The British are Coming Box Set

by Nancy Warren

  Stephanie let out a startled laugh. “No. I haven’t been sleeping too well. Excited about the new job, I guess.”

  “I’ll tell you what—I’ll work you so hard today you’ll sleep like a baby tonight,” she said.

  That earned her a reluctant grin. Oh, dear, she thought.

  Knowing she’d hear Stephanie’s troubles soon enough, she set about showing her the brand-new desk and the files and things she’d bought on Saturday at Office Depot. She’d also splurged on a second computer, thus running her credit card a little higher than she’d like when the words Harrods or Alexander McQueen were nowhere to be found on the statement.

  She soon had Stephanie creating files for all the clients she had on the books, and it turned out that Stephanie knew how to use the simple bookkeeping program she’d bought and hadn’t been able to work yet. By the time she went down to make the morning coffee at eleven, she was congratulating herself on an excellent hire.

  She was about to carry the tray upstairs, showing Stephanie what a truly modern employer she was, not only making the coffee herself, but serving it to her secretary, when the doorbell rang. Putting the tray down on a hall table, she opened the door to find Rafe standing on her doorstep.

  She was delighted to see him, fairly certain her optimism about him had been well founded. “I do hope this is good news?”

  He nodded. “I thought about the favor. I’ll do it.”

  “Fantastic.” She beamed at him. “Come upstairs to my office and we’ll talk. Do you want a coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  He waited until she had a mug and then surprised and delighted her by taking the tray out of her hands and carrying it up himself.

  She was behind him as they reached the top of the stairs. She could see Stephanie through the open door. Her head was down and she was at the table by the window, but obviously she heard footsteps for she said, “Chloe, I was wondering about these files.”

  She turned, her hands full of files, took a step forward. Then, before Chloe’s bemused gaze, she went pink, then white, and dropped the files on the floor.

  For a second there was no sound but that of the cardboard folders plopping on top of one another like a deck of playing cards being shuffled.

  “Stephanie, are you all right?” She would have rushed straight in, but the bulk of Rafe standing there with his tray was somehow in her way.

  “Hi, Stephanie,” he said, and there was a world of intimacy in that tone. He entered the second bedroom-cum-office and Chloe popped in behind him.

  Chloe glanced sharply between them. Stephanie stood stock still, her color still fluctuating between feverish pink and chalk white. Rafe looked exactly the same as he always did, but Chloe could feel the heat coming off him.

  She didn’t need a crystal ball to tell her that these two had slept together. How interesting. How very interesting.

  Stephanie knelt to pick up the folders, saying, “Hi,” on her way down while her hair swung in front of her face, hiding her expression.

  Rafe took a step forward and then stopped himself, as though he’d forgotten he was holding a tray of filled coffee mugs. He glanced around and put the thing down on top of Stephanie’s desk. The silence was so thick you’d need a sledgehammer to crack through it.

  “I didn’t put in milk and sugar because I wasn’t sure how you liked it,” she said, feeling very much like a gracious hostess smoothing over an awkward moment.

  When no one said anything, she shrugged, stepped forward, and helped herself to milk from the jug she’d prepared, adding half a spoonful of sugar.

  “When you’ve got yours, Rafe, would you come next door to my office?”

  “Sure,” he said, eyes still trained on her secretary, who’d risen from the floor and was stacking the folders once more, looking anywhere but at him.

  She walked next door, thinking she’d give them a moment. She heard the low tones of his voice, and a short, quiet burst from Stephanie, and then Rafe walked into her office. He didn’t have a coffee and she didn’t bother remarking on his forgetfulness.

  “Shut the door,” she said.

  He hesitated, then complied, before walking forward and sitting in the chair opposite her desk.

  “How is it that you can take this time off work?” she asked him.

  “I was working undercover and I’ve got a lot of comp time coming.”

  “Comp time?”

