In the Boss's Castle

by Jessica Gilmore

  ‘Six months? I did wonder why you were still at an assistant level when you are obviously so capable.’ The words were casually said but Maddison sat up a little straighter, pride swelling her chest.

  She looked around the room, not wanting Kit to see just how the offhand praise had affected her. ‘It’s nice here. Is this where you bring all the girls?’

  ‘You’re the first.’

  She turned and looked at him, laughter ready on her lips but there was no answering smile. He was serious. ‘Consider me honoured. Why not? It’s pretty convenient.’

  Kit shrugged. ‘I don’t like to bring anyone home. It gives them ideas. One moment a cosy dinner, the next a sleepover and before you know it they’re rearranging the furniture and suggesting a drawer. Besides, Camilla and her ilk only like to go to places where they can see and be seen. This place isn’t anywhere near trendy enough for them.’

  It sounded pretty lonely. Maddison knew all about that. ‘So if you don’t want to share your home or local with these girls, why date them?’

  His eyes darkened for a stormy moment. ‘Because I am in absolutely no danger of falling in love with any of them.’

  * * *

  He had said too much. This was supposed to be a casual ‘thank you and by the way happy birthday’ drink, not a full-on confessional. He didn’t need or deserve absolution. Maddison stared at him, her eyes wide and mouth half-open as if he were some kind of crossword clue she could solve, and for once he couldn’t think of the right kind of quip to turn her attention aside. He breathed a sigh of relief as the waitress came over, their Mediterranean platter balanced high on one hand, and broke the mounting tension.

  ‘If I’d known you had overdosed on canapés I’d have ordered something more substantial,’ he said, gesturing at the bowls of olives and sundried tomatoes, hummus and aioli. ‘The bread’s reasonably sized though.’

  ‘No, this is good, thanks.’ But she sounded thoughtful and her eyes were still fixed disturbingly on him. Kit searched for a change of subject.

  ‘Have you heard from Hope?’ That was safe enough.

  Maddison speared a falafel and placed it delicately onto her plate, every movement precise, just as she was in the office. ‘A couple of emails. I think she’s settled in.’ She smiled then, a completely unguarded, full-on smile, and Kit’s chest twisted at the openness of it. ‘She intimidates me a little. I thought I was organized, but Hope? She beats me every time. Did you know she left me a printed-out file, all alphabetized, with instructions on what to do if the boiler breaks and when the trash goes out? Half of it is about what I need to do if her sister, Faith, comes home early from her travels or phones or something. I mean, the girl’s nineteen. Cut her some slack!’ But although the words were mocking there was a wistfulness in Maddison’s face that belied them.

  She took a deep breath and her features recomposed until she was back to her usual calm and efficient self. ‘Anyway, some of her neighbours have dropped round and been welcoming, which is very kind but they’re older and have kids. They’re nice but a night spent in talking about the cost of childcare isn’t exactly something I can contribute to.’

  Kit grimaced. ‘No, I can empathize with that. It seems that every time I go out now someone is talking about nannies or the importance of organic baby food.’ Each time it was a reminder that his friendship group was moving on without him, the teasing about his bachelor status beginning to grate.

  She raised her eyes to his. ‘Don’t you want kids? One day?’

  He laughed shortly. ‘Why does it all come back to kids and marriage? I thought society had evolved beyond that. Why not just enjoy some company for a while and then move on?’

  Maddison was frozen, her fork in her hand. ‘That’s really what you think? Poor Camilla.’

  Kit frowned. ‘She knew the score. I don’t pretend to be anything different, to want anything different, Maddison. If she wants to change the rules without checking to see if I’m still playing along then that’s not my problem.’

  ‘People change. No one goes into a relationship expecting it to stay static. Relationships evolve. They grow or they end. It’s the way it has to be.’

