Sorry, yes.
And, regretfully, she wasn’t playing hard to get. She really did have appointments that she couldn’t move.
OK. Are you busy after work?
Yes, but that was something she could move.
Why?
Am trying to be like you and plan a spontaneous date.
She couldn’t help laughing. Planning and spontaneity didn’t go together.
OK.
Cinema? he suggested.
Depends. Is popcorn on offer?
Could be... he texted back.
Deal. Time and place?
Can pick you up.
She wanted to keep at least some of her independence.
Saves time if I meet you there.
OK. Will check out films and text you where and when.
Claire had expected him to choose some kind of noir movie, but when she got to the cinema and met him with a kiss she discovered that he’d picked a rom-com.
‘Is this to indulge me?’ she asked.
‘I’ve seen this one before. The structure’s good and the acting’s good,’ he said.
‘You’re such a film snob,’ she teased, but it warmed her that he’d thought of what she’d enjoy rather than imposing his choices on her regardless.
They sat in the back row, holding hands, and Claire enjoyed the film thoroughly. Back at his place afterwards, they were curled in bed together, when Sean said, ‘I had a focus group meeting today.’
She remembered the samples he’d given her. ‘Did it go how you wanted?’
‘Not really,’ he said. ‘We need a rethink.’
‘For what it’s worth, I’ve always thought that your caramel hearts would be great as bridal favours. That’s the sort of thing my brides always ask me if I know about, because not everyone likes the traditional sugared almonds.’
‘Bridal favours?’ he queried.
‘Uh-huh—the hearts could be wrapped in silver or gold foil, and you can offer a choice of organza bags with them in say white, silver or gold, so brides can buy the whole package. They could be ordered direct from your website, or you could offer the special bridal package through selected shops.’
He nodded. ‘That’s brilliant, Claire. Thank you. I never even considered that sort of thing.’
‘Why would you, unless you were connected to a wedding business?’ she pointed out.
‘I guess not.’
‘So why didn’t the focus group like the salted caramels? I thought they were fabulous.’
‘It’s a move too far from the core business. Farrell’s has produced hard toffee for generations. We’re not really associated with chocolates, apart from the caramel hearts—which were my mum’s idea.’
‘Are you looking to move away from making toffee, then?’
‘Yes and no,’ he said. ‘What I want to do is look at other sorts of toffee.’
She frowned. ‘Am I being dense? Because toffee’s—well—toffee.’
‘Unless it’s in something,’ he said. ‘Toffee popcorn, like the one you chose tonight at the cinema. Or toffee ice cream.’
‘You weren’t concentrating on the film, were you?’ she asked. ‘You were thinking about work.’
‘I was thinking about you, actually,’ he said. ‘But the toffee popcorn did set off a lightbulb in the back of my head.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘If I took the business in that direction, it’d mean buying a whole different set of machinery and arranging a whole different set of staff training. I’d need to be sure that the investment would be worth the cost and Farrell’s would see a good return on the money.’
‘Unless,’ she said, ‘you collaborated with other manufacturers—ones who already have the factory set-up and the staff. Maybe you could license them to use your toffee.’
‘That’s a great idea. And I could draw up a shortlist of other family-run businesses whose ideas and ethos are the same as Farrell’s. People who’d make good business partners.’
‘That’s your dream, isn’t it?’ she asked softly. ‘To keep your heritage—but to put your own stamp on it.’
‘I guess. Research and development was always my favourite thing,’ he admitted. ‘I wanted to look at developing different flavours of toffee. Something different from mint, treacle, orange or nut. I was thinking cinnamon or ginger for Christmas, or maybe special seasonal editions of the chocolate hearts—say a strawberries and cream version for summer.’
‘That’s a great idea,’ she said. ‘Maybe white chocolate.’
‘And different packaging,’ he said. ‘Something to position Farrell’s hearts as the kind of thing you buy as special treats.’
‘You could sell them in little boxes as well as big ones,’ she said. ‘For people who want a treat but don’t want a big box.’
He kissed her. ‘I’m beginning to think that I should employ you on my R and D team.’
‘Now that,’ she said, ‘really wouldn’t work. I’m used to doing things my way and I’d hate to have to go by someone else’s rules all the while. Besides, I don’t want you bossing me about and I think we’d end up fighting.’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘I don’t want to fight with you, Claire—I like how things are now.’
‘Me, too,’ she admitted.
‘Make love, not war—that’s a great slogan, you know.’
She grinned. ‘Just as long as it’s not all talk and no action, Mr Farrell.’
He laughed. ‘I can take a hint.’ And he kissed her until she was dizzy.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
OVER THE NEXT couple of weeks, Claire and Sean grew closer. Claire didn’t get to see Sean every evening, but she talked to him every day and found herself really looking forward to the times they did see each other. And even on days when things were frustrating and refused to go right, or she had a client who changed her mind about what she wanted at least twice a day, it wasn’t so bad because Claire knew she would be seeing Sean or talking to him later.
