The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights

by Sarah Lefebve

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘The CEO. Alex. He’s gorgeous! Tall, dark-haired, ruggedly handsome and heavenly-bodied. Every time I’m with him I practically swoon, like a girl from those regency novels you devour. Or I basically drool. It’s so embarrassing. What am I going to do?’

  ‘Well, if you’d listened to me you wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. I told you, it’s not right—’

  ‘What’s not right is what Tony bloody Ferrier did to me. Jess, please,’ I beg, ‘less teacher mode and more best friend. You still love me, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ she sighs. ‘Of course. Okay, so you’re finally going gaga over a man.’ She chuckles, lightening up. ‘I must admit I was wondering if it’d ever happen.’

  ‘That is not helpful.’ Spotting a free table, I stride across the room and sit down, ordering a glass of white wine from a passing waiter with a series of elaborate hand gestures. ‘And I’d hardly say going gaga. I’m just struggling a little to stay professional, that’s all.’

  ‘Sorry, but a little? You just said you nearly swooned.’ She laughs.

  ‘I’m glad you think this is funny. Remember that when you’re having to pull me out of a giant tub of ice cream and prise the empty wine bottle from my cold fingers because it’s all gone wrong.’ Then I interject quickly, ‘Don’t say it.’

  ‘Fine. And you’re there now, so we have to deal with it, I guess. Hmm. He’s gorgeous. Well, I agree it would be better if he was fat, old, smelly and bald.’

  ‘If only. And what’s really annoying is he’s totally not my usual type.’ I nod a thanks to the waiter as he places a glass of wine in front of me.

  ‘Why? Because he’s not a sensitive soul like the ones you usually go for who look like James Blunt on a bad day? Have you ever wondered if the guys you date aren’t really your type, and that’s why you never commit to them?’

  ‘Hey, watch it.’ I take a large mouthful of the wine. ‘You’re not so hot on the commitment front yourself, are you?’ I wince. ‘Sorry,’ I rush. She’s been in love with my oldest brother Tom for years, since a heated kiss on her fifteenth birthday caused mayhem and havoc in both our families. It almost ended our friendship when he rejected her. We don’t talk about it but I’ve always known he’s part of the reason she’s never had a serious relationship. Maybe one day it’ll work out between them. If anyone deserves a happy ending it’s Jess. ‘Besides,’ I switch subjects, ‘you’re forgetting Nick. He wasn’t my usual type and that didn’t work out.’

  ‘Yeah, he was a banker rather than an artist or musician, and a real man’s man. But he was also an ass who only wanted a trophy girlfriend. That was never going to be you. You’re too intelligent for a start.’

  ‘Doesn’t feel like it at the moment. Anyway, stop trying to get on my good side just because you’re losing the argument.’

  ‘I’m not! We’ve been friends for over twenty years, and you can be pretty annoying, I’ll give you that—’

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘But you do have some good qualities.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’

  Jess sniggers. ‘Pleasure. So, what’s he like apart from not your usual type but gorgeous?’

  Maybe if I just focus on the negatives. ‘Arrogant, cynical, defensive and sexist. Oh, and stubborn. Entrenched in his views.’

  ‘Wow, that’s quite a list. And er, I hate to point it out Cee, but you’re not unfamiliar with the concept of stubbornness yourself.’

  I cut across Jess, on a roll. ‘He fluctuates from distant one minute to laughing the next. You never know where you are with him. He’s also kind of old-fashioned. You know,’ another gulp of wine slides down my throat as if by magic, ‘complete sentence construction, wanting to carry my bags, not believing in employing female staff.’

  ‘Speaking the Queen’s English? Offering to help you? How dare he?’ she mocks. ‘Complete and utter bastard.’

  I smile, knowing I’m caught out. ‘All right, perhaps I’m being a bit harsh but you can’t quibble the last one.’

  ‘That I get and it’s not acceptable.’ She pauses, mulling it over. ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Early thirties.’

  ‘Miss Caswell.’ The deep voice is unmistakable.

  Flicking a quick look over my shoulder, I freeze. Of course Alex is standing right behind me. The pit of my stomach drops down to my toes. God knows how long he’s been there for. Oh, crap.

