by Tara Bond
“Oh, I love this!” Helena cried. She cocked an eyebrow. “Fancy hitting the dance floor?”
To my surprise, she looked deadly serious. It seemed the Christmas party was bringing out a new side in her tonight. The more pop-y beat had everyone flooding onto the dance floor, but it was too early in the evening for me—I needed some food first. I was about to refuse, but the words stuck in my throat as another familiar face caught my eye—it was Richard, standing a few metres away. He looked tall and dignified in black tie, and I felt the slow flip of my stomach that seemed to be happening whenever he was around lately.
He hadn’t spotted me yet, which gave me a chance to stare. He was deep in conversation with Davenport’s managing director, Chris Lamb, and a petite redhead, whom I assumed was his wife. There was another woman in the group, tall and elegant in a bias-cut white satin evening gown, with silky dark hair falling like a ribbon down her bare back. She was facing away from me at first, and so I simply assumed she was someone from the firm I didn’t recognise. But then Richard must have said something funny, because she turned to laugh, laying a manicured hand on his arm—and that’s when I saw her high cheekbones, English rose complexion and green cat’s eyes, and realised who she was: Petra Hawthorne.
I instinctively took a step backwards, the shock of her being here was like a physical blow. I thought back to what Richard had told me when we went down to my parents’—he’d said that they were over. Had he lied? Or had my clumsy attempt at making a pass at him driven him back into her arms?
“Are you all right?” Helena touched me lightly on the shoulder. I tore my eyes away and focused instead on my boss. Her look of concern told me just how much seeing Petra with Richard had shaken me.
Somehow I managed a smile. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” Her eyes flicked over in Richard’s direction, and I wondered how much she’d figured out. She was, after all, pretty shrewd. And she was also, unlike Rex, entirely discreet. If she did suspect anything, she’d never mention it unless I brought it up.
I threaded my arm through hers and forced a bright smile. “Just desperate to get out there and dance!”
I pulled her over to the dance floor, and concentrated on looking like I was having the time of my life.
* * *
We spent the next couple of hours dancing. Helena was a surprisingly good dancer—was there anything she couldn’t do?—and moved with a natural rhythm that had everyone looking on. Luckily, we joined up with another group from the Creative Department, so I was able to bop around with them. It was a typical Christmas party—everyone taking the opportunity to let their hair down after a hard year.
Around ten, the DJ took a break, and the master of ceremonies came onstage to get the room’s attention. “I understand that your CEO, Richard Davenport, wants to say a few words.”
The waiters were coming round with more champagne, in preparation for what I assumed would be a toast.
Richard took to the stage, and I felt my heart do a little flip. He looked like he’d been born to wear a tux, reminding me of a young James Bond. As he began to speak, the crowd surged towards the stage, but I moved to the side, taking refuge in one of the brick archways. I wanted to be out of sight, so I didn’t give my feelings away. I took a sip of champagne, trying to calm myself, but my gaze was drawn back to Richard. I knew I was staring, but fortunately everyone else was looking at him, too, so it wouldn’t be noticeable. I decided to make the most of the opportunity.
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
The voice made me jump. I turned to find Petra standing behind me. Close up, I could see just how stunning she looked in a floor-length white satin sheath dress—a simple, classic look. Next to her, in my clinging red velvet, I felt tacky and obvious.
But her eyes weren’t on me—she was looking across the room at Richard.
“I’m referring to Richard, by the way,” she said, finally shifting her attention to me. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
My arms folded protectively over my chest, an instinctive move. “I don’t know what you mean—” I started, but she waved a hand, cutting me off.
“Oh, don’t bother lying to me.” Her eyes were narrow like a cat’s, and suddenly the nice girl act was dropped. “I never liked the two of you spending time together, but at least at first neither of you wanted to see the other in a romantic way. Then that last time we ran into you, it was written all over your face.”
I thought back to the time she was referring to—that night we’d run into her in Davenport’s reception area. It was about the time I’d realised I had a crush on Richard. But that’s all it was, surely? How could she think I was in love with him?
“You’re wrong—”
Petra gave a light chuckle. “Am I? Well, I can understand why you couldn’t admit it to yourself. You honestly think he’s going to want anything to do with a whore like you?” She shook her head, as though she’d never heard anything so ridiculous. “I mean, exactly how many guys have you slept with? Do you even know? And you think a sought-after man like Richard, who could have his pick of women, is going to so much as look at you?”
“Maybe not,” I fired back, refusing to let her see that she’d hurt me. “But from what I heard, he isn’t particularly interested in an uptight bitch like you, either. Didn’t he dump your over-primped arse?”
But instead of looking fazed by my attack, Petra simply shrugged. “That’s right. We did break up. But we’re here together now.” A little smile played around her mouth. “And even if it doesn’t ultimately work out between us, let’s face it—when he does settle down, I can guarantee that it’ll be with someone who’s more like me than you.”
I wanted to cut her down with a sharp retort—I really did. But there was nothing I could say to that, because honestly, deep down I knew she was right.
