Bad Boys and Billionaires (The Naughty List Bundles)

by Synthia St. Claire

  “I suppose, but it doesn’t excuse me. I should have been more open, asked about people, shown more care.”

  “You shouldn’t show care unless you feel it.”

  Helena stared at Vicky, feeling misery well up in her throat like sickness. “I think I need to go home.”

  “I’ll walk you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I do care.”

  “Fuck.” And Helena dropped her bag and burst into tears and Vicky stepped forwards to embrace her in a strong, stern, uncompromising hug.

  * * *

  Helena was wrapped in a blanket as the cool evening began to seep into her cottage, and Vicky sat on a bean bag on the floor, her legs tucked under her bottom. She passed another tissue up to Helena who blew her nose noisily.

  “Why is it all so difficult?” Helena sniffed.

  “What?”

  “Life.”

  “It’s what you make it. I have a strong suspicion, though, that you’re in trouble.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Vicky put a very serious face on. “Love.”

  “Get away. One minute you’re calling me selfish, and quite right too, then you sink even lower and accuse me of love?”

  “Yeah, because I know you’re not really in your right mind at the moment. It must be love.”

  “It’s all Richard’s fault.”

  “For love?”

  “For unsettling me. For paying me compliments. For reminding me of how bad my relationship is with my mother. For upsetting my plans to become a mad spinster with cats, growing old and fat and happy on my own.”

  “You don’t have any cats.”

  “I was going to get some, though. Soon.”

  “You don’t need to, now.”

  “I’m scared, though.” Helena’s voice was getting quieter and quieter, and Vicky had to scoot forwards, dragging the bean bag under her. “I’m scared of falling for him, and getting hurt. And scared of pushing him away and losing him.”

  “Oh, that.” Vicky sounded almost disparaging. “You see? That’s just love.”

  “Tell me what to do.”

  “No.”

  “I need you. I have been a shitty, selfish, self-absorbed friend and I promise to change, but right now, I need advice.”

  “No, you’re just looking for someone to tell you what to do so it absolves you of any responsibility, that’s all. My honest advice? Be honest with yourself. Then be honest with him. The rest falls into place.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “Vicky. Have you ever been in love?”

  Vicky put her feet against the bottom of the sofa and straightened her legs, pushing herself back, making the bean bag roll and squidge. “Yes, many times. Crazy, wonderful, painful, delightful, scary love.”

  Helena blew her nose again and looked at her friend, trying to see beyond her words. There was so much Vicky wasn’t telling her and she wanted to know, but she didn’t want to pry. She waited to see if Vicky would explain any further, but she didn’t.

  “What’s your next move?” Vicky asked.

  “Why do I feel like this is a test and you’re expecting me to give you the right answer?”

  “Because it is, and I am.”

  Helena rested her chin on her forearms, wrapped around her knees. “I will phone Richard tomorrow and I will look beyond my own head. I’ll stop being so silly about compliments, and I’ll take some time out for myself.” Compliments are false and shallow, said the rational voice in her head. Don’t start taking them seriously. You’ll end up like your mother, clutching at her fading beauty, scared your only worth is in your face not your heart. Could Vicky hear her thoughts and detect the insincerity in her voice?

  Vicky got to her feet and stretched. “Get yourself a good night’s sleep. We’ll hand out the rest of the leaflets tomorrow afternoon. That okay with you?”

  “Sure. I’ll meet you up at the offices at two.”

  “See you then. Don’t get up. I’ll let myself out.”

  “Thanks, Vicky. Take care.”

  Vicky leaned over and planted a warm, friendly kiss on the top of Helena’s head. “You too.”

  * * *

  It was Sunday and the weather had turned damp and grey. It felt a good ten degrees colder than it should have done for August, but Richard was determined to be positive. Helena had phoned him the previous evening, and they’d had a long, fun chat, joking and teasing each other. He’d been relaxing in his study, feet up on his desk, a decanter of whiskey next to a pile of books, feeling like the proper country gentleman. He had let himself imagine her in all manner of guises but when he’d flirtingly asked her to describe what she was wearing, she’d laughed and called him a pervert.

