‘At least it will stop you thinking about how hot your boss is. Now scoot before you’re really late. I hope what you’ve done impresses the heck out of him. You never know, he might take you out to dinner.’
‘I don’t want dinner.’
‘Liar. You so fancy the pants off him. Come on, admit it.’
Mandy gave her a big, fat, knowing grin, but Abby simply smiled and walked out to her car. Lying to a sister wasn’t a good idea. They had an uncanny ability to ferret out the truth, and Abby wasn’t ready to face it yet.
Back in his office, Doug cast an eye over the caller ID on his phone and grudgingly accepted the call.
‘Haven’t you got anything better to do than pester me?’ he asked the man on the other end. The same one he’d already spoken to twice this week.
‘Apparently not,’ Luke replied dryly. ‘I’m showing this pain in the butt artist at my gallery next week but he’s still not confirmed which paintings I can exhibit.’
Doug sighed. Luke wasn’t just his best – and only – friend. He was also his manager/agent/person responsible for his current, and rather improbable, rise in the art world. ‘Okay, okay. I’ll sort it out tonight. Or maybe tomorrow.’
‘Great. Well, when you do, remember this hobby of yours is impacting on my reputation. My livelihood.’
Doug heard and understood the irritation in his friend’s voice. ‘I know, and I’m sorry. I will get the list to you by the end of tomorrow. Better than that, I’ll arrange for the paintings themselves to be dropped off.’
‘Okay.’
‘And, Luke, it’s not a hobby for me, either. It’s my heart, my soul, my passion.’ An unexpected knot of emotion stuck in his throat, making his next words come out scratchy. ‘Some days it’s the only blasted thing that keeps me sane.’
He heard his friend huff out a breath. ‘I know, mate. I know. I’m just a bit stressed. Exhibitions do that to a man.’
‘Especially when the artist is belligerent and disorganised.’
‘Yep, especially that. Still, he’s also brilliant, so I’ll forgive his idiosyncrasies if he gets the paintings to me tomorrow and turns up to the show with a damn smile on his face, ready to charm.’
Doug’s tie felt as if it was strangling him so he pulled it down and loosened his top button. ‘I can promise the former.’
‘Done. I realise the second is asking for a miracle, but I live in hope.’
A swish of a door, followed by a thud and a muffled curse signalled the arrival of Abby. Doug’s eyes swung eagerly over to where she stood and his lips involuntarily twitched upwards as she rubbed at the spot on her elbow where she’d obviously collided with the door frame. His very organised PA was also surprisingly clumsy. And had he mentioned very, very cute?
He cleared his throat and spoke down the phone. ‘Well, much as I’ve enjoyed talking to you buddy, I’ve got to go now.’
‘Your PA’s just walked in, hasn’t she? It’s the only explanation for why your voice is now that of a sixty-a-day smoker.’
Abby waved over at him, rolling her lovely eyes and pointing at her elbow with a hand that held a dead looking plant. His face burst into a fully-fledged smile.
‘Are you staring at her now? Does she have a short skirt on?’
‘I believe our business is over. Goodbye, Luke.’
As he put down the phone he could hear his so-called friend chanting Doug’s got the hots for his admin at the top of his voice.
‘Good morning, Abby. How’s the elbow?’
She poked her head around his door, having relieved herself of her handbag and the dead plant. ‘It’s sore. The door frame must have moved when I opened the door. Either that or I’m a total klutz, which can’t possibly be true.’
He rose from his chair and walked over to look at her elbow. The moment his fingers touched her soft skin though, he forgot what the heck he was supposed to be doing. He was aware only of Abby. Of her intoxicating floral smell, her pretty face. Her vitality. Her slightly flushed cheeks and deep brown eyes, now looking up at him with a puzzled expression.
Hastily he removed his hands. ‘It doesn’t look like it needs major surgery.’
She took a step away, which both relieved and disappointed him. ‘Easy for you to say. You can’t see the shattered bones beneath the skin.’ When he darted her a look of concern, she laughed. ‘Maybe I exaggerate slightly. The only thing that’s shattered is my image of cool and grace and I don’t expect either of those terms have ever been used to describe me.’
