The Wealthy Man's Waitress (HQR Presents)

by Maggie Cox

  But all the same, the man had got to her. That fact alone scared Emma witless. After an abortive attempt at a relationship shortly after her nineteenth birthday, Emma had more or less decided on the single life. The man she’d been involved with had been an economics lecturer at her secretarial college who’d told her at the time that he was divorced and living alone. Three months into the relationship Emma had found out that he was still married, living quite amicably with his wife and was the father of two young children. His deceit had made her feel used and dirty, and merely confirmed what she’d known all along—that she was better off on her own. She hadn’t even wanted to stay and get her diploma. Instead she’d decided on a complete change of pace and, at her friend Fleur’s instigation, had gone to work for Liz and Adam Morrison at The Avenue, a popular and trendy bistro not far from where Emma lived.

  Six years later she was still there. ‘So?’ she muttered aloud. ‘We’re not all cut out to be rocket scientists or corporate millionaires. Some of us have responsibilities.’ Giving her tea a vigorous stir, Emma shrugged off more threatening introspection and glared up instead at the ceiling, where several heavy thumps suddenly echoed.

  ‘What the hell are you doing up there, Lawrence?’

  Minutes later, her short eau-de-Nil silk wrap that had been a rare extravagance fastened securely at the waist, Emma pounded up the stairs to find out what was going on. It didn’t surprise or faze her when Lawrence answered the door wearing nothing but navy blue boxers with a cheerful football motif on and a cheeky grin as wide as the English Channel.

  ‘Emma, my darling! Am I keeping you awake?’

  ‘You know damn well you are!’ Peering past his shoulder into the room beyond, Emma stared in disbelief at the mess—in the middle of which sat some kind of wire and clay monstrosity that vaguely resembled a man with his head in his hands. ‘What on earth are you doing at this time of night? It sounds as if you’re digging your own Channel Tunnel in the living room! Did it ever occur to you that some of us need to sleep?’

  ‘Well…you know Rodin’s Thinker? Well, it inspired me to come up with something similar. I can’t just do pottery, Em, it would drive me stark, staring mad, so I’m diversifying into some sculpture. I’ve called it, Now the Thinking’s Over. Cool, huh?’

  Emma told herself she was having a bad dream. ‘You are as mad as a March hare!’

  Lawrence grinned back, unabashed. ‘Wasn’t it the Hatter who was supposed to be mad?’

  ‘I don’t believe I’m having this conversation.’ Folding her arms crossly across her chest, Emma scowled. ‘It’s all very well having an artistic urge in the middle of the night, Lawrence, but surely even you must have realised that other people need to sleep so they can work the next day?’

  ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, I truly am, but now that you’re here there was something I wanted to say to you.’ Taking a surreptitious glance over his shoulder, Lawrence stepped out into the draughty passage, flicked up the catch and pulled the door behind him. ‘Vicky’s the jealous type, I’m afraid. Wouldn’t be happy seeing me talking to another woman dressed only in her nightwear…very nice nightwear, too.’

  Releasing a long-suffering sigh, Emma rolled her eyes. Face to face with Lawrence for the first time since the unpleasantness between them, she realised very quickly she was anything but heartbroken about him and his latest girlfriend.

  ‘So you’ve established at least that her name is Vicky, not Nicky?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Never mind. What was it you wanted to tell me?’ Shivering, Emma briskly rubbed her chilled arms beneath the thin silk of her robe.

  ‘I’m really sorry for what I said the other day. It was totally out of order and frankly I didn’t expect you to ever want to speak to me again. And I didn’t really expect you to persuade my father in the way I hinted. You do believe me, don’t you?’

  Emma’s foolish heart squeezed at the earnestness on his boyish face. She’d always known she was a pushover, and this probably just confirmed it. ‘You’re forgiven,’ she said, shrugging. ‘You’re starting a new life down in Cornwall… I don’t want us to part on bad terms.’

  ‘Thanks, Em. And it’s totally down to you that I’m able to go in the first place. If you hadn’t gone to the old man on my behalf I would never—’

  ‘He’s not old.’ Her interruption was automatic.