  ‘I don’t agree. It’s perfectly possible for two people to enjoy themselves with no expectations of anything more. Look, Camilla said she was happy enough with a casual thing but it didn’t take long before she started pushing for more. If she’d been more honest with herself, with me, at the beginning, then she wouldn’t have got hurt.’

  ‘Wow. You’ve actually made me feel a little sorry for her.’ The colour was high on her cheeks and he opened his mouth to do what? Defend himself? No, to put her straight, but anything he might have said was drowned out as the pub’s PA system crackled into life with an announcement of that night’s quiz.

  Maddison straightened and looked around, her eyes bright like a child promised a treat. ‘Oh, I haven’t done a quiz since college. Do you want to...? I mean, we’ve barely started on the wine and there’s all that bread to eat.’

  Interesting. Kit sat back and looked at her; she was practically fizzing with anticipation. His mind flashed back to the completed crossword, to the way she had meticulously sorted every single problem that had come his way for the last four weeks. I wanted to be Nancy Drew, she had said.

  Could he trust her? It wasn’t just that he didn’t want any of his commercial rivals getting any hint of what he was up to; he didn’t want it known internally either. He didn’t want project-management groups and focus studies and sales input. That would come, but not yet. Not while he was enjoying the thrill of the new.

  ‘Maddison,’ he said slowly. ‘How would you like to be my guinea pig?’

  ‘Your what?’ She couldn’t have looked more outraged if he’d asked her if she wanted to eat a guinea pig.

  ‘Guinea pig. Testing out my new product.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘How very marketing friendly of you. I was under the impression that we produced books.’

  ‘Oh, we do. I do.’ He considered her for a moment longer. She didn’t really know anyone to tell and didn’t strike him as the gossiping type anyway. He should trust her. He hadn’t come this far without taking some risks.

  Kit had started his publishing career while still at Cambridge, republishing forgotten golden-age crime books for a nostalgic audience. Two years later he’d diversified into digital genre publishing before selling his company to DL Media for a tidy sum and an executive position. The sale had paid for his house and furnished him with a nice disposable income and a nest egg, but lately he’d been wondering if he’d sold his soul, not just his company.

  He had had no idea just how different things would be. The sole guy in charge of a small but growing company was a million miles away from a cog in a huge international corporation—even an executive cog. And although the perks and salary were nice—more than nice—he missed the adrenaline rush of ownership. This project was making his blood pump in almost the same way as building up his imprint had. While he was working on it he almost forgot everything else that had changed in the last few years.

  Maddison’s eyes were fixed on his face. ‘So what is this product?’

  Kit watched her every reaction. ‘Okay, so we produce entertainment and information. I am planning to marry the two together.’

  Maddison frowned. ‘And you want me to bless the happy couple?’

  ‘I want you to road-test them.’ He took a deep breath. He was going in. ‘I’m planning a series of new interactive guidebooks.’

  ‘Okay...’ Scepticism was written all over her face. ‘That’s interesting but does anyone even use guidebooks any more?’

  Kit had been expecting that. ‘Guidebooks available in every format from eBook to app to good old-fashioned paper copies.’

  ‘I still don’t see...’

  He took
pity on her. ‘The difference is that they don’t tell you what to see, they give you clues. Each guidebook is a treasure hunt.’

  She leaned forward, a spark of interest lighting up her face, transforming her from merely pretty to glowingly beautiful. Not that Kit was interested in her looks. It was her brains he was after; he was certainly not focusing on how her eyes lit up when she was engaged or the way her blouse dipped a little lower as she shifted forward. ‘A treasure hunt? As in X marks the spot?’

  He tore his eyes away from her mouth. Focus, Buchanan. ‘In a way. Tourists can pick from one of five or so themed routes—historical, romantic, wild, fictional or a mixture of all the themes and follow a series of clues to their mystery destination, taking in places of interest on the way. Each theme will have routes of varying length ranging from an afternoon to three days, allowing people to adapt the treasure hunt to their length of stay, although I very much hope even cynical Londoners will want to have a go.’

