by Clare London
“Hey, Your Highness!” Stuart called over. “You gotcha personal helicopter? There’s another three pallets to shift.” The vehicle trundled on up the aisle, Stuart’s laughter ringing in Alex’s ears, and Jamie trotting after the truck like a loyal puppy.
Jesus. That nickname would give Alex nightmares. And he hadn’t been called kid or boy so many times since he left school. He wondered if that was because these guys were less politically correct—or his family and friends had never had the balls?
Either way, it was bloody wearing.
Chapter Five
AT afternoon break time, Tate thought he should check up on the new guy. He always monitored new staff, didn’t he? Nothing to do with wanting to check out Alex Goodson for personal reasons, take another look at the man’s good looks and that strange mixture of naivety and confidence. That cool, sensual handshake, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, the flicker of sexual interest in his expression.
As Lou would say, “Yeah. Right.”
He decided to check in with Percy first, who was using Tate’s office to chase up the shipment that was being held by customs. Tate dropped into the chair on the visitor side of the desk, and asked with deliberate casualness, “How’s the new intern doing? Goodson, isn’t it?”
Percy didn’t look up from the pile of manifests he was checking. “His Royal Highness, Prince Harry?”
Tate snorted a laugh. “Really? That’s what you’re calling him?” It was inevitable, he supposed—Alex Goodson spoke like a toff, and exuded an unfortunate sense of entitlement in every move he made. Unfortunate for a newbie worker in the Bonfils warehouse, that is. But Percy proceeded to surprise Tate.
“The kid’s okay.” Percy grunted, licked his finger, and flicked through another few pages.
“Yeah? You think we should keep him on?”
Percy paused and looked up. “That’s y’r call, isn’t it?”
“I… yes, it is. If he’s pulling his weight.”
Percy took a long moment before replying. “Boy’s a fool who says the wrong thing at the wrong time. I’d say he’s never had a proper job in his life. But from what I’ve seen today, he learns fast and he’s a hard worker. And y’ know how I know that?”
“Because you’ve thrown everything in his way?” Tate said shrewdly. He knew from past experience how mercilessly Percy tested the new recruits.
“Best way. Sink or swim, that’s my way.” Percy shrugged. “He’ll learn to keep his head down. Don’t know if he’ll learn to stop oglin’ y’, though.”
“Me?” Tate blinked hard. Ogling?
Percy turned his attention back to his paperwork. If Tate hadn’t known better, he’d have taken the twist of Percy’s mouth to be a small smile. “Undressin’ y’ every step of his way, boy, and making a poor job of hidin’ it. Y’ve made a conquest there.”
“Don’t be daft. And I’m not looking for a conquest, like you say.”
Percy’s expressive eyebrow twitched, nothing more.
Tate left the office more disturbed than he wanted to be. He concentrated on projecting nothing but objective professionalism when he found Alex sitting by the water cooler, sipping gingerly at a plastic cup of water. “No tea or coffee?” Tate asked, opening out another folding chair to join Alex.
“Are you kidding me? People choose voluntarily to drink that stuff?” Alex then seemed to realize who he was talking to. “That’s their choice, of course. Mine is to avoid stripping out the lining of my small intestine if it can be avoided.”
Tate gave a wry smile and glanced over at the few other staff still gathered around the vending machine. One of the guys waved to Tate, another gave a mock bow in Alex’s direction. A few of them laughed.
“Having trouble with the other guys?” Tate asked carefully. He didn’t condone bullying in the workplace, but he couldn’t have oversensitivity either.
“The Highness thing?” Alex grimaced. “No problem. I just call them ignorant peasants and we agree to rub along within the archaic British class system.” Then, when Tate stared at him, he laughed. “I’m joking. I can take the teasing, I’m not that thin-skinned. I know I’m the new boy—” He mischievously added a West Country burr to the word, in mimicry of Percy’s broad accent, “—and I have to stake my place in the hierarchy. They’ll soon get tired of it.”