‘Perhaps not.’ Safer to leave it at that, he told himself as he walked back to his desk. More deserving descriptions – those like warmth, sparkle, vivacity – were best left unsaid.
‘I’ve put my thoughts together on that packaging project,’ she announced when she returned a few minutes later carrying two cups of coffee. ‘Just let me know when it’s a good time to go through it with you.’
He reached for the mug, rescuing it from its precarious landing position half on, half off the coaster – progress, he guessed. ‘Give me an hour to get through a dull finance meeting. If I’m still alive at the end of it, I’m all yours.’
It’s just a saying, Abby told herself as she watched Doug stride out of the office, tall and handsome in his dark navy suit, white shirt and muted green tie. A man who looks like that will never be yours. Still, a girl could dream, she reasoned as she attacked her inbox. And working for a man who made her body tingle every time she looked at him was a dream in itself. She knew herself well enough to admit the bounce in her step when she walked into work wasn’t all to do with the job. But having a bounce, even if it was a fruitless one, was better than no bounce.
Just over an hour later the soft shuffle of feet across carpet announced that her boss was back. She glanced up in time to see him stride past her alcove, his jacket now thrown casually over his shoulder. She wondered what he’d look like in casual clothes. The suit seemed to restrain him somehow, taming the wildness she sensed at his core.
Jeeze, listen to her. She was sounding like something out of a Jane Austen novel.
She heard a light thud as he dumped something onto his desk. A moment later he appeared in her archway, knocking her off balance with his brilliant blue stare.
‘I’m ready when you are.’
‘Right. I’ll be there in a tick. I just need to find my report.’ She scrambled around on her desk, all fingers and thumbs and racing pulse. Really, she had to get this crush thing under control or she’d be sacked for inefficiency.
Having at last secured the errant report, and grabbing at the drink she hadn’t had time to finish yet, she strode into his office only to find him on the phone. He indicated for her to take the seat opposite and she listened with half an ear to his quiet, measured voice before her attention was caught by the doodle on his notepad. Doodle wasn’t the right word for what he’d drawn, though. It was a work of art, an intricate landscape with lots of hidden spaces where he’d drawn funny little cartoon people. In fact …
As he ended the call she pointed to the doodle. ‘Did you paint the large canvas on the wall outside your office? The style looks remarkably similar.’
‘Very observant.’
‘So I’m right then,’ she pushed. ‘You did paint it?’
‘I did.’
‘It’s really good. At least I think it’s good. I’m not an expert on art or anything, so I don’t know if it’s technically good but, well, there’s a lot of detail which must be really hard to draw.’ He darted one of his secretly amused looks at her and she knew she was rambling. ‘I like it,’ she added finally.
‘Thank you.’
Flipping heck, how could she not ramble when he stuck to two word answers? ‘Do you sell them?’
‘Sometimes.’
Wow, two words had been a luxury. ‘How much would the one outside be?’
‘Around ten thousand.’
Her hand jerked and the coffee she’d been holding skimmed dangerously close to
the rim. ‘Pounds?’
‘No, Smarties,’ he replied dryly, then nodded towards her mug. ‘Are you sure that’s safe?’
She blew out a breath and hung onto the mug with both hands. ‘It was perfectly safe until you came out with a statement deliberately meant to shock me.’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t.’
She gulped a steadying mouthful and tried to absorb what he’d said. ‘So when you’re not masterminding a biscuit empire, you’re like this … famous artist?’
‘It depends on your definition of fame.’ His face was guarded now, devoid of the smile she’d hoped for. ‘And my father masterminds the empire.’
‘He’s gradually handing it over to you, isn’t he?’
He gave her loaded look. ‘You think so?’ The question was clearly rhetorical because he immediately transferred his attention to the report she’d placed in front of him. ‘So, what are your recommendations regarding the future of Crumbs packaging?’
