by Jessica Hart
Imogen, the harried receptionist, had looked at her gratefully when the rush was past.
‘What were you doing here?’ she asked when she had thanked her.
‘I’m looking for a temporary job.’
Imogen smiled. ‘You’ve got it. When can you start?’
So here Lucy was on Monday morning. Tugging down the jacket of the suit she had borrowed from Meg, she mentally squared her shoulders. Around her streamed smartly dressed men and women, all hurrying past with purposeful strides, and in spite of herself she was caught up in the buzz of the City. Maybe this job wouldn’t be so bad.
Granted, she was no high-powered executive with millions to play with before lunch, and receptionist might not have been her first choice of career, but it was perfect for now. Guy would have to walk past her every day, and Lucy couldn’t wait to see his face when he saw her sitting behind the reception desk.
He had been long gone by the time she’d woken the morning after their visit to Giovanni’s. Lucy had been relieved that she didn’t have to face him while the memory of that shattering kiss was still tingling along her veins, but there was a bit of her that was a little miffed that he hadn’t bothered to say goodbye before she moved out to stay with Meg.
She had left her mobile phone number with a scribbled note of thanks. It didn’t seem that she could go without a word, even if it hadn’t bothered Guy to do just that. Besides, how else could he get in touch with her about his mother? Lucy had told herself that was all she was thinking about when she’d written the note. It had nothing whatsoever to do with making sure that he had no excuse not to contact her.
Imogen was waiting to greet her in the dramatic atrium with a roof that soared upwards past a mezzanine floor. The reception desk was strikingly shaped and set near the glass-sided lifts. It bristled with the latest technology that Lucy eyed askance at first but, once Imogen had showed her how to use it, it didn’t seem quite so intimidating and she thought she might be able to manage it after all.
Lucy was kept busy dealing with a steady stream of visitors and phone calls while Imogen, who seemed to be an authority on Dangerfield & Dunn, filled her in on the background to the bank. The name that cropped up most often was Guy’s.
‘He’s just a figurehead, right?’ Lucy asked at last, and Imogen looked shocked.
‘He’s Chairman and Chief Executive.’
‘Well, yes, but it’s a family bank, isn’t it? Presumably he only gets to be Chairman because he’s a Dangerfield. Who does all the real work?’
‘He does,’ said Imogen reprovingly. ‘Guy’s the one who makes the decisions. I think it’s been a bit of a battle in the boardroom since his father died,’ she confided, ‘but he’s turning things round and Dangerfield & Dunn are now the leaders in ethical investment. He’s only thirty-three, but Guy Dangerfield is already a name to be reckoned with in the financial world,’ she finished proudly.
It was soon obvious that Imogen was Guy’s biggest fan. ‘He’s lovely to work for, and so thoughtful! I’ve got a friend in marketing who’d been working for ages on a Open University degree, and when she passed Guy sent her flowers and a bottle of champagne.’
‘It sounds to me as if he’s got a thoughtful PA,’ said Lucy, unimpressed, but Imogen leapt instantly to his defence.
‘It was Guy’s idea,’ she insisted. ‘And when he found out one of the other girls had been going through a bad time at home, he told her to take the day off and sent her a voucher for a day at a spa!’
Imogen sighed. ‘He’s so gorgeous, too. Well, you must have seen him. It’s enough to make a girl wish she wasn’t happily married,’ she went on without waiting for Lucy’s answer. ‘Not that he’d look at me even if I wasn’t,’ she said honestly. ‘He always has incredibly glamorous girlfriends.’
‘You’re glamorous,’ said Lucy, and told herself that she didn’t care in the least that Guy had a taste for glamour and sophistication as opposed to, say, a free spirit in jeans and a T-shirt. Imogen was just confirming what she had already guessed from Guy’s apartment.
‘Not like Cassandra Wolfe,’ said Imogen, but she looked pleased nonetheless.
‘Who?’
‘You know! The supermodel!’
‘Oh…yes.’ Lucy had never been particularly interested in gossip columns but even she had heard of Cassandra Wolfe, one of the few celebrities who could be referred to simply by her first name.
