by Heidi Rice
Miles stood in silence, his gaze locked onto Andy’s wide green eyes as she took in a few breaths of the cool night air.
Completely on her own? How was that possible? The hairs on the back of his neck flickered into life at the very thought of being without Jason and his parents and their circle of friends back on Tenerife, and he rubbed his hand over his neck to quieten them down.
They had been his lifeline, his strength and his back-up when times were hard as well as good.
The only people he would accept help from. Ever.
‘No. I can’t imagine being without my parents and family.’
He stepped forward one step and rubbed his hands up and down Andy’s arms.
She flashed him a glance intended to make him back off but he ignored it anyhow.
‘You talked about your parents at the museum. Have they, er …’
Andy rolled her eyes towards the balcony above their heads. ‘Oh, still very much alive. Still mad as a bag of frogs and still trying to teach English in India. From the letters which turn up every few months they seem to be lurching from crisis to crisis with the occasional frantic phone call in the middle of the night pleading the need for emergency funds to pay for a new roof or replacement parts for some car or other. Practical household skills were not part of the private education in those days. My dad was one of those men who employed tradesmen to wire a plug. Do you get the picture?’
Miles sucked in air through his teeth. ‘No. Not really. India. Wow.’
She shook her head and pointed to the balcony. ‘I look at this city that I love and think of all of the opportunity that is out there and I fill up with excitement and enthusiasm and I want to do this so badly—and then I think about all of the unknowns and costs and pitfalls and I freeze. And put the plan back in the drawer to think about later.’
‘Only there won’t be a later. Will there? I am beginning to understand. And I don’t blame you for taking the safer option.’
‘Do not judge me. We aren’t all sporting heroes!’
‘I don’t expect you to be,’ Miles replied, and raised both hands in the air in submission. ‘And I’m the last person on this planet who has the right to judge anybody. Don’t forget—I have been there and I had my brother and family along for the ride and we still had to work like crazy to get our business started. A one-woman show is going to find it a lot tougher. You need time and money to get your art business off the ground.’
Andy glared at him, narrow lipped, her gaze scanning his face for a few seconds before her shoulders dropped and she sighed out loud. ‘I know. And that has always been the problem. But I am sorry for snapping at you. This has been a tough week.’
‘No problem. How about a suggestion instead? I know a couple of venture capital guys who have money to invest in new business ideas. All I have to do is make a few phone calls and … what? What now?’
‘I don’t want to carry any debt. No maxed-out credit cards. No business loans, no venture capital investment. That’s how my dad got into so much trouble and there is no way that I am going there. So thank you but no. I might be hard up but I have made some rules for myself.’
Miles inhaled very slowly and watched Andy struggle with her thoughts, her dilemma played out in the tension on her face.
She was as proud as anyone he had ever met. Including himself. Which was quite something.
And just like that the connection he had sensed between them from the moment he had laid eyes on her in that coffee shop kicked up a couple of notches. And the longer he watched her, the stronger that connection became, until he almost felt that it was a practical thing. A wire. Pulling them closer together.
And every warning bell in his body started screaming Danger so loudly that in the end he could not ignore it any longer. And this time he was the one who broke the wire and pulled away from her.
She shivered in the cool air, fracturing the moment, and he stepped back and opened the patio doors and guided her inside. And into the luxurious warmth of the apartment.
‘No debt,’ Miles murmured as he slipped his coat from her shoulders and gestured for her to get comfy on the sofa. ‘That’s a tough one. Well, you know how much I like a challenge.’
Then his eyes narrowed and a broad smile cracked his mouth. ‘Here is an idea which won’t cost you a penny but could be just what you need to get the business up and running.’
He moved onto the back of the sofa and grabbed hold of both of her shoulders so that she could not move an inch as he leant forwards until their noses were almost touching, his eyes locked onto hers.
‘You like facts. Here are two. Jason asked me to come over to the London office for a few days so that we can work on the plan for the next product launch. And I didn’t argue because my brother is a genius—but you must never tell him I said that.’
Andy took a breath but Miles got there first. ‘No talking. But as it happens, I might have an hour or two to spare between physio sessions and meetings.’
Then he relaxed his grip a little and smiled. ‘I thought about what you said at the pool today. And you might have a point. I enjoy training. So … how would you like some help with that business plan? A website. Promotions. Marketing. All the things you need to get your artwork out for the world to see.’
She looked back at him, wide eyed. ‘Would I have to wear a swimming costume?’
A great wide-mouthed grin illuminated his face as his gaze scanned her body from the heels of her boots to her hair clip, bringing that sparkle back into his eyes. ‘Perhaps not. Way too distracting. So. What do you say? Can you spare an hour a day to get some business advice?’
From: Andromeda@ConstellationOfficeServices
To: Saffie@Saffronthechef
Hope your Saturday evening dinner service goes more smoothly this week.
Thanks again for your offer of your best designer dress and full kit. And you were right—the red works and there may well be some seriously high-class slutty photos.
Problem is. I am having kittens here. What am I going to do, Saffie? Help!