  ‘Still, he doesn’t sound that bad,’ Jess is still chatting away, ‘from the way you described how hot he is, I think I could overlook some of the rougher edges. Or possibly train him,’ she muses. ‘Maybe I should pop across Europe and check him out?’

  ‘Um, I’ll get back to you on that. Gotta go.’

  ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘You could say that. Speak later.’ Flipping my phone closed, I stand reluctantly. How much has he heard? Everything including my comment about Tony? Talk about incriminating. Talk about blowing my cover. It would be just my luck if he kicks me out of this classy hotel with no belongings and no money and I’m left stranded in Barcelona.

  Taking a deep breath, I swivel around. ‘Alex. I didn’t realise you’d be down so soon.’

  ‘Obviously. So would I have overheard the entire character assassination if I’d arrived earlier?’

  Phew, he probably didn’t hear me mention Tony. Then mortification singes my face as I realise what he has overheard. ‘I’m sorry.’ Screwing my face up, ‘Er, what exactly—?’

  ‘Arrogant and sexist were mentioned. Old-fashioned and cynical also featured.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. Is there any point in saying some people might take some of those as compliments, in particular the old-fashioned part? You know,’ I squeak, wishing I could vanish in a puff of black smoke, ‘as in traditional values? Moral fortitude?’

  ‘I might have done, because I don’t think there’s anything wrong in being polite or articulate, or being worried about something other than the latest fashions or music, but they didn’t sound like compliments the way you said them.’

  ‘No, I get that,’ I confess, squirming now, ‘but it was because … ’

  ‘Because?’

  Because I was convincing myself not to like you. I can’t say so or the conversation will leap from humiliating to downright excruciating. ‘It doesn’t matter. I apologise unreservedly. There’s no excuse for it. I don’t suppose there’s any way we can move past this?’

  ‘It’s too late to get another temp,’ he confirms, and I hate his voice being so cool and rigid after the rapport we built in the suite, ‘so I’ll try to forget it, even though every word is indelibly engraved on my brain.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. Again,’ I offer quietly, feeling awful. I can’t believe I was so indiscreet. My head was just so all over the place I didn’t stop to think. Not my usual style at all.

  ‘Yes, well.’ He stares over my shoulder, jaw tensing. ‘Just forget it.’

  There’s nothing else I can say and the silence quickly becomes unbearable, so I look around the room. What might be Catalan art hangs on the cream walls and lots of small square mahogany tables with clean lines are dotted around trendy brown leather and purple velvet sofas. The long, wide black bar is backlit by purple and red UV lighting, with metal high-backed stools grouped together, elegant square chandeliers hanging overhead. Full-length windows overlook the marina, the boats bobbing up and down gently on the calm sea.

  Alex lets out a heavy sigh. ‘Shall we go through for dinner?’

  ‘Please.’ As I grab my almost-empty glass and clutch bag from the table, I stumble and Alex’s large hand shoots out to grab my elbow. I wrench it away, feeling like I’ve been branded, the heat of his fingers transmitting a tingling message through my skin straight to my tiny underwear. ‘Th–thanks.’

  Turning around, I struggle to walk in a straight line, my knees are trembling so hard. Alex wordlessly follows and a young brunette waitress greets us at the entrance of the restaurant. Why do th
ey all have to have such glossy dark hair? Not everyone has celebrity-shiny tresses, some of us mere mortals are challenged with hair that curls and waves and demands complete freedom, no matter what we might do to control it.

  ‘¡Hola! Table for two? Penthouse suite, si, Mr Demetrio?’

  Alex nods and we trail after her as she sweeps through the packed room. The clink and tinkle of cutlery and the glow of lit candles mix with muted conversations to create a warm, welcoming atmosphere. Alex’s jacket brushes my bare arm as he walks beside me. I ignore the shiver it causes.

  ‘By the way,’ he says in a low voice, ‘I know I said we’d forget about it, but I do want to clarify one thing.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I employ women.’ His sideways look says he’s disappointed with my assumptions. ‘I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the benefits of gender balance. Some of my best senior managers are female, which is why six of them sit on the Board.’

  ‘Out of how many directors?’

  ‘Ten.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘It’s only my executive assistant I insist is male. Not that I have to justify anything to you.’