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded slowly, her still-half-full plate pushed to one side as she took in every word. ‘I see, each hunt would have a unique theme depending on the place like, I don’t know, say a revolution theme in Boston? It wouldn’t just be tourists, though, would it? I mean, something like this would work for team building, bachelor and bachelorette parties, family days out...’ Satisfaction punched through him. She’d got it. ‘And what’s the prize—or is taking part enough?’

  ‘Hopefully the satisfaction of a job well done, but successful treasure hunters will also be able to pick up some discounts for local restaurants and attractions. I’m looking into building some partnerships. To launch it, however, I am planning real treasure—or a prize at least.’

  Maddison leaned back and picked up her wine glass. ‘And you want me to what? Source the prize for you?’

  Kit shook his head. ‘No, I want you to test the first few routes. The plan is to launch next year, simultaneously in five cities around the world. Each launch will open up on the same day and teams will compete against each other. But for now, in order to present a full proposal to marketing, we’ve been concentrating on drawing up the London routes—and I want to know how hard it is, especially to non-Brits, if the timings work and, crucially, if it’s fun.’

  ‘So, this will be part of my job?’

  Kit picked up his own glass; he was about to ask a lot from her. ‘We’re still very much in concept stage at the moment. This would be in your own time at weekends. But...’ he smiled directly at her, turning up the charm ‘...you said yourself you needed to get out and about...’

  ‘I didn’t say that at all. For all you know I am completely happy with takeaways and box sets. Maybe that’s the whole reason I took this job,’ she protested.

  He watched her carefully, looking for an advantage. ‘But you’re spending your weekends alone. I know the routes but not the clues so I want to see how it works in practice. I was going to go around on my own but here you are, new to London. A non-Brit. It’s perfect. You can follow the clues and I’ll accompany you and see how it works.’

  ‘I...’

  ‘I don’t expect you to do it for nothing,’ he broke in before she talked herself out of it or pointed out that spending every weekend with her boss was not her idea of fun. ‘Each route we complete has a prize. An experience of your choice, fully paid. Gigs, concerts, theme parks, restaurants—you name it.’

  ‘Anything I want?’

  ‘Anything.’ Now where had that come from? He would be spending all week and most of the next few weekends with her, did he really want to add in leisure time as well? But before he could backtrack Maddison held out her hand.

  ‘In that case you have a deal,’ she said.

  In for a penny... He took her soft, cool hand in his. ‘Deal. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.’

  Why had he said that? That wasn’t part of the deal. So she was proving to be a bit of an enigma, a girl who liked a challenge? They were reasons to stay away, not get closer. But this was purely business and business Kit could handle. It was all he had left, after all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ALTHOUGH CLISSOLD PARK couldn’t hold a candle to her own beloved Central Park, the small London park had a quirky charm all its own. There might not be a fairy-tale castle or boats for hire on the little duck-covered lakes, but it was always buzzing with people and a circuit made for a pretty run.

  Maddison increased her pace, smiling as she overtook a man pushing a baby in a jogger. Not so much difference between Clissold and Central Parks after all—and yes, right on cue, there it was: a t’ai chi ch’uan class. City parks were city parks no matter their location and size.

  The biggest difference was that dogs roamed unleashed and free through the London park; in Central Park they would be allowed to walk untethered only in the doggy-exercise areas. Maddison nervously eyed a large, barrel-chested brown dog hurtling towards her, the sweat springing onto her palms nothing to do with the exercise. Could it smell her fear? She wavered, torn between increasing her pace and stopping to back away from it when it jumped, running directly...past her to retrieve a ball, slobber flying from its huge jowls. Maddison’s heart hammered and she gulped in some much-needed air. She hated dogs; they were unpredictable. She’d found that out the hard way—and had the scar on her thigh to prove it. At least her mom had dumped that particular boyfriend after his dog had attacked Maddison, but whether it was the dog bite that had precipitated the move or some other misdemeanour Maddison had never known.