There are going to be TV cameras and photographers there tonight.
Miles is determined to introduce me to half the room as an illustrator. He has no clue that the first time I mention illuminated fifteenth-century bibles his posh guests will run off screaming or think I am high on hallucinogens.
The last thing I want to do is show him up in any way.
Maybe I can fake the flu? Or chicken pox? That might work. Top athletes hate disease.
Talk again in the morning. If I make it that far. Andy
Andy paced up and down on the bedroom carpet, her hands on her hips, as she moved from her bed to the wardrobe, then back to the bottom of her bed again.
The wardrobe door was open and she blinked at the contents for several minutes before striding purposefully forwards in Saffie’s favourite red high-heeled sandals. Her hand stretched out to lift the red chiffon cocktail dress from the hanger, then froze and dropped away. Again.
Her shoulders slumped and she rested her forehead on the waxed oak panel, not caring that she was ruining the make-up that had taken her an hour to put on, wipe off, then put on again in a different way.
Terrified that she was sending out the wrong message. Or was it the right message?
She had been aiming for elegant and attractive, while the girl who stared back at her from the mirror looked more like someone from a low-class burlesque show. Never mind the high-class slutty. She was the low-class slutty.
Reminder to self: find a job with a firm of hairdressers. Or beauticians. Or both.
This wasn’t working.
She had been mad to even think that she was ready to go out on a date, with Miles Gibson, millionaire joint owner of Cory Sports. Even if it was for only one evening.
Andy tottered to her bed, fell backwards and let her arms dangle over the sides.
Had what happened with Nigel not taught her anything?
What if she had been ri
ght the first time and Miles was a chancer, and she was just about to make herself a laughing stock in exchange for a hot dinner and if she was lucky a glass of the house red?
Andy sniffed. No. That was unfair. Miles was not a cheapskate. He was a very successful businessman and professional sportsman. It would be a very nice dinner in a luxury hotel restaurant owned by one of those chefs who seemed to be on every television channel.
A restaurant where everyone would know that he was a multimillionaire slumming it with the girl who delivered party invitations. And she was fine with that. Better than fine. This was her life and she wasn’t ashamed. Far from it.
What she was afraid of was being laughed at. Laughed and scoffed at because she had stepped outside her narrow circle and trusted someone not to use her.
Andy bit down on her inner lip. Deep inside in that secret place where she kept her dreams and most sacred wishes, she wanted to stride into that hotel in these red shoes as the equal of any of the other guests, including Miles. Strong and confident. Like the girl she used to be before life stomped on her confidence and squeezed it out like toothpaste from a tube.
Dratted Miles for reminding her about her other life.
Andy closed her eyes, her throat burning and tears stinging at the sides of her eyes.
She was pathetic.
This amazing, handsome and attentive man had chosen her to be his date for the evening. Which was so amazing that she still couldn’t believe it.
Not that she had much time to prepare herself for the big night.
The past few days had passed in a blur of activity and mad work. Miles had not been kidding about how restless he was, but his pacing had slowly got better. He had kept his word and after a few hours going through the Cory Sports systems she had actually started to believe that she had the tools she needed to be a self-employed artist. Peter had set up meetings with their advertising company for next week so she had plenty to think about. But she had done it. She had taken the first baby steps.
And right there, every step of the way, had been Miles.
He had sat on the couch in Reception with his leg on the coffee table holding meetings with suppliers and giving interviews over the telephone—and all the time giving her furtive glances and the kind of not very discreet smiles that made Jason tut and dive back into his office to work on production plans so complex that Andy had taken one glance and left him to it.
So most of the time it had just been the two of them out front. Handling telephone calls and laughing about some newspaper article or sports magazine press clipping over the excellent coffee Jason insisted on making for her. And all the while Miles told her anecdotes about his work and past achievements and how this manufacturer or clothing outlet came to stock their clothing.
Strange how many times a day he found a way to brush against her hand with his, or look over her shoulder at some suddenly vital piece of information on the PC monitor. She had to stop the tickling, of course—that got completely out of hand and she had to scold him about being professional.
A smirk of supressed laughter flicked across Andy’s face.
If this was business coaching then she was all for it.
And maybe it was just as well that she had been kept busy. It had kept her mind away from mulling over all of those intimate moments they had shared since he had walked into that coffee shop. His kisses and touch. His kindness. His quiet compassion. His humour.
A girl could fall for a man like that.
Hell. She was already halfway there.
Then her smile faded. But this evening was more than work—this was about Miles. She would never forgive herself if she messed up the most important event since his accident. And she only had an hour before facing the cameras.
Andy groaned and was just reaching for a pillow to pull over her head when her mobile phone rang on her bedside table.
She stretched out and flipped it open, but stayed lying down.
‘Andy Davies.’
‘Hey, Andy,’ came a voice as smooth and delicious as dark mocha chocolate. ‘My folks are having a beach barbecue tonight. I am thinking of making my excuses and jumping on the next flight to Tenerife. Want to elope with me?’