  So he told her that he was choosing to imagine her naked in the bath, and she’d threatened to finish the call. Ahh, good times.

  She’d confessed to him that she was feeling overwhelmed by the scale of the project they’d taken on. He could hear the struggle in her voice as she explained her weariness and her general lack of enthusiasm. He knew how hard it was for her to admit any weakness, and he’d admired her. And it had made him want to wrap her up in a soft, fluffy blanket and treat her like a delicate object made of glass.

  She had said she was free during the afternoon, Sunday, so he had had a blinding flash of inspiration and told her he was going to pick her up just after lunch. He’d spent Sunday morning frantically calling around, trying to book the perfect afternoon for her, and decided that money was no object, which opened plenty of doors.

  He was feeling pretty damn smug as he drew up outside her house and jumped down to knock on her door.

  Helena was smiling as she answered, and invited him into her living room. She was dressed in a casual pair of baggy jeans, and a loose, long, floral top covered with an open-lace black cardigan against the sudden chill.

  “Hey, how are you today?”

  “I’m pretty good, actually. I’ve had two good nights’ sleep, and that’s really helped to boost me a little. My feet are sore after all that tramping around yesterday afternoon, but I’m quite chilled.”

  “Good stuff. Glad to hear it. I’ve got something to help chill you out even more.”

  “Oh really?” She stood, relaxed, one hand on the back of the sofa. He wanted to bottle her eager expectancy. It was like Christmas, where the real delight lay in giving people the perfect present hand-picked exactly for their needs and desires.

  “Yup. Come and hop into the Landy.”

  She didn’t move. “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Oh no,” she said, smiling but shaking her head. “Don’t do that to me. It’s not fair. I need to know.”

  He could see she wasn’t going to be moved, and anyway, he was bursting to tell her. “I’ve booked you in to an exclusive, and very refined, spa afternoon at The Kerridge!”

  He waited as it sunk in. She stared at him, her mouth half-open for a moment before slamming shut in a thin, pinched line. She seemed too overwhelmed to smile.

  “Don’t worry,” he said anxiously. “It’s my treat. On me. Just for you. Because you’ve been so overworked and stressed and tired. I thought you might like having your hair done, and whatever it is they do to feet, and eyebrows, and I am sure the woman on the phone mentioned hot stones, though you don’t have to have any of that done if all you want to do is lounge in the sauna in a fluffy towel. It’s okay, isn’t it?” He had a rising feeling of panic as Helena’s face resolutely failed to show any of the expected reactions. She seemed rather more furious than thankful.

  “My hair.”

  “Or not. I love your hair as it is. Whatever you want to do.” Remember she’s not into compliments. Don’t mention her hair!

  “Feet.”

  “I don’t know what they actually do to your feet.”

  “I don’t think I need anything doing to my feet. Or my hair. Or my eyebrows.”
>
  “Well, that’s okay, I didn’t want to imply that you did.” Jesus H Christ, why is she acting like I’ve just thrown coffee in her face and told her she looks like the back end of a bus? “I only thought that you might like to be pampered.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lips, her skin going white where her teeth sank into the red flesh. She seemed to be having an argument with herself. Finally, she looked at him, and said in a stiff tone, “I am sorry. I have over-reacted. Again. I truly appreciate the thought and I would love to go and sit in a sauna.”

  Those were her words, but even Richard was astute enough to hear the subtext: You are a bloody fool, and I loathe the very idea, and would rather stay at home, drinking vinegar while punching myself in the face.

  He wavered. What to do? Take her words at face-value, even though they both knew them to be lies? Or back down and pretend none of this ever happened?