And he indulged her by taking her to one of her favourite places—the Victoria and Albert Museum. She took him to see her favourite pieces of clothing, showing him the fabrics, the shapes and the stitching that had inspired some of her own designs. When they stopped for a cold drink in the café, she looked at him.
‘Sorry. I rather went into nerd mode. You should have told me to shut up.’
He smiled. ‘Actually, I really enjoyed it.’
‘But I was lecturing you, making you look at fiddly bits and pieces that probably bored you stupid.’
‘You were lit up, Claire. Clothing design is your passion. And it was a privilege to see it,’ he said softly. He reached across the table, took her hand and drew it to his lips. ‘Don’t ever lose that passion.’
He’d accepted her for who she was, Claire thought with sudden shock. The first man she’d ever dated who’d seen who she was, accepted it, and encouraged her to do what she loved.
In turn, Sean gave her a personal guided tour of the toffee factory. ‘I’m afraid the white coat and the hair covering are non-negotiable,’ he said.
‘Health and safety. This is a working factory. And the clothes are about function, not form—just as they should be,’ she said.
‘I guess.’ He took her through the factory, explaining what the various stages were and letting her taste the different products.
‘I love the fact you’re still using your great-grandparents’ recipe for the toffee,’ she said. ‘And the photographs.’ She’d noticed the blown-up photographs from years before lining the walls in the reception area. ‘It’s lovely to see that connection over the years.’
‘A bit like you,’ he said, ‘and the way you hand-decorate a dress exactly the same as they would’ve done it two hundred years ago.’
‘I guess.’
They were halfway through when Sean’s sales manager came over.
‘Sean, I’m really sorry to interrupt,’ he said, smiling acknowledgement at Claire. ‘I’m afraid we’ve got a bit of a situation.’
‘Hey—don’t mind me,’ Claire said. ‘The business comes first. I can do a tour at any time.’
‘Thanks,’ Sean said. ‘What’s the problem, Will?’
‘I had the press on the phone earlier, talking about the takeover bid,’ Will said. ‘I explained that it’s not happening and Farrell’s is carrying on exactly as before, but someone’s clearly been spreading doubts among our biggest customers, because I’ve been fielding phone calls ever since. And one of our customers in particular says he wants to talk to the organ grinder, not the monkey.’
‘You’re my sales manager,’ Sean said. ‘Which makes you as much of an organ grinder as I am.’
Will looked awkward. ‘Not in Mel Archer’s eyes.’
‘Ah. Him.’ Sean grimaced. ‘Claire, would you mind if I let Will finish the tour with you?’
‘Sure,’ she said.
‘I’ll talk to Archer and explain the situation to him,’ Sean said. ‘And I’ll make it very clear to him that I trust my senior team to do their jobs well and use their initiative.’
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ Sean said. ‘I’ll see you later, Claire.’
She smiled at him. ‘No worries. I’ll wait for you in reception.’
‘Sorry. It’s the monkey rather than the organ grinder for you, too,’ Will said.
She smiled. ‘Sean says you’re an organ grinder. That’s good enough for me.’
Will finished taking her round and answered all her questions. Including ones she knew she probably shouldn’t ask but couldn’t help herself; this was a chance to see another side of Sean.
‘So have you worked for Sean for long?’ she asked Will.
‘Three years,’ Will said. ‘And he’s probably the best manager I’ve ever worked with. He doesn’t micromanage—he trusts you to get on and do your job, though he’s always there if things get sticky.’
‘Which I guess they would be, in a toffee factory,’ Claire said with a smile.
Will laughed. ‘Yeah. Pun not actually intended. What I mean is he knows the business inside out. He’s there if you need support, and if there’s a problem you can’t solve he’ll have an answer—though what he does is ask you questions to make you think a bit more about it and work it out for yourself.’
So her super-efficient businessman liked to teach people and develop his staff, too. And it was something she knew he wouldn’t have told her himself.
From the half of the tour Sean had given her and the insights Will added, Claire realised that maybe Sean really was living his dream; he really did love the factory and his job, and not just because it was his heritage and he felt duty-bound to preserve it for the next generation. Though she rather thought that if he’d had a choice in the matter, he would’ve worked in the research and development side of the business.
‘He’s a good man,’ she said, meaning it.
* * *
When Ashleigh and Luke returned from their honeymoon, they invited Claire over to see the wedding photographs. She arrived bearing champagne and brownies. Sean was there already, and she gave him a cool nod of acknowledgement before cooing over the photographs and choosing the ones she wanted copies of.
A little later, he offered to help her make coffee. ‘Have I done something to upset you?’ he asked softly when they were alone in Ashleigh’s kitchen.
‘No.’ Clare frowned. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘Just you seemed a little cool with me tonight.’
‘In front of Ash, yes—she expects me to be just on the verge of civil with you. If I’m nice to you, she’s going to guess something’s going on, and I don’t want her to know about this.’ Claire took a deep breath. ‘She’s already asked me a couple of questions, and I told her we came to a kind of truce in Capri—once you realised it wasn’t my fault her wedding dress disappeared—and you were one step away from grovelling.’