Tate nodded, but he’d lost most of his concentration as soon as Alex smiled. What a change! It wasn’t the sardonic smirk he’d given when he originally took Tate’s hand, but a genuine grin of amusement. It seemed that the warehouse banter, rather than sending Alex Goodson off with his tail between his legs, had spurred him to stand up for himself. Tate felt rather sentimentally proud of the guy. “Percy says you’ve worked hard today.”
“Good of him to notice.” Alex tutted as if that should never have been in doubt. “From the way he’s been barking at me, I rather thought he was planning my public flogging.”
Tate shook his head with mild irritation. Alex should learn to take praise. Neither Percy nor Tate gave it out that often.
“Does that mean you agree with Percy? About the flogging?” Alex peered at Tate in a very unsettling way, then grinned. “I should warn you, I may like it. You never know, right?”
“What—? I don’t want…. I mean, of course I don’t agree.” Tate hoped to God he wasn’t blushing. What a bizarre bloke Alex was. It was as if he just opened his mouth and let any old wild words off their leads. Hadn’t anyone ever told him to watch himself?
“So you’ll keep me?” Alex said, more softly.
“In the job, you mean?” Tate wasn’t falling for that seductive tone again.
“Yes indeed.”
They gazed at each other for another of those charged moments. Tate’s skin felt uncomfortable: his fingertips itched and his throat dried. He knew, without any doubt or hesitation that he wanted to be out of all his clothing and pressed against Alex Goodson. The thought was both shocking and terribly, wonderfully exciting.
“…won’t you?”
Shit. Alex had been talking to him. “I’m sorry?”
Alex’s smile turned down at the corners. “Wrong answer, Tate. You should have said, yes, I’d love to, Alex.”
“What?” God, he was being so bloody rude, but something about Alex had him in a state of complete confusion.
“I said, now you’re happy with my performance—I mean in the warehouse, of course—you’ll have a drink with me after work tonight, won’t you?”
Good God. The man’s arrogance was astounding. “That’s not appropriate. I’m your manager.”
Alex shrugged. “It happens. And this will be outside of work. You have a life outside, don’t you, Tate?”
“Yeah, I do, thanks very much.” What a nerve.
“I can pick you up, I’ll get a cab. Where do you live?”
“Forget it,” Tate said sharply. This was getting out of hand. “Anyway, I have a meeting after work.” Hell’s bells, was that an excuse, like he thought he owed Alex one? Like he was actually, genuinely tempted to go for a drink with him?
Those twinkling eyes, that half-arrogant, half self-deprecating smile….
It was the first time in a long time that Tate regretted being on call for one of his obligations. Despite Lou’s disgust, he hadn’t felt any guilt at dumping the pet shop guy for tonight’s work meeting. But Alex Goodson? Tate found he was leaning forward in his seat, his head too close to Alex’s for comfort. When Alex let out a long breath, Tate felt the warmth on his cheek. He instinctively lifted a hand, as if to touch Alex’s arm. Alex’s eyes widened slightly, entrancingly.
Watch out!
Tate reared back in his seat, hands safely back by his sides. “So where do you live?” he threw back. “Are you a local lad?”
Alex looked disconcerted. Tate suspected the man was rarely refused. Well, Tate Somerton wasn’t going to be another notch on anyone’s bedpost, however attractive. Funny, though, how it didn’t give Tate any great sense of satisfaction to turn
Alex down.
When Alex spoke again, his tone had flattened. “I just moved here. I… um, well I don’t have a permanent place yet.”
Tate nodded sympathetically. “Staying in rented rooms is no fun. Or is it a hotel?” God, he was being rude yet again. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”
Alex was looking at him with a strange, soft expression. “No problem. I appreciate your concern. I’m staying at….” He paused as if trying to remember. “The Crown.”
“Wow. That’s a smart place.” Tate was startled. If Alex could afford to stay in a posh hotel, why was he chasing a basic intern’s job at Bonfils Bibendum?
“Is there anywhere to go, in that part of town?” Alex asked. He sipped his water absentmindedly. “Nightlife, bars, you know the thing.”