  No. Something inside him snapped. I’ve given her a chance to tell me the truth. More than once, in fact. If she says she will go, well come on then. Let’s bloody well go.

  “Great,” he said, brittle and harsh. “Come on. The drive over the moors is fantastic. It’s a wonderful stately home set in parkland. Herds of deer and everything. When we get there, we might just decide to walk around the lake.”

  “It’s not the weather for it,” she snapped as she pushed past him and stepped through the door. “At least I’ll be nice and warm in the sauna.”

  She made it sound as if she were being asked to sit in an iron-smelting furnace. He gritted his teeth and followed her outside, staring at her rigid back as she locked her front door, wondering how he had made it go quite so wrong.

  Chapter Ten

  Helena sunk into depression as the Landrover lumbered its way over the moors. She stared glumly out of the window at the blurring grey landscape, and tried to pick apart her childish reactions.

  It’s clear, she realised. Either I give up everything that I have used to make and define me, or I give up relationships in general and Richard in particular, just as I had planned before I moved here.

  Because this is the twenty-first century, and why should I succumb to that old flattery? Why should I be reduced to a pretty face? Why should I end up having to make sure my face is made-up and my hair is fashionable and my clothes are the latest trend? Once I start down that road, people will only see the fake outside of me. And I will have to run faster and harder to stay that way as I get older and lines claw down my face and I see younger, prettier people come up and turn the heads of others. Not me.

  I will end up as my mother and I don’t want her future to be my future.

  I’ve been fooled, tricked into thinking this could be any different. And it’s not Richard’s fault, not really, not at first.

  She slid a glance sideways to him and noticed his knuckles were white where he was clenching the narrow wheel of the vehicle.

  It wasn’t his fault at first… but I told him that I didn’t want compliments. I told him I wanted to be judged as a person, not a face. And still, he thinks he can take me to a spa to smarten me up?

  It’s all the same in the end. We all want to change people.

  An icy finger of guilt prodded her in the belly. I wanted to change him, too. I wanted to bring him out of himself and stop drinking himself to death up alone in the manor house.

  But that was for his own good. This - this spa crap - this is for nobody’s good.

  The miles crawled past as she thought herself in a downward spiral of increasing despair and hopelessness, so that when they finally swept up the long gravelled drive to the imposing country house, she was developing a thumping tension headache and her jaw ached from clenching it.

  Maybe a spa is actually what I need to relax, she admitted grudgingly as they parked up. Richard killed the engine and half-shifted in his seat to face her awkwardly. His jaw, too, was set as hers was.

  “So. Here we are. What do you think? Impressive, huh?”

  “Yeah. Big. Uh…”

  His hands were balled into fists in his lap, and he looked angry, but waited for her to finish. “Yes?”

  “Oh, Richard, everything is wrong and I’ve just made mistake after mistake.”

  “You and me both. It’s okay. All we have to do is be honest with each other. Come on. Relax.”

  It felt like the word honest was some kind of dig at her.

  “If I’m being honest, then, I really don’t want to go in there and be changed into the idea of woman that you want me to be.”

  Richard’s eyes narrowed and his chest seemed to expand as he took a heavy breath in. “Helena, listen. You are talking utter shit. This is totally not about changing you or criticising you or anything. You are as you are. I fell for you… I did, I have… I fell for you as you are, in your normal clothes, no make-up and fresh faced. Because of who you are, and your energy, and your passion, and your warmth, and the way you’ve become part of this community in a way that I never have.”

  “Then why have you brought me here?”

  “As a treat.”

  “But I’m not this sort of woman.”

  “For fuck’s sake!” he exploded in fury, slamming his fist onto the steering wheel. “I have never said you are! You’ve got a fucking strange view of yourself, Helena, and how you think other people see you. This has nothing to do with me trying to change you, or even misjudging you. What the hell do you think a spa is? Even I’ve been to one, believe it or not. This isn’t about spas, or me, or your appearance. I think this is to do with you, and who you think you are, and fuck knows how you’ve ended up with such a rigid idea of what you can and can’t do. But I’m sorry, Helena, I can’t second guess this all the time.”