She swallowed hard, feeling blindsided by the rapid switch in conversation. She might have come in ready to discuss packaging but right now her mind was stuck on his previous, heavily-laden comment. Was it possible Charles wasn’t planning on handing Crumbs over to his son?
‘Abby?’
Guiltily she shifted her mind back to her job. ‘Currently you pack all your biscuits into tins,’ she began, reciting the introduction from memory. ‘That’s both uneconomical and unfriendly towards the environment.’
‘It also underpins the Crumbs brand values of classic and traditional.’
‘Agreed, though I hope to show you that those values can still be upheld in greener, more cost-effective packaging.’
He quirked his left eyebrow.
‘I presume the eyebrow lift is you wondering how I propose to do that?’
A nod and a small curve of his very fine, remarkably soft looking, infinitely kissable lips. ‘Go on.’
She scrambled for her thought thread. ‘Changing to cardboard packaging would save the company a considerable amount of money.’ She cringed at the vague word, knowing that’s not what she’d written. ‘Sorry, I know considerable isn’t very accurate but I worked up some figures in the report, dependent on the different sales forecasts.’ She fumbled around for the right page and while he scanned it through, she took a breath and told herself to calm the heck down. ‘You can see from the examples that we can emboss the card; make it heavy and posh looking. That will give it a similar look and feel to the tins.’
‘But cardboard doesn’t say quality.’
His expression told her diddly squat. Did he hate it? If so she couldn’t blame him. She was making such a pig’s ear of this. When she’d rehearsed it last night she’d been cool and professional, not the ditzy blonde she was now. ‘I think cardboard says more than quality, especially to the younger generation who value the environment they live in. It says responsible. Besides, I have another idea for the dinosaurs who like their tins.’ The eyebrow quirked again and she froze. ‘Oh God, you’re not a dinosaur, are you?’
His lips twitched. ‘I like to think not.’
Relief rushed out of her. ‘Good. So, I can see you’re dying to ask what I’m planning for the … well, I think I should call them tin lovers now, just in case not all the dinosaurs are extinct.’
Her heart flip-flopped slowly in her chest as a twinkle of amusement snuck into his eyes.
‘Abigail, what are you planning for the tin lovers now you’ve shoved their precious biscuits into soggy cardboard?’
She accepted the jibe. It was a worthy exchange for his nearly-there smile. ‘We’ll sell the tins separately. Not the same tins obviously, because customers will think it’s a cheek. The new tins will be stronger, better quality. The type you’d like to put on display in your home. The cardboard packs should be made so they can slide into the tin. If you don’t like the idea of selling the tins, we could do offers with them. You know how the older generation like their coupons. Buy three packets and get a free tin. That sort of thing.’
‘Got a blue tint, get a blue tin?’
The giggle burst out of her with no warning. It wasn’t so much the joke, but the unexpectedness of it. ‘I didn’t realise you did humour.’
‘Oh?’
Damn, she wished she could read him better. Had she just pissed him off? ‘I don’t mean you’re dull or boring. Just that you seem very …’ She trailed off, aware she was in danger of deepening the hole she’d dug.
‘Very?’ he prompted.
‘Quiet. Reserved. Sometimes you’re like this castle surrounded by a big moat with the drawbridge up.’ Flipping heck, what was she saying? As his eyebrows shot into his hairline she knew she’d need a stepladder to get out of the hole now. ‘I don’t mean for that to sound like a bad thing,’ she added quickly. ‘It’s just you’re the opposite of me. You’re probably wondering what possessed you to recruit such a chatterbox, huh?’
‘Not when she’s just solved my packaging dilemma.’
Abby jolted upright. ‘I have?’
He gave her one of his rare but absolutely stunning smiles. ‘You have. I knew we needed to change the tins, but neither I or the packaging team could find a way to make it work for the traditionalists. You’ve just solved the issue.’
‘Oh, wow.’ She felt giddy, and it wasn’t all down to his praise. ‘It was worth all those late night candles I burnt.’
A frown furrowed his brow. ‘You were supposed to do this during office hours. I didn’t want you working late on it.’
‘I didn’t, well, not much. And anyway, if it helps, it was worth every minute just to hear your reaction.’