  “You don’t get paid overtime when you’re undercover. Instead you take compensatory time. Comp time. At time and a half, I’ve got a fair bit banked.”

  “And you want to spend your time helping me out?”

  He sent her a cop stare. And it was a good one. But she’d stared down angry lovers, her brother, and on one never-to-be-forgotten occasion, Princess Anne, when she’d called her horse by the wrong name. Rafe didn’t bother her a bit.

  Finally, he said, “You asked me to do you a favor, remember?”

  “I did. However, you didn’t seem too enthralled by the idea. Or by the compensation.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll get you to break up a bad relationship for me sometime.” He shifted on the chair. “So, tell me about the shrink.”

  She held up a hand. Not so fast. “Tell me about you and my secretary first.”

  “That’s personal.”

  “So is the business of breaking up relationships. I don’t want any messiness.”

  “No messiness.”

  “Right.” She’d ask Stephanie. In her experience, it was always easier to get the goods from a woman than a man. “Here’s Deborah Beaumont’s book. I should warn you, the contents will make you positively queasy, but you’d better read it. What I want you to do is be as untidy, as hopelessly messed up as you can be.”

  He took the book and turned it over to read the back cover. “Why?”

  “It’s a theory I have that this poor woman, as you’ll see from her book, is so hopelessly trapped by her systems that what she really wants is a terrible mess of a man to fall in love with and fix.”

  Rafe’s shoulders went rigid. “I can’t make a woman fall in love with me.”

  “Just go once and see what happens. Here’s the address. I’ve already made you an appointment for tomorrow.” She handed him her business card, on the back of which she’d written both the address and the time of his appointment.

  “You did?”

  “Yes. Otherwise you’d have had to wait more than a week to get in.”

  “But I might have turned you down.”

  “Then I would have canceled the appointment,” she said sunnily. “But luckily you didn’t turn me down.”

  “I should have. I’m getting a bad feeling in my gut about this.”

  “Nonsense. You’re helping two people to find happiness. What could be better?”

  “How can she find happiness with me? I don’t want anything to do with a shrink.”

  “Sometimes escaping from the wrong person brings almost as much happiness as getting together with the right person. At the very least, I’m hoping you’ll make her rethink her own relationship and see that it’s not working.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, keep your appointment tomorrow. If it doesn’t work out, you don’t have to go back.”

  He nodded. “All right.”

  “May I ask you one question?”

  “You can ask.”

  “Does your sudden willingness to take this job have anything to do with Stephanie?”

  He sent her one of those unreadable glances from his dark, dark eyes. “What time’s my appointment tomorrow?”

  Recognizing a brick wall when she’d just bashed her head against it, she sighed and shook her head. “Two o’clock.” He took her card and the book and turned toward the door, the sexy mess of streaky hair straggling behind.

  Oh, yes, she thought. If you wanted an absolute disaster of a sexpot, Rafael Escobar was your man.

  Chapter 14

  Had that bastard stuck a
GPS device on her? Stephanie wondered as she furiously returned her neatly labeled files into the new filing system.

  But if he’d wanted to keep track of her so badly, could he not have called? Or repeated his late-night visit? Hot waves of anger washed over her as she admitted to herself that she’d changed her bed sheets, shaved her legs, and bought a new nightgown, then sat at home like some pathetic, lovesick moron all weekend.

  He might carry a cop’s badge, but he was still a badass. Her fatal weakness. Rafael Escobar hadn’t called, he hadn’t banged on her door late at night bringing his dangerous self into her apartment and her body. He’d humped her and dumped her.

  She was close to losing it when she realized she’d filed Doran under B. Today was supposed to be a brand-new start for her.

  Yet another brand-new start. How was it possible that this man had followed her to her new job when he couldn’t be bothered to follow her home?

  Stephanie wouldn’t put her ear to the wall, even though she was almost certain she’d be able to hear what Rafe and Chloe were saying if she did.

  But she would not demean herself.