So she was presumably the Cassie Guy had mentioned so casually at Giovanni’s. Remembering what she had seen of Cassandra Wolfe, Lucy wasn’t at all surprised Guy’s mother had thought she was too thin.
Imogen, it seemed, was an endless source of information about Guy. ‘She and Guy split up a couple of months ago and now Cassandra’s back with her ex-boyfriend.’
‘The rock singer?’ It was all coming back to Lucy now. There had been some big scandal before she’d left for Australia.
Imogen nodded. ‘I’d have stuck with Guy if it was me,’ she said.
‘So was Guy very upset when she left him?’ Lucy couldn’t help asking.
‘Not so as you could tell,’ Imogen admitted. ‘He always seems in a good humour when I see him, and he’s got a lovely smile.’
Lucy knew the smile she meant.
‘He went out with some titled girl after Cassandra, but we never saw her here,’ Imogen went on. ‘I haven’t heard of her for a while, but Guy’s been away in Australia.’ Her eyes brightened. ‘Maybe he’s on the market again. I hope so.’
Lucy fixed her with a mock severe look. ‘I thought you were happily married?’
‘I am.’ Imogen grinned. ‘But you’re not, are you? You could be in with a chance!’
‘With Guy Dangerfield? I don’t think so. He’s not my type,’ said Lucy casually, in spite of some very uncomfortable memories jumping up and down and insisting that he had been exactly her type when he’d kissed her. ‘He’s a bit obvious for me.’
Imogen looked at her as if she were mad, but Lucy rushed to change the subject. She couldn’t help thinking that they had talked about Guy quite enough. Anyone would think that she was interested in him.
There was no sign of him coming in to work and, having looked forward to his expression when he saw that she had met her challenge, Lucy was vaguely disgruntled at the fact that he hadn’t bothered to come in. He was probably playing golf or squash, she decided with an inward sniff. Perhaps he would swan in later when the lifts weren’t so busy and he wouldn’t have to mingle with the workers.
She could picture the scene perfectly. A limousine like the one that had met them at Heathrow would pull up outside and out would step Guy, ready for a couple of hours of being toadied to by the likes of Imogen before it was time to go home.
Lucy’s lips pursed at the thought. No, she for one wouldn’t be rushing to bow and scrape when he arrived. Yes, Guy was generous, she’d give him that, but as he himself had pointed out, he could afford it. And generosity didn’t stop him being deeply irritating, and the kind of man who would kiss you till your bones melted and then tell you it was only a kiss.
And then leave the next morning without even bothering to say goodbye.
‘Here he is!’ Imogen hissed, sitting up straighter. Lucy was looking at the doors where a limousine had drawn up, but there was no sign of Guy yet.
‘Where-?’ she began, turning to Imogen and following her gaze to the bank of lifts, where three men had evidently just stepped out.
Guy was talking and the two others were listening deferentially. All three were immaculately dressed in suits, but somehow Lucy saw only Guy. He had his back to her and her heart jerked in instant recognition of the set of his shoulders, of the back of his head and the air of suppressed energy he exuded. There was a kind of coiled power in the easy way he held himself and at the sight of him Lucy felt as if a great fist were clenching and unclenching deep inside her.
They were all shaking hands now and his two companions disappeared back into the lifts while Guy headed
for the car waiting outside in blatant disregard of the double yellow lines.
‘Morning, Imogen!’ he called as he walked past.
‘Morning!’ Imogen simpered.
Evidently registering that there was someone else sitting beside her, Guy’s smile swept on, only to freeze as he did a satisfactory double take at the sight of Lucy, demure in the little checked suit that she had borrowed from Meg.
‘Lucy?’ he said, stopping dead, and Lucy felt Imogen turn to stare at her.
Savouring the astonishment in his expression, Lucy smiled graciously. ‘Good morning, Mr Dangerfield,’ she said sweetly.
Recovering swiftly, he came over to the desk. ‘It’s Guy,’ he corrected her. ‘We’re all on first-name terms here, aren’t we, Imogen?’
Imogen nodded eagerly.