  Lawrence’s blue eyes narrowed. ‘He’s not in bad shape for forty-two, I agree.’

  Forty-two? He looks more like thirty-five… Emma mused silently, then guiltily caught the flicker of deeper interest that flashed across Lawrence’s face. ‘He’s always been able to turn on the charm with women but I don’t suppose being filthy rich hurts either,’ he said disparagingly.

  Dismayed at his attitude, Emma glanced down at the cracked terracotta linoleum under her feet. ‘Anyway, he agreed to help you in the end. He can’t be all bad.’

  ‘Taking his side, are you?’ There was a flash of temper in the deceptively friendly blue eyes and Emma’s stomach roiled a little.

  ‘I’m not taking anyone’s side,’ she said dismissively. ‘Your father’s the last person in the world who needs someone to champion him, least of all me.’

  ‘I wish you were coming with me instead of Vicky.’ Reaching out his hand, Lawrence let his finger trail softly down Emma’s cheek. ‘We could have been good together, Em. You understand me better than anybody else I know.’

  Not true, Emma thought sadly. She was only too painfully aware just how badly she’d misjudged her friend’s character. Stepping back out of reach, she touched her cheek where he’d trailed his finger, wishing she could erase his touch forever. ‘You’ll be much better off with Vicky, I’m sure. Besides, I could never have gone with you, Lawrence. Not with my gran just about to go into hospital.’

  ‘She’s lucky to have such a kind, caring granddaughter.’

  ‘You’d love her too if you knew her.’ Shivering on the draughty landing, Emma smiled briefly then put her hand on the banister to go back downstairs. ‘I’m glad your father’s decided to help you,’ she said, quickly changing the subject. Sometimes just the thought of her gran and the operation she had to face was just too overwhelming. ‘When you’re settled, perhaps I’ll come down and visit.’

  ‘Yes, you must.’

  ‘Well.’ Emma smiled and shrugged again, then turned towards the stairs. ‘I’ll see you around…and Lawrence?’

  ‘Yes, Em?’

  ‘I respect your creative impulses but please could you try keeping the noise down?’

  ‘Sure. Anything for you, angel.’ Blowing her a kiss, Lawrence turned and went inside.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘EMMA…he’s out there!’

  ‘Who?’ But even as Liz clutched her by her shirtsleeve, Emma knew exactly who. Some inner sixth sense had made her watch her back from the moment she’d stepped through the door of the bistro around eleven that morning. Now as the two chefs, Paul and Marco, busied themselves around the bustling, hot kitchen, Emma stared at Liz and felt her knees almost buckle beneath her.

  ‘You must have made quite an impression for him to come back this soon. Shame he’s with another woman, though.’

  Emma told herself to breathe. Now what was he playing at? Whatever it was, it was a game she didn’t understand, and didn’t want to. All she wanted was for Piers Redfield to get out of her life and stay out. She rued the day she’d agreed to help Lawrence by going to see him.

  ‘Has he ordered food?’ she found herself asking. Examining her as if she was a crazy woman, Liz put her hands on her hips and shook her head. ‘No. People come into a restaurant at lunchtime to admire the décor… What do you think?’

  Sliding her too warm hands down the sides of her skirt, Emma wished her heartbeat would return to normal so that she could think. ‘So he’s had a menu?’

  ‘No, darling. He specifically asked for you to bring it.’ Without further preamble, Liz picked up two leather-bound menus from the t
rolley behind her and shoved them into Emma’s hands.

  ‘Take them to him, there’s a good girl. And put a smile on your face or you’ll frighten the customers!’

  Hanging back, Emma chewed down on her lip, her dark eyes huge and anxious as she stared back at Liz. ‘Tell him I’m indisposed…or…or tell him I’ve just had to pop out for a while! Tell him I’ve gone to the dentist. Please, Liz. Tell him anything you like but don’t make me go out there and speak to him. Please!’

  ‘Has he offended you in some way or said something to upset you?’

  ‘Not…specifically, no.’

