Claiming His Cinderella Secretary

by Cathy Williams

  He had no idea what she felt, what was going on in her head, and she meant to keep it that way. He had no idea that his very lack of interest would be her source of strength when it came to recovering from her own foolish love.

  And then, just as soon as her feet were back under the desk, she would start casually casting around for another job. She would explain, when the time came, that Barbados had opened her eyes to the possibility of a job where going abroad would feature more. She’d think of something to say, because she couldn’t see a way of working alongside him indefinitely. Not feeling the way she did.

  He switched on the engine and was manoeuvring along the narrow road, having programmed her mother’s address into his satnav.

  Now, she slanted disobedient eyes to the hand resting lightly on the gear stick and shivered. She despised the way she still wanted those hands to touch her, wanted those supple fingers to trail a burning path along her skin, to slip into the cleft between her legs, into her.

  With the searing force of a branding iron, images of him were scored into her head, lodged so impossibly tightly that the tipping point between containment and despair, when she was with him now, felt as flimsy as a whisker.

  ‘Good,’ James returned with a note of smug satisfaction. ‘I made a couple of calls. When you’re in the public arena, it always pays to be cosy with a couple of the more senior of the paparazzi. There’s a hierarchy there, and if you know how to use it it can come in useful. I let the word go out that they can have their story in a couple of days’ time. Pursue, and they’ll find connections they never knew they needed slamming the door on them.’

  ‘Really?’ Ellie was impressed.

  ‘Really.’ He half smiled. ‘Most people know that getting on the wrong side of me isn’t always the best way forward.’

  ‘Well, thank you. It certainly helped with my sleeping last night.’ She paused, and then continued in an awkward rush, ‘I just want to thank you for making things easier for me. All of this...it’s neither your fault nor mine. It’s just something unexpected that happened, but you really have made dealing with the consequences...um...easier. You know—letting me have a week off work while you deal with the fallout there.’

  ‘You’re not accustomed to asking for help, are you?’ he enquired softly and Ellie blushed, not looking at him, but staring straight ahead as he threaded through the narrow streets towards the motorway.

  That was the sort of personal question he would never have asked her before they’d become involved, and it was just another reason why she knew she would have to quit her job just as soon as she could.

  From passionate lover, he was now making his way to that awful place known as good friend...except he wasn’t, was he? She didn’t want him to adopt the role of being a shoulder she could cry on simply because he’d managed to get under her skin, just because they’d slept together, but she knew he would. He already was!

  That would be the added dimension he had referred to, the one that would exist between them once their affair had run its course.

  She projected to a point in the future when she would have to watch him hop back into the dating scene, returning to his normal luxury diet of catwalk models, as far as he was concerned, knowing she had returned to her quiet spot in the corner of the office—dutiful, efficient and once again background.

  ‘Are you?’ She threw the question back at him and he burst out laughing.

  ‘Touché,’ he said drily. ‘Although, in fairness, why would I ever ask for help when I can handle pretty much everything myself?’

  ‘You’re so arrogant,’ Ellie heard herself say, and then could have kicked herself for falling into the same trap he had...for going back to that place where they were intimate and where intimate things could be said without raising an eyebrow.

  ‘So you’ve told me before. You wouldn’t want me any other way.’

  Ellie fidgeted, suddenly uncomfortable in the tight confines of his sports car.

  Casting about for something inoffensive to say, he was the first to break the silence. ‘So, tell me about your mother.’

  ‘My mother?’

  ‘What should I expect?’

  ‘Does it matter? I mean, we’re going there so that we can tell her face to face that this is all a storm in a teacup. I don’t think you need to know what she’s like, do you?’

  ‘What’s the point of my presence in that case? You want to smooth over anxieties your mother might have about this whole messy situation? Then I suggest you tell me about her so that I can emerge a sympathetic character as opposed to a serial womaniser who’s used you for his own nefarious purposes and can barely show an interest in your only living relative. In which case, she might question my presence in her house in the first place.’

  James could feel her tension. She was wired. Poor sleep, nervous tension. A strong person suddenly catapulted into uncertain, stormy seas without a lifebelt. It was pleasing to think that he was able to throw her that vital lifebelt. Having never seen himself in the role of knight in shining armour, primed to save damsels in distress, he was quietly pleased with himself now.

  So much so that it overrode what he knew he should be feeling, namely intense rage that Naomi had dumped him from a very great height into the one situation she knew he would deeply resent. For the inveterate bachelor, widespread and incorrect rumours about getting married constituted a nightmare. On a personal level, it was a huge nuisance, and when the woman in question was someone like Ellie then it took on a whole new dimension.

  Of course, Naomi was shrewd enough to have clocked that immediately. He would see that he returned the favour in due course, but for the moment he couldn’t say that he was unhappy to find himself at the wheel of his Porsche, driving to Devon in the early hours of a grey autumn morning with his PA next to him. Nor did he harbour any regret about doing what he was doing for the sake of her mother, a woman he had never met and didn’t know from Adam. He knew that her mother was mentally fragile and to help remove that one worry from her shoulders was the least he could do.