  Fury bubbled inside her along with an awful pain, the kind that comes when you do something really stupid and you only have yourself to blame. Maybe this was how people felt when they had gangrene and had to cut off an important part of their body before the rot killed everything. Maybe she had gangrene of the heart.

  The conference in Chloe’s office wasn’t long. Well, why would it be?

  When she’d first seen him walk up those stairs, she’d had a moment when her heart banged against her ribs and her spirits soared. He’d found her.

  Somehow he’d found her.

  But he hadn’t rushed to take her in his arms as he did in her daydreams.

  She replayed the scene, all the while hearing the murmur of voices in the other room. He’d said, “Hi, Stephanie.”

  Once Chloe had gone into her office and left them alone, she’d asked him, “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to see Chloe.” His face gave her no clue to what he was feeling. Or maybe it did and what he felt for her was nothing.

  Would she never, ever learn?

  She asked him if he’d known she’d be here and he’d said, “Had a pretty good idea.” And the gangrene spread a little more.

  She heard the door to Chloe’s office open, signaling that the meeting between her boss and Rafe was over. She grabbed up the phone and started talking. She had the appointment screen open on her computer and pretty much mimicked her dentist’s receptionist when she made an appointment.

  Rafe hovered a minute in her doorway, while she said, “Thursday at nine?” And then, “Okay, how about Friday at eleven.” When he still hadn’t left, she said, “Sure, I’d be happy to tell you a bit about our services.” And she started reading aloud from the brochure.

  She kept reading until she heard his footsteps fade. She glanced around at the office she’d only spent a few hours in. She’d been so hopeful.

  She was packing up her bag when Chloe came into her office.

  “Is it lunchtime already?” How could she like the woman so much when she was such a twit?

  “It’s not lunchtime. I’m leaving. I’ll save you the trouble of firing me.”

  Chloe blinked. Those big blue china-doll eyes of hers closed and opened, but there was no other indication of emotion in her face. Well, maybe a trace of curiosity. “Why would I fire you?”

  “Oh, come on. Rafe was in your office and I don’t think he needs any help breaking up with anyone. He does a great job of that on his own.”

  “Rafe broke up with you? I knew you two had slept together. I can always tell. But I thought you were still engaged to that tedious jewelry shop clerk.”

  She flashed her now ringless engagement hand and Chloe shrugged her fashion-model shoulders. “One had hoped. I am glad. The jewelry clerk struck me as a total fuckwit.”

  At any other time she’d have smiled. Chloe pronounced clerk so it rhymed with lark, and fuckwit as two complete words. She was the only person Stephanie had ever met who cursed with perfect elocution. But Stephanie didn’t feel like smiling. She felt like snarling. “Rafe told you about me.”

  “Told me what? I do wish you’d sit down. Have some coffee. You haven’t touched yours, and I made it specially.”

  “I’m a thief!” she yelled. Shouted the words so that Rafe could hear them over the infernal noise of the motorcycle racing him away from her.

  Chloe picked up one of the two untouched mugs of coffee on the tray and added milk. Then she glanced around the room. “What we need in here is a nice comfortable chair. This won’t do. Come, bring your coffee and follow me.”

  Stephanie wondered which one of them was crazier as she picked up the second mug of coffee and followed her boss (for now) not into the other office, as she’d assumed, but into Chloe’s bedroom.

  “This is much nicer, isn’t it? Though I haven’t had time to really decorate it yet. Pull the chair closer to the bed and we’ll have a proper chat.”

  Then she kicked off her gorgeous sandals, propped two pillows behind her back, and curled her legs under. The bedding was all black and white but amazingly Chloe.

  Stephanie pulled up the single chair, a department store type wingback, and sat down, feeling stupid and not knowing what to say now that she’d blurted out her problem.

  Chloe didn’t seem to share her reluctance. “Are you a jewel thief? I’ve always thought that would be so exciting.” She paused to sip her coffee. “So long, of course, as one didn’t get caught.”