Petra could obviously see that she’d got the reaction she’d wanted, so she raised her glass to me. “Enjoy your evening, Charlotte.”
Then she picked up the skirt of her gown, and swept off, leaving me standing alone.
I looked back over at Richard, who was concluding his speech, to a round of applause. What had I been thinking? That I could change my hair and put on a pretty dress and somehow make him want me? Whatever I did, he’d never see me as anything other than the immature party girl, who slept her way through London.
I tore my eyes away from him, and swept the room. My gaze finally settled on Miles Fairfax, the obnoxious accounts manager who had briefed us on PURE before I screwed up. He was sitting up at the bar, not even bothering to pretend he was listening to Richard’s speech.
I walked over and slid onto the stool next to him. He swivelled round to face me. If he was surprised to see me there, he didn’t show it. His eyes swept over me, spending far too long on my cleavage, and I could see a spark of interest. Miles had never once acknowledged me in the office—I was of no use to him there—but it was clearly going to be a different matter tonight.
“Hey . . . you.” I could see him searching for my name, and failing to recall it. I didn’t give a damn. All that I cared about right now were the endless stories I’d heard of him bedding half the ladies at Davenport’s. He fixed me with what he no doubt considered to be his most winning smile. “You’re looking stunning tonight, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“You scrubbed up pretty well yourself.” I signalled for the bartender, and flashed Miles my party-girl grin. “So—what’re we drinking?”
Chapter 20
“Another one?” Miles held up the tequila bottle for my perusal. He had to shout to be heard over the music. I knew the answer he was looking for, but I couldn’t find it in me to give it to him. The thought of getting wasted with him made me feel nothing except exhaustion.
Miles and I were three shots in, but unfortunately the alcohol hadn’t made him seem any more appealing. He’d spent most of the past half hour telling me how great he was at his job, which was t
rue, but also frankly boring. But that had never been a deal-breaker for me before. A few months back, I’d routinely taken guys to bed who were much bigger jackasses than him. When had I become so discerning?
“I’ll skip this round,” I said.
He gave a suit-yourself shrug, and poured another shot for himself. As he downed it, I swivelled my bar stool so I was facing away from him, and looking out into the crowd of partygoers. I wasn’t even aware of what I was looking for at first, and then my eyes found Richard.
He was standing in a group, chatting, but his gaze kept flicking over to me—and Miles. Knowing Richard was watching us suddenly made me reassess the whole situation. I wanted to show him that he was nothing to me—that when I’d kissed him it had meant as little to me as it apparently had to him. And I knew exactly how to do that.
I turned my attention back to Miles. He’d just poured himself another shot. It was halfway to his lips, when I caught hold of his hand. Looking up at him beneath lowered lashes, I took the glass from him, and downed the shot.
“What do you think about getting out of here?” I drawled.
Miles blinked a couple of times, obviously confused by my sudden about-face and wondering if I was being serious. “You what?”
“You heard me.” I slid from the stool and took him by the hand. “Come on. Let’s find somewhere that we can be alone.”
A slow grin spread over Miles’s face. “Why not?”
I flicked a look over at Richard, just to make sure he was still watching. His eyes were narrow, his jaw tight. Then I tossed my head back and started to lead Miles towards the exit.
We were almost at the door when Richard materialised in front of us. He ignored Miles, and fixed his gaze on me.
“Charlotte.” He spoke my name with a quiet fury. His eyes glittered with anger, and I could see it was taking all his self-control not to explode. “Can you come with me for a moment, please?”
Before I had a chance to object, he took me by the elbow, and began to usher me outside. I could guess that as much as he wanted to talk to me, he also didn’t want to create a scene when everyone who worked for him could see. It crossed my mind to refuse to go with him, but deep down I knew that this was what I’d wanted all along—to get his attention.
“Hey—” Miles began to object, but a look from Richard silenced him and he held up his hands and backed off.
My heart was hammering hard in my chest as Richard led me outside into a large, empty hallway. I had no idea what he was planning to say or do, but I sensed that we were at a turning point, and all I could do was wait to see how it played out. The doors to the Great Hall slammed shut behind us, so all we could hear out there were the muffled sounds of the party. Richard looked around. His eyes settled on a side room. He walked over, and checked that there was no one inside.
“In here,” he commanded. I did as he said and went in. It was a small conference room, with an oval table in the middle that could accommodate twelve people. It must have been where the Vinopolis staff held their meetings.
As soon as the door was closed, Richard rounded on me. “What the hell were you playing at in there?”
I leaned back against the table, affecting boredom. “What did it look like? Trying to get laid.”
His mouth twisted in disgust. “Jesus, Charlotte—”
“What?” I challenged. “You don’t like that I sleep around?”
Petra’s words were still ringing in my head. I hated that her slut-shaming had bothered me so much. And I was determined to defend myself. If Richard didn’t want me because I slept around, then that was his problem. But I refused to feel bad about this a second longer.
“What is it with men and their double standards?” I shook my head in disgust. “If I was a guy, you’d be slapping me on the back and congratulating me. Instead, because I’m female, you act like there’s something wrong with me because I enjoy sex. Like I’m damaged goods or something.”