‘You told her I was grovelling?’
Claire grinned. ‘She just laughed and said grovelling isn’t in your vocabulary, and she’d give it a week before we started sniping at each other again.’
He moved closer. ‘I’m definitely not grovelling, but I’m not sniping either.’ He paused. ‘In fact, I’d rather just kiss you.’
‘I’d rather that, too,’ she said softly, ‘but I’m not ready for Ash to know about this yet.’
‘So I’m your dirty little secret?’
‘For now—and I’m yours,’ she said.
At the end of the evening, Sean said, ‘Claire, it’s raining—I’ll give you a lift home to save you getting drenched.’
‘This is quite some truce,’ Ashleigh said, giving them both a piercing look. ‘Though you probably won’t make it back to Claire’s before the ceasefire ends.’
‘I won’t fight if she doesn’t,’ Sean said. ‘Claire?’
‘No fighting, and thank you very much for the offer of the lift.’
Ashleigh narrowed her eyes at both of them, but didn’t say any more.
‘Do you have any idea how close you were to breaking our cover?’ Claire asked crossly on the way home. ‘I’m sure Ash has guessed.’
‘What’s your problem with anyone knowing about you and me?’ Sean asked.
‘Because it’s still early days. And, actually, unless my calendar’s wrong, you’ll be dumping me in the next few days anyway.’
‘How do you work that out?’
‘Because, Sean Farrell, you never date anyone for more than three weeks in a row.’
‘I don’t dump my girlfriends exactly three weeks in to a relationship,’ he said. ‘That’s a little old and a little unfair.’
‘But you dump them,’ Claire persisted.
‘No, I break up with them nicely and I make them feel it’s their decision,’ he corrected.
‘When it’s actually yours.’
He shrugged. ‘If it makes them feel better about the situation, what’s the problem?’
‘You’re impossible.’
He laughed. ‘Ashleigh said we wouldn’t make it back to your place before we started fighting. She was right.’
‘I’m not fighting, I’m just making a statement of facts—and don’t you dare kiss me to shut me up,’ she warned.
‘I can’t kiss you when I’m driving,’ Sean pointed out, ‘so that’s a rain check.’
‘You really are the most exasperating...’ Unable to think of a suitable retort, she lapsed into silence.
‘Besides,’ he said softly, ‘you’d be bored to tears with a yes-man or a lapdog.’
‘Lapdog?’ she asked, not following.
‘“When husbands or when lapdogs breathe their last.” Alexander Pope,’ he explained helpfully.
She rolled her eyes. ‘I forgot you did English A level.’
‘And dated a couple of English teachers.’
‘Would one of those have been the one who made you see a certain rom-com more than once?’
‘Yes. At least you haven’t done that.’
‘You’re still impossible,’ she grumbled.
‘Yup,’ he said cheerfully.
‘And, excuse me, you just missed the turning to my place.’
‘Because we’re not going to your place. We’re going to mine.’
‘But I have a bride coming in first thing tomorrow morning for a final fitting,’ she protested.
‘I have a washer-dryer, an alarm clock, a spare unused toothbrush, and I’ll run you home after breakfast.’
She sighed. ‘You’ve got
an answer for everything.’
‘Most things,’ he corrected, and she groaned.
‘I give up.’
‘Good,’ he said.
He stripped her very slowly once he’d locked his front door behind them, put her clothes in the laundry, then took her to bed. And he was as good as his word, finding her a spare toothbrush, making her coffee in the morning, making sure her clothes were dried, and taking her home.
She kissed him lingeringly in the car. ‘See you later. And thanks for the lift.’
* * *
Ashleigh dropped by at lunchtime.
‘Well, hello, stranger—long time, no see,’ Claire teased. ‘What is it, a little over twelve hours?’
‘We’re having lunch,’ Ashleigh said. ‘Now.’
‘Why does this feel as if you’re about to tell me off?’ Claire asked.
‘Because I am. When did this all happen?’
Claire tried to look innocent. ‘When did all what happen?’
‘You know perfectly well what I mean. You and my brother. And don’t deny it. You’re both acting totally out of character round each other.’
‘He just gave me a lift home last night,’ Claire said, crossing her fingers under the table. It had been a lot more than that.
‘Hmm.’ Ashleigh folded her arms and gave Claire a level stare.
Claire gave in. ‘Ash, it’s early days. And you know Sean; it’s probably not going to last.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because when it all goes wrong I don’t want our friendship to be collateral damage.’
Ashleigh hugged her. ‘Idiot. Nothing would stop me being friends with you.’
‘Sean doesn’t want you to be collateral damage, either,’ Claire pointed out.
Ashleigh rolled her eyes. ‘I won’t be, and don’t you go overprotective on me like my big brother is—remember I’m older than you.’
‘OK,’ Claire said meekly.
‘I thought something was up when he helped you make coffee, and then when he offered you a lift home...I knew it for sure,’ Ashleigh said.
‘It’s still really, really early days,’ Claire warned.
‘But it’s working,’
Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set Page 68