  He slid a sideways glance at the small figure hunched in the deep leather seat, face averted as she stared through the window at nothing in particular. She was chewing her lower lip and he didn’t have to see her face to know exactly what expression she would be wearing—the one of someone suddenly carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

  A wave of protectiveness washed over him and he determined that when she returned to work it would be to find all her colleagues suitably silent on the matter of their publicised affair. Anyone who dared make her life uncomfortable would face his wrath. It was the least he could do.

  He could handle a situation like this. Rumour...gossip...malice. He could handle them because he had become emotionally untouchable. But for the first time that was something that failed to soothe. Was it that laudable to make a habit of avoiding anything that smacked of involvement? It was a question that had never bothered him before but for some reason it bothered him now. He brushed his unease aside.

  ‘So you were telling me about your mother...?’

  Ellie sighed and gave up. What was the point in being tight-lipped on the subject anyway?

  When she looked back at herself as she’d used to be—working for him, aloof, professional, utterly private—it was like looking at a stranger from a distance. He had managed to invade every nook and cranny of her life and this trip to Devon would be the final battering down of everything she had kept so closely guarded, whether through habit or design.

  ‘My mum’s not old. In her mid-sixties. My parents had me when they were quite old, which is probably why they were always so protective. They’d tried and had just about given up when I came along. When I think about it, they were a unit for such a long time, just the pair of them, that they were both very dependent on one another. And my mum’s always been quite gentle, with Dad the one taking
the lead.’

  ‘So when he died...’

  ‘It was so unexpected. Barely any time to adjust. Yes, when my dad died, my mum’s frailty really came to the fore. Since then, she’s found a niche where she lives. She has her book club, and she gardens and bakes cakes for the local Women’s Institute. But what worries me is that it’s almost as if she’s been waiting all this time for something like this to happen—for me to find a guy and get married and settle down. I mean, I knew she hankered after grandchildren. She always makes a point of faithfully reporting each and every friend whose son or daughter had a baby...’

  James burst out laughing. ‘Not very subtle, in other words!’

  Ellie grinned, relaxed a little, looked at him and felt that swoop of bursting love and affection inside her, however unwelcome the sensation might be.

  ‘Not very. The point is that I would have told her immediately that this was all a load of nonsense, would have explained the situation on the phone, but I didn’t want to take any chances with her getting stressed out and worried.’

  ‘Maybe she’s not quite as delicate as you think.’

  ‘You could be right,’ Ellie mused, a little startled at that shrewd observation, which was one she had slowly begun to reach for herself. Yet she wasn’t certain enough of her mother’s strength to take chances. ‘Who knows? You might change your mind when you meet her.’

  And, James thought, I am meeting her...

  And he realised that he was looking forward to the prospect...

  * * *

  The skies were grey when the sleek sports car finally began the winding conclusion of the trip from London. They had driven through a series of towns and hamlets of varying sizes, passing silent churches and small open markets that were beginning to bustle into life as the day took shape.

  Finally James pulled up in front of a small cottage that formed part of a cluster, all nestled with their own perfectly groomed gardens, tucked away in the maze of lanes and tiny tree-lined streets skittering in the foothills of the mighty Exmoor.

  They had driven through a small village just big enough to house essentials for a small community, dominated by a picturesque church that sat squarely in a rectangle of perfectly manicured lawns, its doors wide open to welcome whoever wanted to enter.

  This couldn’t have been more out of James’s comfort zone. A life of privilege and access to everything money could buy had never provided him with any insight into the life of someone living in a tiny rural community.

  He took a few seconds to look at the house in front of him. It was small and cream with a path to the front door that resembled something a child might have drawn, winding and cobbled and bordered by a bank on either side of neat grass, which was in turn fringed by equally neat hedges.

  James breathed in deeply and shot a look at the girl next to him as she hesitated briefly. On the spur of the moment, he grasped her hand and, somewhere inside him, was gratified when she didn’t let it go.

  Ellie felt the warmth of his fingers curling into hers and didn’t think twice about curling her fingers right back into his, even after they left the car.

  But she dropped her hand the second her mother opened the front door before the knocker had had time stop reverberating through the cottage.

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Ellie! Darling!’

  Angela Thompson was a small, thin woman with a face that would have been quite striking had it been plumper and less careworn. Her eyes were large and dark, her hair just touching her shoulders, as straight as her daughter’s but threaded with grey. She had the look of someone who had spent far too much time crying.

  Just at the moment she was beaming, however, and for the very first time Ellie remembered the carefree woman her mother used to be. The hug she received was warm and long, then her mother stepped back and eyed James, assessing him.

  ‘Very nice,’ she said approvingly.

  Ellie’s mouth fell open. ‘Mum, this is...er...’

  ‘I know. I’ve read all about you.’ She stepped back to allow them both to brush past her, and en passant James inclined his head to kiss her on each cheek, French-style.

