take some time to change their views.’ Miranda looked doubtful.
‘I know, but I don’t want to wait thirty years before they get the message. I need to do something more dramatic now. That’s where getting married comes in.’
‘I don’t see how,’ she admitted. ‘It’s not as if you’d be marrying your directors.’
‘It’s about perception,’ said Rafe. ‘If I appear to be more settled, I think that would make a difference. And I’m thirty-five. I’m ready to settle down and be taken seriously. My grandmother was nagging me to do it four years ago, but I was too restless then. I feel differently now. I want to get married, start a family, concentrate on making Knighton’s an even better company than it is already.’
‘Then what’s the problem?’
‘I can’t find anyone to marry.’
Miranda laughed.
‘No, really,’ he said.
‘Oh, come on! You’re Britain’s most eligible bachelor! They must be queuing up to marry you.’ Octavia certainly was, she reflected.
‘That’s just the trouble,’ said Rafe. ‘Of course I meet plenty of women, but they’re not the kind of women I want to marry.’
When Miranda raised her brows, he went on. ‘Since I came home, I’ve been invited to all the same parties, where I meet all the same people I used to know, but I can’t be bothered with them any more. I can’t believe that was all my life was, just an endless round of social events.
‘It’s not enough any more,’ he told her. ‘I’m looking for something more…more interesting, someone more interesting.’
‘Well, that shouldn’t be too difficult,’ said Miranda. It was hard to believe that someone like Rafe would be lonely for long.
‘I didn’t think it would be either,’ said Rafe frankly, ‘but it’s certainly not as easy as I expected. The trouble is, I only get invited to the kind of occasions where the paparazzi are hanging around outside the door, and it’s all about celebrity and being seen. I don’t want to marry a model or a TV personality or a party girl with a trust fund to support her. If I’m going to spend my life with someone, I want her to be someone with a little more substance, with her own ambitions, her own opinions, her own interests. I want her to be a serious person, and serious people don’t go to the kind of parties I go to at the moment.’
Oh, dear. It wasn’t looking good for Octavia.
But who was she to talk? A temp who moonlighted as a cocktail waitress in a cat suit hardly ranked as a serious person either. Miranda was very glad she had decided not to do anything silly like falling for Rafe herself. Whatever wife Rafe had in mind, it wasn’t going to be anyone like her.
‘So I’ve decided to do something about it,’ Rafe announced. ‘I know the right woman for me is out there somewhere. I’ve just got to stop hoping I’ll stumble across her and go out and find her instead. And then I’ve got to persuade her not to hold my reputation against me.’
Privately, Miranda couldn’t see that being much of a problem. Few women, no matter how high-minded, were going to be immune to a handsome, single, straight, wealthy man, let alone one who was looking for long-term commitment.
But it wasn’t her job to pander to Rafe Knighton’s ego.
‘So you’re just going to find someone serious and then marry her?’
‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘All I want is the chance to meet
more people and hope that I might find someone I find attractive and interesting among them. I want to try and change people’s perception of me. And that’s where the ball comes in. I want to invite serious women.’
‘What, so you can inspect them as if you’re at a smorgasbord and take your pick?’ said Miranda, unimpressed.
‘How else am I going to meet them?’ he countered reasonably. ‘And I won’t just invite women, of course. I’m not that crass. I just want to meet a more interesting mix of people. Is that too much to ask?’
‘You don’t think it will reinforce your reputation as a party guy?’ she asked. ‘A ball is a pretty frivolous idea, after all.’
‘I’m thinking of it as a bridge between my two different worlds,’ said Rafe. ‘I still like people, and I like socialising, but that’s not all there is to me. Sure, I’ll invite some glamorous friends, but it’s not going to be all empty-headed celebrities. I want people to know that there is a more serious side to me too.
‘Yes, it’s a party,’ he went on, surprised at how anxious he was to convince Miranda that the ball was a good idea, ‘but it will also be a fund-raising event in aid of the projects I worked on in Africa. A serious cause should appeal to serious people, serious women, real women doing real jobs, but not so serious that they can’t enjoy themselves. So I’ll invite women who work in development and funding agencies, with solicitors and doctors and engineers, publishers and academics and journalists-the responsible ones, anyway. You get the idea…’
Among all those interesting, capable women, there were bound to be some who were also attractive and sweet and ready to be fallen in love with, surely?
‘If nothing else, it will raise a lot of money for a very good cause.’
Rafe paused, wondering if Miranda understood how important this was to him. ‘That’s why it has to be properly organised. I want you to set it up, and target invitations to make sure a good cross-section of people come. I’ll need you to liaise with the projects in Africa too, and make sure the money goes where it’s needed.’
‘It’s a bigger job than I thought,’ said Miranda slowly, still not entirely convinced about the idea but unable to think of any real objections.