‘Well, well, well, as the three oilmen said.’ Guy’s smile broadened as he turned to study Lucy, who was rolling her eyes at Imogen’s worshipful expression.
Meg’s suit didn’t sit entirely easily on her, but she had obviously made a great effort to conform. The beautiful hair that was usually carelessly gathered up into a clip and allowed to fall any old how had been neatly braided into a French plait, and she was discreetly made-up, her blue eyes emphasised with mascara-also borrowed from Meg, had he but known it-and lipstick on the generous curving mouth. She looked older and more sophisticated, but her expression was as bright as ever.
‘Congratulations,’ he said. ‘You’ve surprised me, Cinders. I have to admit that I didn’t expect you to have a job by this morning, let alone here. Why did no one tell me that you’d be working here?’
‘I’m sure you’re much too busy to be bothered with trivial details like the temporary receptionist,’ said Lucy, studiedly cool, which was hard when his eyes were on her face and the glinting smile in the blue depths was as unsettling as ever.
‘I’m never too busy to be interested in my staff, Lucy.’
‘That’s just what I’ve been telling her,’ Imogen put in loyally, and Guy smiled at her.
‘As you’ve obviously gathered, Lucy and I have met before,’ he said.
‘In Australia,’ Lucy put in quickly before he could say any more. ‘But we don’t really know each other well, do we, Guy? Things are different now that we’re back in London.’
‘They are, indeed,’ said Guy, and somehow she knew that he was thinking about how they had kissed on the quayside. ‘Very different.’
CHAPTER FIVE
GUY was on his way out to a meeting, he said, so couldn’t stay. ‘But I’ll look forward to catching up with you later, Lucy. It’s going to be interesting having you here!’
Waving a farewell, he headed out through the doors, while Lucy was careful not to look at Imogen.
‘Is there anything I should know?’ asked Imogen pointedly when the waiting limousine had pulled away.
‘No. Honestly,’ she insisted when Imogen looked sceptical. ‘He was a guest at the cattle station where I was working and we happened to come back to London on the same flight. That’s all. We barely know each other.’
Which in one sense was quite true. She didn’t know Guy. She didn’t know what went on behind that façade of lazy good humour. She didn’t know what made him tick, what he thought and hoped and dreamed. All she knew about him was the smile in his eyes, the sureness of his throw, the easy way he could swing into the saddle.
And the way he kissed. She knew the taste of his lips and the touch of his hands, the dizzy delight of pressing in to him and kissing him back.
‘We’re acquaintances, at the most.’
Guy came back about three-obviously a long lunch, Lucy sniffed to herself-but although he lifted a hand in greeting as he made his way to the lifts, he didn’t come over to speak to them. Why should he, after all? She was just a receptionist in a borrowed suit. Lucy told herself that she didn’t care, and that she hoped he would stay up in his penthouse office from now on. She had met his challenge, and now it would be much easier if she had nothing more to do with him.
If Guy wanted her, he knew where to find her. She wasn’t going to start looking for him.
But it was hard not to look up every time the lift doors slid open, hard to stop the tiny treacherous dip of her heart every time it wasn’t him.
By the end of the day, Lucy was exhausted with the effort of concentrating on all the new information, and she was glad when Imogen announced that they could both go home. She wasn’t looking forward to the journey back to Meg’s, though. The unfamiliar shoes had been pinching all day and it was a long walk back from the tube.
Imogen had buttoned herself into her coat and was hurrying off to meet her husband. Lucy waved goodbye and collected her things, moving very gingerly on her sore feet, and joined the exodus. People were spilling out of the lifts and streaming towards the exit, all as anxious to get home as she was, but moving rather more swiftly. Lucy had just reached the doors when a familiar voice spoke in her ear.
‘You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your legs before,’ said Guy, as if it were perfectly normal to start in mid-conversation. ‘It’s a shame to keep them hidden behind that reception desk, especially when you’re wearing such spectacular shoes.’
Lucy followed his gaze down to Meg’s shoes which were, indeed, spectacular. They were made of turquoise suede, with cutaway sides and vertiginous heels. Lucy had loved the look of them, and Meg was right, they did go brilliantly with the suit, but she was feeling a lot less enamoured after wearing them all day.