  It was funny, Helena thought, almost idly, the way that silence can roar. She didn’t speak. She stared out of the window at the stately home and felt a curious calm descend on her, even as her blood pounded in her ears. After all, she’d known that she was no good in a relationship. She’d known she should have stayed single. She’d known all along that she was unlovable and unworthy unless she kowtowed to others. So this was a welcome confirmation of what she always knew.

  “Take me home,” she croaked, and stared out at the passing hills as the silent, fuming Richard pushed the Landrover to the limits of its speed - a mighty sixty-five miles per hour - to get her home, and out of his car, and out of his life, as quickly as possible.

  * * *

  The rain hammered on the windows and Helena pulled her chunky cardigan close around her shoulders. She shouldn’t have to be wearing furry boots in August, but the Lancashire weather had decided that they’d all had it far too easy this summer, and it was time for something apocalyptic.

  She was also simmering with resentment that it was Sunday, nine in the morning, and she was back in that rented training room from her first day at Gussy’s Builders’ Merchants. Around her, the branch managers, office managers, and warehouse staff. And in front of her, in his trademark nylon slacks, Terry, perched on the edge of the desk in a jaunty man-of-the-people pose, trying to strike an attitude of casual confidence. That meant he leaned awkwardly to one side, making his leg tremble with the effort as he misjudged the slouch, and he was too stubborn to shift his weight. Fidgeting could be taken as a sign of nervousness so he persisted in his James-Dean-with-spasms approach.

  “I do appreciate you all coming today,” Terry said, smiling as sincerely as only a corporate half-brain could.

  “Did we have a choice?” Clive, the Ingholme branch manager said, his loud voice a decibel greater than Terry’s, and with twice the authority. “Come on, Terry, mate. This team-building get-together bullshit is so that Gussy’s doesn’t have to pay out for a Christmas meal, isn’t it?”

  Terry had to shift position before his leg developed gangrene so he took the change to launch onto his feet and fold his arms - aiming for defiant, ending up with defensive. “While it is, indeed, true that this year as a cost-saving measure the management
have decided to let each branch organise their own seasonal provision - a measure that not only meets our new economic targets but also, in fact, gives back the power to the branch, and, let it be noted, allows each of our employees to take some ownership of the festivities rather than simply have it passed down from above, while, indeed, of course…”

  “You forgot the start of your sentence by the time you got to the end,” Clive said, then slapped his hand on his thigh and roared one great laugh. “Scrimping, aye, we all get that. Go on.”

  Terry started again. “Today’s agenda has been distributed to you already.”

  As he droned on, Helena glanced down the sheet of paper that had twenty-seven bullet points covering the day’s objectives, and the sheer boredom of reading the list had her wanting to fake an attack of sickness and go to hide in the loos.

  “…in the swim lane of our core competencies, allowing each stakeholder leverage in the….”

  “What swim lane?” Bet leaned in from Helena’s left hand side. She was dressed in a magnificent purple vest, which at three sizes too small acted more like a bodice to the ample-figured woman, and her flesh spilled over the top of the fabric as she lurched to one side like a dangerously listing galleon. “I can’t swim.”

  Terry shot them a glare but continued. “…thinking outside the box to reinvigorate our best practise and inseminate it throughout the business.”

  “Like cows?”

  Terry finally stopped. “What, Clive?”

  “Inseminate. Like cows?”

  “You’re not listening.” Terry twisted round and grabbed his notes from the table. “Disseminate it throughout the business.”

  “No,” Bet weighed in. “You did say inseminate.”

  A general titter ran through the room. “Well, you all know what I meant.”

  “Frankly, it’s the only chuffing word I’ve understood so far. Why do we have to go swimming again?”

  “What?”