  ‘Then what’s all the fuss about?’ Stepping aside as Marco squeezed past them in search of his number-one frying pan, Liz parted her red lips in a reassuring smile. ‘He’s just a man at the end of the day, sweetie. Granted, he might have more money than you could shake a stick at, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have needs just like anyone else and right now the man needs to eat. So take him the menu, smile that gorgeous smile of yours and keep him happy! You never know—next week he might be back with some of his rich friends. I can’t tell you what that would do for business!’

  So Emma found herself making her way with trepidation past the lunchtime crowd who were rapidly filling the tables to present Piers with a menu. He sat in one of the alcoves again, this time with a very attractive, extremely elegant blonde in a little black dress that looked as if it would cost Emma a year’s salary at least. There was a moneyed air around both of them, and already other customers were turning to look, perhaps silently speculating as to who they might be. Gathering up all her courage, Emma managed a smile just one notch up from frozen, presented Piers and his friend with their menus then stood back while his amused blue eyes silently and languidly appraised her.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t my favourite waitress.’

  She had a ridiculous desire to curtsy just to mock him, but when Piers’s gaze slid deliberately down her body in her white silk shirt, fitted black skirt and black hosiery he clearly wasn’t contemplating food and Emma’s courage almost marched out the door.

  ‘Mr Redfield…what brings you back to us so soon?’

  It was a question she hardly expected a reply to but she asked it anyway just to be contentious.

  ‘You have to ask?’ he drawled smoothly.

  ‘Piers told me he’d found this quaint little bistro quite off the beaten track,’ his blonde companion purred, her perfectly lipsticked smile for him alone. ‘It really is quite sweet. I hope the food is good… Is it?’

  ‘The Avenue might be off the beaten track, as you put it, but I can assure you we have a regular and very satisfied clientele because the food is second to none.’

  ‘In that case, what do you recommend?’ Piers asked, opening his menu. His cologne drifted under Emma’s nostrils and almost scrambled her brain with its latent sexiness. When he stopped studying the menu to give her his full and exclusive attention, Emma shivered, wishing she knew a handy conjuring trick to make herself disappear.

  ‘What do I recommend?’ She blinked, like an owl trying to adjust its sight to the dawn. ‘Erm…it depends whether you prefer a vegetarian option or…or meat.’

  ‘Got any fish on the menu?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her cheeks burning, Emma prayed for the day’s selection to helpfully spring to mind. ‘We have a very good bouillabaisse that’s very popular and also monkfish with Muscadet and cream. And—and all the meals are served with fresh seasonal vegetables or a green salad.’

  She felt like an inexperienced junior on her very first day in the restaurant and hated every moment she stood there, while in contrast Piers appeared to find great amusement in her discomfort.

  ‘Caroline? Are you happy to go with the monkfish?’

  His companion would happily eat sheep’s eyes if Piers thought it was a good idea, Emma observed scornfully.

  ‘We’ll go with the monkfish and vegetables, and could you bring us some wine?’ He named a specific white that Emma knew straight away was the most exclusive bottle of wine on the menu.

  ‘Of course.’ Gathering up the menus, relief at being allowed a reprieve from such rarefied company already making her breathe more easily, Emma flinched in shock when Piers’s hand came out and caught hold of hers. ‘I’d like to speak to you afterwards… Can you spare five minutes?’

  Glancing anxiously at the blonde Caroline, who was busy delving into her purse for something, Emma hardly knew what to say, especially when Piers held on to her hand when she would have tugged it free. ‘I—we’re very busy. Can it wait until another time?’

  ‘No. It can’t.’

  The pad of his thumb stroked the soft, delicate skin just below her knuckles, making no secret of the fact. For a moment or two Emma completely lost her bearings. It was apparent he felt her tremble just before she discreetly pulled her hand free—the reaction of his suddenly darkened pupils attested to that and she’d bet her best ever tip that he took great pleasure in the fact that he could disarm her so easily. Whatever the case, when she granted him his insisted-upon five minutes after lunch he was going to get a piece of her mind—whether the lovely Caroline was with him or not!

  ‘You were right, the meal was first class. I won’t hesitate in recommending this place to my friends.’