Richard’s eyes widened. “Is that seriously what you think? Because trust me, nothing could be farther from the truth. I have no problem with a woman enjoying sex, or having as many partners as she wants. But what I hate is seeing you lowering yourself to sleeping with men who are beneath you. Men like that scum”—he spat out the word—“in there. Because I know you’re better than that. And I just want you to realise it.”
Now I was confused. “If that’s the case, then why did you push me away that night in my flat?” A horrible thought occurred to me. “Oh God. Do you really find me that repulsive?”
He rolled his eyes in exasperation. “No. It wasn’t that.”
“Then what was it? Why don’t you want me?”
He turned away. “Just leave it, Charlotte—”
“I can’t! I need to know—”
“Because I was scared!” He whirled round, his eyes flashing with pent-up anger. “Because I was scared of how I felt about you!”
It took me a moment to work out what he was saying. Had I heard him right? Because if I had, then it sounded like he had feelings for me.
Anticipation reared inside me. I was suddenly completely sober.
“I don’t understand.” My eyes searched his. “What exactly are you saying?”
He turned away and walked towards the window that looked out on the street below. In the reflection, I could see him sigh, and run a hand across his face. For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he started to speak, in a hollow, almost distant voice.
“Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that every person I’ve cared about has died? First my parents, which was bad enough, and then your brother. Do you know what it’s like to recover from losses like that? How hard it is not to let the grief consume you? It’s one of the reasons I haven’t wanted to get close to any woman over the years. And up until now, it’s worked for me. Because I’d never met anyone whom I felt strongly enough to want to let in.”
He paused, and turned to face me. “And then I find myself developing feelings for you, of all people. I’ve always cared about you, about your family, but lately . . . it’s been different. Something changed between us.”
I could see the confusion on his face, and understood it—because I’d felt it, too. That odd sensation of being around someone for so long, but only just feeling like you were getting to know him.
“So I find myself falling for you . . . this person who’s living her life on self-destruct.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Do you know how terrifying that is? That night in your flat, when you kissed me, all I could think was: How can I be with someone who seems to have a death wish? Who has so little regard for her life?” There was a catch in his throat, the sound of real agony. “Because I couldn’t stand to lose anyone else. And I’m not sure you can promise to keep yourself safe.
“So that’s why I pulled away that night—because I didn’t want to get close to you. Because if I do—if I allow myself to feel what I’m feeling—I also open myself up to all the pain that would come with losing you.”
I stood, stunned. It had never occurred to me before that Richard had been so deeply affected by what had happened. I knew of course that he’d grieved for his parents and for Kit—I appreciated that they were both devastating moments in his life. But he’d always seemed so together, as though he could cope with anything. It was a shock to find that he was frightened, too.
“Then why are you here?” I said finally. “If you’re scared to be with me?”
His face softened. “Because I realised tonight that I’m more scared to be without you.” He took a step towards me. “Seeing you with Miles . . . I couldn’t stand the thought of you being with him. And that’s when I knew, however much I might want to deny it, I’m falling for you.”
I felt happiness surge up inside me. Part of me just wanted to end the conversation there, and let him kiss me, but there was something that was still bothering me. I stepped back away from him, so I could keep my head clear. For once, I wanted to think before I ac
ted. “But I don’t understand. If that’s how you feel about me, then why did you bring Petra tonight?”
“Petra?” He looked genuinely confused. “I didn’t.”
“Oh, please. I saw her talking to you earlier.” Not to mention what she said to me, I wanted to add. His face cleared. “Yes, she’s here tonight, but not as my date. She started seeing Carl Wilcox, one of the art directors, after they worked on a shoot together. She’s with him.”
The events of the evening clicked into place. How naïve guys could be. Petra might be here with Carl, but she was still clearly after Richard. But I suppose as long as he wasn’t interested back, then there was no harm.
“I guess I got it wrong,” I said. I could have told him about what Petra had said, but somehow I didn’t feel inclined to now. Knowing she was still hung up on Richard, and yet he was here with me, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.
“I guess you did.” He smiled a little. “But it’s nice to see you jealous. Now,” he said, drawing closer to me, “have I answered every question to your satisfaction?”
Before I had a chance to respond, he kissed me.
Unlike last time, in my flat, there was no sense of him holding back and taking things slow. His mouth was firm and demanding against mine, his hands in my hair, as he kissed me like his life depended on it. The control he usually displayed seemed to have deserted him. He couldn’t seem to get enough of me, and before I knew what was happening, he was backing me up against the table, lifting me in one deft move so I was sitting on top of it. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. As his erection rubbed against the gusset of my underwear, I felt myself moisten. It reminded me of how I’d reacted that night we’d kissed in my flat. My body seemed to respond to him in ways I never remembered experiencing before.
But I didn’t want to start analysing that now. Instead I tugged out his shirt, my hands smoothing over the warm flesh of his back. His lips were on my neck, and my head dropped back. It was only when I reached for the zipper of his trousers that I felt Richard tense. His hands came down to stop me, and with a groan of frustration, he pulled away.