  “A jewel thief. Not unless you count crappy costume jewelry.” She stopped, feeling almost as embarrassed that she’d set her sights so low as she did about the actual stealing.

  “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

  So she did. Told her about the thrill of danger, the possibility of getting caught, the way she’d be fine for ages and then this urge would take her over. “Rafe didn’t tell you?”

  “No.”

  “God, I feel like an idiot.”

  “You shouldn’t. I’m glad you told me.”

  “You’ve probably never stolen anything.”

  “Well, I get the same thrill of danger and getting caught from having sex in odd places and from the emotional drama of my love life. Does the trick. Darling, we all have our vices. We simply must learn to channel those energies so as not to end up in some horrible jail.”

  “But—you never checked my references. You’re just starting your business. Don’t you think you should be more careful?”

  Chloe took a sip of her coffee and appeared to think about what Stephanie had said. “Are you planning to steal from me?”

  “No.”

  “Then we’ll be all right.”

  She had the strangest feeling that Chloe got it. The it she’d never successfully understood herself or been able to explain to another person. How could it be that this woman from a different world should understand her?

  “May I make a suggestion?”

  “Sure. I guess.”

  “Try having sex outside. I think you’ll find it much more fun. And you’d be far less likely to go to jail.”

  Stephanie felt a smile break out on her face.

  “I would think Rafe could take you to some very interesting places.” Chloe glanced up under her lashes. “On his motorcycle.”

  “I don’t think Rafe and I—” She couldn’t even finish the sentence. She didn’t want to voice her fears.

  She didn’t have to. Chloe got it. Of course. “I saw him look at you. He’s a bit of a complicated man, as all the interesting ones are. But I would say he is smitten.”

  She snorted. “He’s got a funny way of showing it.”

  “What exactly happened between you two?”

  And suddenly, she had someone she could talk to who wasn’t a relative, or a friend who’d known her in her wild, bad teen years, or who wasn’t paid to counsel her. She described th
e day they’d met, how he’d followed her around that store and she’d felt scared, excited, aroused, and finally mad when she had to put that watch back.

  “So you met him the same day you met me?”

  “Yeah. Weird, huh?”

  Chloe nodded. “Quite a coincidence. Or was it, I wonder?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing. Sorry, do go on. What happened next?”

  So, she told Chloe what she still hadn’t been able to tell another soul. Not her girl friends, who were going to be pissed that she’d broken up with Derek; not her mom, who was brokenhearted that she’d broken up with Derek. Not anybody. It felt great to spill all that stuff—and to the only woman in her life who didn’t seem all that thrilled with Derek.

  When she got to the part about Rafe coming to her apartment, she stalled, wondering what she was doing spilling her sex life to her boss on her first day of work. But Chloe wasn’t like any boss Stephanie had ever had. She said, “And was he fabulous in bed?”

  “We never made it to the bed,” she said, and got warm just thinking about their escapades on the couch. “And yeah, he was fabulous.”

  Chloe looked delighted. “I knew it. There are some men you can take one look at and know they’ll be fantastic.” She sighed. “And tell me, is his backside as amazing naked as it is in jeans?”

  “Better. All of him is better.”

  Chloe picked up one of the pillows and hurled it at her. “You lucky girl!” she cried.

  “I don’t know. He hasn’t called or come by again. I think he dumped me.” She sighed. “The guy I’m crazy about doesn’t want me, and the one I’m trying to break free of won’t leave me alone.”

  “What do you mean?” Chloe looked a little worried and she wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

  “Nothing bad. He sends me flowers, pushes gushy greeting cards under my door—”

  “Oh, you don’t mean the ones with dozens of overblown roses on the outside and equally overblown sentiment on the inside?”

  “Yep. Those.” She felt sort of sick even talking about them. “And I’m pretty sure he followed me to work today.”

  The concerned expression on Chloe’s face deepened. “Oh, dear.”