‘I borrowed them from the friend I’m staying with,’ she told Guy, rather pleased at how normal she sounded given that her heart was performing an elaborate tap dance routine against her ribs. ‘Fortunately, we’re the same size. Meg loves high heels, but I’m not used to walking in them yet.’
‘I can see that you’d need a good sense of balance,’ commented Guy. ‘I hope you haven’t got far to walk.’
‘Miles.’ Lucy sighed without thinking.
‘Come on, I’ll give you a lift,’ he said, taking her by the arm. ‘The car’s just outside.’
‘Oh, really, it’s not-’
Ignoring her feeble attempts at protest, and the curious looks of those who were clearly wondering what the Chief Executive was doing with the new receptionist, Guy propelled her out of the door.
‘You don’t really want to wait ages for a bus or to battle with the tube on those shoes, do you?’
No, she really didn’t, Lucy had to admit. It seemed easier just to give in and climb into the back of the limousine. She couldn’t help a sigh of relief as she sank back into the luxurious leather and eased off the shoes. She wasn’t sure that she would ever be able to get them on again, but, right then, Lucy didn’t care.
‘Where are you staying?’ Guy asked as he climbed in beside her and the car pulled away from the kerb.
‘Bethnal Green,’ Lucy told him, ‘but actually I’m on my way to see Richard now,’ she added quickly, seeing him lean forward to talk to the chauffeur. ‘If you could drop me near the hospital, that would be great.’
Guy murmured the change of instruction to the driver and then sat back beside her. Immediately it felt as if the space inside the car had shrunk. Lucy could feel a fluttering deep inside her and she made herself take a steadying breath. She had sat beside him all the way back from Australia, and on the long drive back to Wirrindago after the rodeo. It was stupid to be so aware of him now, on a ten-minute trip across London.
Still, she found herself wishing that she was wearing jeans after all. Meg had a penchant for short skirts and, even though Guy was politely not staring at them, Lucy was very conscious of her exposed legs. Surreptitiously, she tried to tug the skirt down a bit further towards her knees.
‘I heard how you got the job,’ said Guy. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘I told you I could get a job by Monday.’ Lucy put up her chin. ‘I hope you think Dangerfield & Dunn count as a “reputable organisation”?’
‘Oh, yes
, I’m quite prepared to admit that you met the first part of the challenge.’
‘The first part?’
‘You’ve got to push yourself, Cinders. You’ve done well to get the job, but now I want to see if you can make something of it.’
‘There’s a limit to what you can achieve as a receptionist,’ grumbled Lucy, but he only tutted.
‘That’s the wrong attitude. Let’s just see what you can do.’
Lucy sighed and looked out of the window. The glass was darkened so that they could see the commuters hurrying along the pavements, but no one could see in. It was like being in their own quiet, dim world, cut off from the noise and the hassle of city life.
‘So where have you been all weekend?’ asked Guy after a moment. ‘I missed you when I got back to the flat on Friday and you were gone!’
‘I went to stay with my friend, Meg,’ said Lucy, not averse to moving the conversation away from the challenges she still apparently had to meet. ‘She’s got a tiny spare room which she said I could have for a couple of months. It’s not much more than a cupboard, but I don’t have a lot of stuff so it’s fine for me, and I certainly couldn’t afford to pay proper rent.’
‘Is Meg an old friend?’
She nodded. ‘We were at school together. She’s got some hot-shot job in a law firm now and she’s got loads of suits and shoes that I can wear, which is lucky because I’ve got no money until pay day.’
‘I’m sure it would be possible to arrange an advance if you need it,’ said Guy in a neutral voice.
‘Oh, I’ll be fine. Meg has said she’ll lend me some cash if I need it.’
Or did that just mean she was letting Meg look after her the way Meredith usually did?
Lucy shook the uncomfortable thought aside.
‘Meg’s good fun. There aren’t usually any other women at Wirrindago, and I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed sitting down for a good gossip.’