  Liz would put out the flags and arrange a fly-past by the Red Devils, no doubt. Walking out onto the square paved patio at the back of the restaurant, where tubs of autumnal blooms lent a sweet fragrance to the air, Emma shifted from one foot to the other, eager for Piers to rejoin his lady friend, who had popped into the washroom to freshen her make-up. ‘What is it you want, Mr Redfield? You can see we’re busy and I don’t think my employers will be too happy with me wasting time out here when I should be working.’

  He stood unflinching, his expression remaining maddeningly enigmatic as though nothing she said or did could faze him in the slightest. ‘It’s been my experience that most restaurants welcome my patronage with open arms, sweetheart. I don’t think your employers are going to kick up a fuss if I steal you away for a few minutes. Do you?’

  But Emma didn’t want to be stolen away…not by anyone. And certainly not by this particular man, who seemed to cast some sort of seductive spell on her just by looking at her. No man had a right to possess such searching, dazzling blue eyes, she thought resentfully, or to smell and look so good that a girl couldn’t help thinking that she’d wandered onto the glossy magazine pages of the lifestyles of the rich and famous. ‘All right, then,’ Emma conceded, her arms crossing her chest to keep out the cold. ‘You’ve got your precious few minutes. Why did you want to see me?’

  ‘I’m going away for the weekend to Paris on business. I’d very much like you to come with me.’

  Emma decided she’d misheard him. Her brain was so scrambled by the fact this man could have any interest in her at all that she thought she’d imagined his startling invitation.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  She was delightful and gorgeous, Piers thought with heat as he gazed hungrily into her liquid brown eyes. And if he didn’t have some time alone with her soon he might—just might—lose his mind. Even the fact that she’d been sent by Lawrence to plead for money hadn’t dampened his almost instantaneous attraction. And the fact that she seemed so determined to keep him at a distance merely inflamed his desire even more.

  ‘I’m going to Paris and I’d like you to come with me.’

  ‘In what capacity?’

  Piers laughed out loud, those dazzling blue eyes of his crinkling sexily at the corners and his handsome features even more devastatingly gorgeous as he gave way to humour.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Bewildered and embarrassed, Emma dropped her arms to her sides and stared.

  ‘I’m sorry, Emma, but you have a unique way of putting things.’ He stepped closer and she had to look up to meet his suddenly more serious gaze. The scent of man and heat swirled around her, making her feel strangely weak. ‘In what capacity do you think?�
�� he drawled softly.

  He expects me to be able to think? Panic flooded through her as Emma absorbed the full implications of his mildly posed question. Piers Redfield—one of the UK’s richest and most eligible bachelors—wanted to take her to Paris and seduce her. The premise was so unreal that for a moment or two she couldn’t find the words to reply.

  ‘I think you’re inviting the wrong girl,’ she said huskily, her cheeks turning a dusky rose. ‘Aren’t you forgetting the lady you brought to lunch?’

  ‘Caroline?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my best friend’s wife and she was at a loose end today so I invited her to lunch.’ And I brought her along in the hope it would make you jealous…

  ‘Look, thanks for thinking of me but no. I’m not interested. I hope you have a good trip all the same.’

  When Emma turned away to go back inside, Piers’s good-humoured patience finally snapped. Fastening his fingers around the delicate bones of her wrist, he hauled her back to face him. ‘Did you lie to me about Lawrence?’ he demanded.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Her heart pounding, Emma tried to twist her wrist free.

  ‘Is it him you want?’

  ‘Of course not! For your information, Mr Redfield, I don’t want any man! All they do is cause trouble and grief and why would I want that in my life when I’m having a hard enough time as it is already?’

  The anguish that laced her words hit Piers like a lightning bolt. He abruptly dropped her wrist then watched, pained, as she rubbed at the red discoloration he’d left on her delicate white skin. ‘I’m sorry.’ A muscle contracted in his cheekbone, heralding his genuine remorse. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. Forgive me.’

  Emma wished she didn’t feel as if she was going to burst into tears, but she did. ‘It’s all right. I mark easily, that’s all.’

  ‘It’s not all right! People sue for far less, as I’m sure you’re aware.’