He leant back a little, making a steeple of his hands. ‘Do you have a boyfriend, Abby?’
Her heart jumped. ‘No.’ Could it really be possible that he was starting to—
‘I thought not. Why else would you choose to spend your evenings writing a report on biscuit packaging?’
Of course he wasn’t starting to see her like that. She buried her disappointment. ‘I spent time on the report because I found it interesting.’
‘You did?’
‘Yes.’ Unconsciously she leant forward. ‘I really enjoyed attending the meeting with Taylors and listening to the presentations on the three brands you were going to sell, though you didn’t sell them in the end because … well, because I was stupid enough to go into that man’s room. But still, I found the discussions fascinating.’
Doug watched the colour bloom across Abby’s cheeks and the fire light her eyes as she talked to him. She loved the business, he realised with a jolt of surrprise. She hadn’t seen the packaging project as a chore but a challenge. A puzzle she wanted to solve. He wished he had half her enthusiasm for it all.
‘Did you need me for anything else?’
He shifted on his chair. ‘No, that’s all.’ As she climbed unsteadily to her feet, a fact perhaps connected to the height of the shoes she was wearing today, he cleared his throat. ‘About your comment earlier. Every day I’ve come to the office during the last two months I’ve thanked God I was clever enough to recruit you.’
Ping. Her cheeks flushed scarlet and she beamed at him for one long, captivating moment before turning and walking back to her desk. As his pulse struggled to return to normal he was forced to admit that her efficiency and business sense were only part of the reason behind his statement. He might be dull and humourless – yes, her words had stung – but he didn’t want to be. When she came into his office he didn’t feel that way, either.
In fact when he saw her he wanted to smile.
And damn it, he wanted to kiss her, too. He wanted to kiss her until they were both breathless, and then kiss her again.
Chapter Eight
By four o’clock, Doug had had enough. Strictly speaking he’d had enough at ten, but considering how his father watched his every move, he’d forced himself to work until lunchtime. A meeting from one till three had held his attention for a while but now he was back at his
desk and staring into space. When he heard the soft hum of his mobile phone he grabbed at it, almost cheering when he saw who it was.
‘You’re still alive then?’ he asked, feeling a rare pull on his heart as he pictured his sister Thea’s face. He had two sisters, Margaret who was eighteen and still lived at the Faulkner home and Thea who was twenty-two and at university. Because of the age gap, he was closer to Thea. Margaret had only been six when he’d left home, and because he hated going back there, he’d rarely seen her since.
‘I’m only just alive,’ she countered. ‘I’m back home for the Easter holidays and I hate it, Doug. This place is like a mausoleum and Mum and Dad are like Mr and Mrs Grim. Please come and see me. Or meet me somewhere. Anything to stop me going round the twist.’
It wasn’t hard for him to see how a lively twenty-two-year-old medical student would feel frustrated back at home. ‘How about a trip to an art gallery next week?’
‘You’ve got another show? Wow, what’s that, your fourth?’
‘Yes. It helps when the gallery owner is your best mate.’
‘It helps if you have talent, too. Where on earth do you get the time to paint?’
‘You forget, I’m a miserable git with no social life. I work at Crumbs by day and paint by night.’
‘I can’t believe you still work in that horrid place. It’s no wonder you’re miserable. Why don’t you tell Dad you’ve had enough? You’ve served a longer sentence than most prisoners.’
Thea was by far the smartest Faulkner he knew, but even she hadn’t sussed out the complexities of his relationship with his father. ‘Thanks. I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Very funny. You think I don’t know there’s something going on between you two? If you won’t tell me what it is though, how am I supposed to help?’
‘There’s nothing you can do, Thea.’
She huffed. ‘How do you know, if you don’t tell me what the problem is?’
For a brief moment he considered telling her the truth, but when he strung together the words in his head they sounded so lame. A sordid tale from a different century. He often wondered how weak and gutless it made him that he allowed this man to trample all over him. That instead of finding a way to fight him back he simply succumbed. Rolled over.
Oh Crumbs Page 8