Tenerife? Flight? Elope?
Yes, please. I can be packed and ready in twenty minutes flat.
Deep breath.
‘What?’ She laughed. ‘And miss a chance to hear all of the latest showbiz gossip from Saffie’s favourite movie actor firsthand? Perish the thought.’
Andy started fiddling with a strand of hair one handed. ‘I never took you for a quitter, Mr Gibson,’ she replied with a laugh in her voice. ‘Surely you are not going to allow a few reporters to thwart your plans for world domination?’
A manly cough was followed by a low growl and Andy imagined him glowering at the mobile phone. ‘You know me so well, Miss Davies. Perhaps I should come over to your place now and you can talk me out of doing a runner?’
‘Sorry. No can do. I am nowhere near ready. And I don’t want to open the door in my underwear and dressing gown.’
The microsecond the words left her lips Andy winced. Wrong thing to say. In so many ways.
‘Actually that would probably be the highlight of the evening. I could award points on the amount of lingerie on display and deduct points from the amount of Andy concealed. Sounds like a challenge.’
‘And one you will never know,’ she added hastily, desperate to change the subject. ‘How is Jason’s speech getting on?’
‘Who? Never heard of him. Now back to this lingerie. Are you at home?’
‘Might be,’ she replied, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of knowing that she was lying on her bed in her underwear. And the red heels she needed to break in so that she would not fall flat on her face in front of the VIPs. ‘Are you?’
‘No. I’m still at Jason’s place. As you well know. But I have this terrible problem. What to wear? I wonder if you could give me guidance on the matter.’
‘Fashion advice? I am a little rusty on gentleman’s couture, but I can try. What are you wearing right now?’
She heard his breath catch, and then slapped her hand to her forehead. ‘I meant … what suit are you wearing right now?’
‘Of course you did,’ he growled. ‘I am actually sitting on my bed looking at the three suits I brought with me. But to answer your question?’
Andy pressed the phone to her ear and held her breath.
‘Black boxers. Black socks. A knee brace so I can stand for a couple of hours without falling over. The aftershave our Paris perfumers have been working on for Cory but we haven’t launched yet. Oh—and a smile. Because I am talking to you.’
Andy bit down on her lower lip as she had a vision of Miles wearing only boxers and socks and the room became remarkably warm all of a sudden. Stay focused. Stay focused.
‘Ah. You need a dinner jacket for an award ceremony. Do you have one?’
‘Two. A midnight blue with pale silk lining. It’s cute, trendy and slim fit across the chest. And my old dinner jacket. Black. Red lining. Long line. First suit I ever had made to measure. That takes me back.’
‘The black suit,’ Andy answered before Miles had finished speaking. ‘That’s the one.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I am hopelessly sentimental and I know that when you wear that suit it will remind you that you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone. Ever again. You have already been there, many times over.’ Then she sniffed. ‘And I’m wearing red tonight. Good combo.’
She could almost hear Miles grinning on the other end of the telephone. ‘Are you wearing red at this minute?’
Andy glanced down at her less than pristine white strapless bra and Saffie’s red French knickers. The red heels were extra slutty and she kicked them off.
‘Yes. And no.’
‘How much not exactly? Because I am having a vision of red underwear and it is really quite delightful.’
‘Is it indeed? Dream
on. I am only wearing red French knickers. I mean … I am wearing other clothes but they are not red, and …’ She took a breath and sighed out loud. ‘And you have the most annoying habit of getting me all flustered. I don’t know how you do it. Thank heavens you have already asked me to be your date or I would think that you were trying to chat me up.’
‘Red French knickers,’ he breathed in a voice of liquid chocolate that warmed her right to the pit of her stomach. ‘Oh, Miss Davies. For that I can be dressed and around to your house in about twenty minutes. Get that dressing gown ready.’
‘Miles. Stop. Haven’t you forgotten something? We have to be on our best behaviour tonight. Remember? My mission shall be to deter other ladies from molesting your fine bod and keeping you company. This is bound to be an arduous task so forget the red underwear. Keep your eyes on the prize.’
‘That’s what I was doing. Let’s make that thirty minutes. I can’t wait to see you. Bye for now.’
‘Bye.’ Her fingers clasped around the phone and closed it, but instead of returning the phone to its charger, she held it to her chest, lay flat on her feather and down duvet and smiled as she waited for her heartbeat to return to something like the normal rate.
Miles Gibson could make her laugh like no other man, and discombobulate her with equal ease. But she dared not tell him. Could not tell him. Letting him know how attracted she was would only lead one way—heartbreak, disaster and unemployment.
One evening. That was their deal. He had kept his side of the bargain. Now it was time for her to keep hers.
Shame it was so hard to remember that fact when he was so close.
Andy clasped the phone harder.
Why shouldn’t she enjoy his company for this evening? He had asked her to be his date. And that was precisely what she was going to be. Because they were friends. Good friends. They trusted one another and they could make this work.
Trust. Yes. She did trust him. Tonight Miles Gibson would be her trusted friend who she could rely on not to let her down.