Tate knew exactly what kind of things, but he couldn’t call himself an expert on the social scene. When was the last time he’d been to a club? Oh hell, yeah, there’d been that night with the guy who said he worked for Amnesty International, but who seemed to have no problem with trying to curtail Tate’s personal freedom with a chokehold when Tate told the guy he wasn’t interested in sadomasochism….
“What’s that sigh for?” Alex asked, his head tilted sideways, his dark eyes quizzical.
“Nothing.” Tate needed to keep better control of his expressions, or he’d be sharing his disaster of a love life with everyone in the warehouse. “I’m fine.”
“Good. You can show me around the sights tonight, if you like.”
Alex smiled as if he was fully aware of how cheeky he was being. Tate had to admire his persistence.
“See? You’re smiling too, now.” Alex sounded gleeful. “You should do that more often, even if it’s at my expense. You’re irresistible. We’ll have a hell of a lot of fun together.”
The joke should end right here, Tate decided. He stood brusquely. “I think I made it clear enough. We’re not going out.”
Alex stood too. “Don’t be angry. I’m provocative, I know. But you can call the pace.”
“You are. And I’m not. Calling the pace, that is. Or anything. I’m not interested.”
“Oh, Tate.” Alex just looked at him with a rueful, I-sorta-hope-you’re-lying expression.
Dammit. Because Tate was.
Alex finished his water, and placed the plastic cup carefully, almost fastidiously, in the nearby bin. “I’m totally free tonight. I’ll wait around for you after work, in case you change your mind.”
“I told you, I’ve got a meeting—”
“Tate?” The small voice interrupted them. Neither of them had seen Jamie shuffle over. Kid was like a ghost sometimes.
“Percy told me to tell you, the forklift meeting tonight’s been postponed. They just rang down from HR.”
“It’s fate!” Alex said to Tate with obvious delight. “So what time will you finish work?”
Jamie’s eyes opened wide.
“Jamie, haven’t you got somewhere to be?” Tate said sharply. He waited until Jamie scurried away to where Stuart was backing up with some pallets, ready for the top shelf of a nearby bay, before turning on Alex. “What are you playing at?” he growled. “I’m not going on a date with you. Keep your mind on your work. Jesus, you only started today!”
“What has that to do with anything?” Alex was unfazed. “My approach is to strike while the iron is hot.”
“I’m not an iron,” Tate snapped.
“But you’re hot,” Alex shot back, the light of triumph sparking in his eyes.
Tate shouldn’t laugh at such a cheesy line—he really shouldn’t, however strong the temptation.
“But not for a date with you! That’s my final word on it.” Tate knew he’d won that exchange when Alex’s face fell. “Now we’d better both get back to work.” He folded up his chair and looked toward the office. He ought to give Percy a hand with that paperwork. They were still confirming the wine deliveries for the entertainment planned on the lead-up to the Heritage Awards, and this issue with the seized Merlot was disturbing. They’d never had any problem at the docks or with customs in all the time Tate had worked there.
“Are there problems with the warehouse equipment?” Alex asked, inches from Tate’s left ear.
“What?” Tate jumped, distracted as Alex crowded up against him. Alex’s cologne smelled surprisingly expensive, from what Tate knew of perfumes. Personally, he was more used to basic soap and water, plus the delicate layering of sweat after a day’s work.
“A meeting about forklifts, I think you said. I just wondered.”
Tate felt frozen in place. His body’s reactions warred with his brain’s caution. His Highness, Price Harry. That’s what the other guys were calling Alex. Not hot for a date with you, Tate had replied with spirit.
Was that the problem? Tate wouldn’t consider going on a date with Alex because he talked like posh totty? Have I got such a chip on my shoulder? Tate had a natural suspicion of people who were—or acted—his superior. Tate’s family had worked for Bonfils’s for a long, long time, and he was the first in his family to start climbing the management ladder. General opinion was, those positions were kept for the Bonfils family and their cronies. But was that still true? Tate had fought for staff rights for so long, but against general inequality and discrimination, rather than for his own benefit. Mr. Charles and Mr. Henri were both pretty fair bosses, unlike some places Tate had heard about. If he could just pluck up a little more nerve and look into higher roles….