  Maddison increased the pace again, the pain in her chest and the ache in her thighs a welcome distraction from thoughts of the past—and the immediate future. In one hour Kit Buchanan would be knocking on her door and she would be spending the whole day with him. Whatever had possessed her to agree?

  On the other hand she didn’t have anything better to do. And despite her reservations she had had fun last night. For the first time in a long time she had been able to relax, to be herself. She only needed to impress Kit professionally; what he made of her socially wasn’t at all important.

  It was a long time since she hadn’t had to worry about that.

  Maddison turned out of the park and began to run along the pavement, dodging the myriad small tables cluttering up the narrow pavements outside the many cafes and coffee shops that made up the main street, until she reached the small road where she was staying. Her stomach twisted as she opened the front door and stepped over the threshold, the heaviness in her chest nothing to do with the exercise.

  Try as she might to ignore it, staying in Hope’s old family home was opening up old wounds, allowing the loneliness to seep through. It wasn’t the actual living alone—apart from the semesters sleeping in her college dorm Maddison had lived by herself since she was sixteen. No, she thought that this unshakeable melancholy was because Hope’s home was, well, a home. A much-loved family home with the family photos clustered on the dresser downstairs, the battered kitchen table, the scuff marks in the hallway where a generation of shoes had been kicked off to prove it.

  And sure, Maddison wouldn’t have picked the violet-covered wallpaper and matching purple curtains and bedspread in her room, just as she would have stripped the whole downstairs back for a fresh white and wood open-plan finish, but she appreciated why Hope had preserved the house just the way it must have been when her parents died. There was love in every in-need-of-a-refresh corner.

  Losing her parents so young must have been hard but at least Hope had grown up with them, in a house full of light and happiness.

  Maddison’s childhood bedroom had no natural light and pretty near little happiness. The thin bunks and thinner walls, the sound of the TV blaring in if she was lucky, silence if she wasn’t. If she was alone. It was only temporary, her mother reassured her, just somewhere to stay until their luck changed.

  Only it never did. That was wh
en Maddison stopped believing in luck. That was when she knew it was down to her, only her.

  Maddison found herself, as she often did, looking at the photos displayed on the hallway sideboard. Both girls were slim with dark hair and dark eyes but whereas Hope looked perpetually worried and careworn, Faith sparkled with vitality. Reading between the lines of Hope’s comprehensive file, Maddison got the impression that the older sister was the adult in this house, the younger protected and indulged. But Faith was nineteen! At that age Maddison had been on her own for three years and was putting herself through college, the luxury of a year spent travelling as remote as her chances of discovering a secret trust fund.

  Maddison picked up her favourite photo. It was taken when their parents were still alive; the whole family were grouped on a beach at sunset, dressed in smart summery clothes. Faith must have been around six, a small, merry-faced imp with laughing eyes and a naughty smile, holding hands with her mother. Hope, a teenager all in black, was standing in front of her father, casual in his arms. She was probably at the age where she was so secure in her parents’ love and affection she took it for granted, embarrassed by any public show. It used to make Maddison mad to see how casually her schoolmates treated their parents, how dismissive they could be of their love.

  One day Maddison wanted a photo like this. She and her own reliable, affectionate husband and their secure, happy children. A family of her own. It wasn’t too much to ask, was it? She’d thought she was so close with Bart and now here she was. As far away as ever. The heaviness in her chest increased until she wanted to sink to her knees under the burden.

  Stop it, she told herself fiercely. Kit would be here soon and she still had to shower and change. Besides, what good had feeling sorry for herself ever done? Planning worked. Timetables worked. Things didn’t just happen because you wished for them or were good. You had to make your own destiny.

  It didn’t take Maddison long to get ready or to post a few pictures of her evening’s adventures onto her various social-media accounts, captioning them ‘Birthday in London’—and if they were carefully edited to give the impression that she was a guest at the party, not working, and that there was a whole group at the pub, well, wasn’t social media all about perception?