  The cottage smelled of fresh bread and everywhere was sparkling. Cleaned in honour of the prospective son-in-law, Ellie thought with dismay... And fresh bread? Once upon a million years ago her mother had loved baking, but that had all been put on hold for so many years that it was a struggle to remember just when her mum had last baked anything at all.

  With increasing alarm, she pondered this development while absently recognising that somehow James had managed to take control of the conversation, chatting about the drive down, answering questions about Barbados, all this as they were guided into the airy kitchen where ingredients were arranged for a hearty breakfast.

  ‘You must be exhausted after your long drive...maybe you’d like to head up to your bedroom for a quick freshen-up?’

  ‘Bedroom?’ Ellie parroted weakly, surfacing slowly to the fact that dismantling her mother’s misconception was going to be a more uphill task than she had first thought. Yes, her mother had sounded pleased and happy down the disembodied cell phone, but now, here in the flesh, Ellie was shocked at just how alive Angela Thompson was, just how animated.

  ‘Of course. I’ve made up the guest room for the both of you.’ She smiled and winked. ‘Darling, your room just has that silly single bed, which wouldn’t do at all. Now, why don’t you both take your bags up? In the meantime, I’ll start breakfast. Bacon fine for the pair of you? Eggs? I’ve got the most wonderful free-range eggs from Joan’s chickens.’

  ‘This is awful,’ was the first thing Ellie said just as soon as the bedroom door was shut. She stared at James and tried to ignore the double bed dominating the small room and the vase of freshly picked flowers on the old-fashioned dressing table with the triple mirror. ‘Are you listening?’ she hissed, as he calmly peered through the window to the back garden and the acres of open countryside beyond.

  ‘I’m listening.’

  Ellie advanced a couple of steps into the bedroom. She’d dumped her small holdall on the bed and only now noticed that he had deposited his black leather overnight bag next to hers. They sat there, touching, like a couple of mocking reminders of the time they had spent in bed together.

  Annoyed, she snatched hers and dumped it on the chair by the dressing table.

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘I’m confused by your use of the plural. Haven’t I already done my bit?’

  ‘You’ve done more than just your bit.’ Ellie thought of her mother preening and gazing at him, clearly mentally uploading photos of him as her future son-in-law about whom she would be able to boast to all the neighbours.

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘You...you... There was no need to go overboard with the charm!’ Ellie exclaimed despairingly.

  ‘I thought we’d agreed that it would be a good idea for me not to be cast in the role of ruthless, womanising cad? I thought...’

  He paused and looked at her with his head tilted to one side. ‘I thought we’d come to the conclusion that if you didn’t want your mother unduly worrying it would be a good idea for her to at least understand that what we shared did not involve you being taken advantage of. Or, worse, didn’t involve you losing all sense of good judgement—at which point she might imagine that you were setting a precedent for making up for lost time by having random sex with guys who were no good for you?’

  ‘Yes, but...’

  ‘But nothing, Ellie. I’m here because you’ve been thrown into the deep end by Naomi and, believe it or not, I accept a great deal of responsibility for that. I’m willing to do what I can to level the playing field, but don’t forget that my presence here is for your benefit.’ He shrugged. ‘Left to me, I would brush off the inconvenient rumours without thinking too hard about it.’

  ‘I k
now.’ Ellie sighed. Could she blame him for being himself? He charmed. Could she blame her mother for warming to his charm? No.

  She’d always had the choice to do what he would have done—to shrug off the inconvenient rumours without going into a tailspin. She could have explained everything to her mother over the telephone. She could have braved out the curiosity and gossip at work, knowing that everything faded in the fullness of time.

  She hadn’t, so here she was, and she surely couldn’t start laying into him for just playing the part she’d asked him to play?

  Which didn’t mean that she didn’t despair of the situation.

  ‘I’ll sort it out,’ she assured him. ‘You stay put here. Unpack. Have a shower. No en suite bathroom, but there’s one at the end of the landing. Mum’s probably put towels in there for us.’ She tried to conceal a treacherous shiver at the thought of him standing naked under the shower, face upturned, eyes closed as the water poured over his impressive body. ‘I don’t care what you do but let me have half an hour or so to fill her in. The scenery outside is amazing. You can...er...stare through the window and appreciate it.’

  Ellie didn’t give him time to muse on the joys of doing what she’d just told him to do. She raced down to the kitchen to find her mother busily setting the pine table. In the centre there was bunch of freshly picked flowers in a vase. The bread was out of the oven and Ellie’s mouth watered.

  Her mother was pottering, humming something under her breath, and for a just a second Ellie was catapulted back in time to when her dad had still been alive...when this was what life had been like...when life for her mother had been a place where humming took place and baking was a thing of pleasure.

  She breathed in deeply and stepped forward with a smile pinned to her face.

  * * *

  James gave her half an hour. Picturesque though the scenery was, indeed as beautiful in its own grey majesty as the blistering blue skies on the opposite side of the world, there was only so much he could stare at when his mind was busy trying to project to whatever scene was taking place in the kitchen downstairs.