But. But. What upper-class, traditionally-run company would welcome an outspoken, working-class creature like him into the fold?
Alex tapped him on the shoulder.
“Sorry?” Tate asked. What had Alex asked?
“I reckon you know all about the Bonfils business, being on all these committees. Plus I believe you’re in charge of security here in the warehouse? I just wondered…” Alex had half-turned his head away and Tate couldn’t clearly see his expression. “…if there were problems in the company.”
“Not at all.”
“Oh. Sure. I’m just new to this place. I didn’t mean to pry.”
How did Alex do that? Apologize, yet not? “But you are prying, aren’t you?” Tate felt an odd unease. He took a deliberate step away from Alex.
Alex held up his hands as if in surrender. “Sorry. I will curb my instinctive inquisitiveness forthwith.”
“You what?” Tate couldn’t hold back a short laugh.
Alex smiled in return, apparently encouraged all over again. “But at least there’s no problem with us, is there?”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“We’re both free tonight. You can come for a drink.”
“I said no, didn’t I? I have….” A genuine excuse? Another date? A trip to the moon? “I have to go grocery shopping.” Oh my God, how lame is that?
Alex shrugged. “Good. I’ll help you.”
“Why on earth would you?” Rudeness was becoming Tate’s default. But nothing seemed to upset Alex.
“I’d like to. As a friend.”
“Don’t you have anything better to go home to?” And that was just downright cruel. Even Alex’s careless expression tightened at that. “I’m sorry,” Tate said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Alex shrugged again, and his smile was warmer. “No, I asked for it.”
But was that true? Alex’s expression was momentarily blank, too blank. All he’d done was chat up Tate, amusing him, using language Tate hadn’t heard since Gran had last back-to-backed her Agatha Christie box set. That wasn’t a crime in anyone’s books.
And you want to share time with him, don’t you?
Tate’s shamed fascination weakened his resolve. “Okay. I finish at six. Meet me by the side exit. I’m taking the bus, and that door’s nearest the stop.”
“I’ll call a cab—”
“No, you won’t,” Tate said firmly. “I can manage by bus. And it’s not a date.”
A
lex nodded, though he looked amused rather than chastened. “We’ll do things your way, Tate.”
“What makes me think that’s a novelty for you, Alex?” Tate sighed, but felt an unusual hiccup in his breath in anticipation of unexpected company. “Do you always do just what you want? That’s not going to go well for you, working here.”
“It just has to go well enough,” Alex said cryptically.
And Tate didn’t know what to make of that.
Chapter Six
SO how on earth had he been talked into taking Alex Goodson grocery shopping?
Tate had no clear idea, but here they both were in Tate’s local store. For some reason, Alex had seemed reluctant to go home—and Tate didn’t fool himself that it was only because Alex was chasing a date. But Tate, God help him, seemed to be equally reluctant to resist more time with Alex. Looked like he needed to get out more, if he was so delighted to stand next to a clueless new intern in the vegetable aisle, right beside the packs of French beans, however handsome that intern might be. That was what Lou was always telling him, anyway. But Alex had pursued him, and befuddled Tate’s traitorous libido with those particular, handsome looks, and basically worn Tate down with his daft chat-up lines.
Tate was honest enough to realize he’d actually enjoyed it.
Shopping turned out to be an adventure from the very start. Tate had managed to finish his work a few minutes early and left the warehouse in Percy’s capable hands promptly at six o’clock. Alex was already waiting at the exit, happy smile on his face, hair brushed back—that hair, so glossy!—and wearing a rather new-looking dress shirt instead of the work polo shirt. A rather expensive-looking shirt, if Tate was any judge of how the other half dressed.
“I’m ready for whatever you have for me,” Alex said.
Tate shook his head wearily. It wasn’t his idea of fun, shopping after work, but the list of things they needed at home had grown alarmingly this week. Gran must have been raiding the larder at night again. “You’ll find this deadly boring,” he said. Was that one last try to shake off Alex? “It’s just a normal domestic chore, you know how household shopping is.”