  ‘Of course not.’ He’s defensive, but I can hardly blame him after what he overheard.

  We come to a beautifully laid table by the window overlooking the grand vista of Port Olimpic. It’s pretty, lights from passing boats shining and twinkling off the dark water, the rhythmic lap of waves against the jetties barely discernible.

  I gulp as we sit down. It’s exactly the kind of set up I’ve been dreading – intimate and romantic. I flick a wary glance at Alex. His total concentration is on the menu. I frown as I finish off my wine. The last thing I need is to get drunk and sloppy and let my identity slip too soon. No more alcohol tonight. Reaching for a glass of water, my hand twitches and knocks it over, and I watch in horror as it sends a cascade of good old H20 directly towards Alex. But he’s quick, pushing back from the table like his chair is on wheels.

  I jump from my seat, grabbing a napkin. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t get you, did I?’

  He stands, waving a hand to someone behind me for assistance. ‘Luckily for me, no.’

  My gaze drops to his trousers to check and I move towards him, hand extended reflexively to mop up.

  He grabs my wrist before I reach my target, ‘I said you missed, Charley.’

  ‘Yes, of course. S–sorry,’ I stutter as he releases my arm. Was I really just about to rub his crotch? Dear God. Sloping back to my chair, I wish I could slide under the table and hide, especially when not one, but two members of staff arrive to sort out the mess I’ve made. My face starts to burn. I’ve always been clumsy but today I’ve hit a new record; the water in the plane, almost falling over in the bar, and now attempting to give Alex a shower and rub him down. I should come with an Official Government Warning: Spending time with this girl may be bad for your health/clothes/sanity.

  The staff leave, taking away everything bundled in the fine linen tablecloth. People are staring, but Alex is consulting his phone, so I bury my nose in the menu. The waitress returns, laying out a new tablecloth and placing cutlery, napkins and crystal glasses out precisely. She gives me a small reassuring smile when I peek over the top of the leather-bound booklet. ‘Thank you. Sorry.’

  ‘No problem, madam. It has happened before.’ She moves away, distracted by the next diner needing attention.

  ‘Now the drama’s over,’ Alex tucks his phone away, face taut, ‘shall we order?’

  ‘I apologised. It was an accident.’

  ‘I know. So have you decided?’

  ‘No. I need a minute.’

  ‘If you must.’

  My teeth snap shut. He hasn’t forgiven me for my comments. Fingers gripping the menu, I focus on reading. Despite my turmoil I’m impressed by the delicious selection of Mediterranean dishes with international influences. ‘It all looks fantastic,’ I murmur finally. ‘I think I’ll have the carré de cabrito glaseado a la miel con setas.’

  ‘Rack of honey-glazed meat with mushrooms?’ Alex translates fluidly. ‘I love a woman who’s not afraid to eat properly.’ He shakes his head. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ Waving his apology away. I can hardly criticise his behaviour when I’m so confused – and horrified – by my own.

  Taking a breath, he neatly changes direction. ‘Have you been to Spain before? Your accent isn’t bad.’

  ‘Thanks. I took Spanish at school.’ I also handled occasional calls from international clients when at the casino, so I’m not as rusty as I might be.

  ‘Not French?’

  ‘Most of my friends took that.’

  ‘And you didn’t want to take the obvious choice.’

  ‘Guess not.’ I notice again the clarity of his blue eyes and the laughter lines that bracket his mouth.

  ‘It doesn’t surprise me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘At the risk of backlash, you’re quite strong-minded. You don’t seem like the kind of person to shy away from going your own way. You were probably about eleven if it was the first year of secondary school,’ he pauses and I nod, ‘and there would’ve been peer pressure to take the same language as friends, but you didn’t.’

  Alex’s stare is unnerving. Is there something stuck to my face? Before there’s a chance to check, or ask him what his remark means, a waiter appears at my elbow. ‘You order first,’ Alex nods.

  ‘Thank you.’ I reel off my order and focus on picking up my iced water without incident, as Alex orders in Spanish just as well as I did. While drinking, I clock a glamorous blonde at the next table checking Alex out. She’s dining alone and has no shame about who the target of her interest is. I get the feeling that if I wasn’t sat here she’d be in my chair right now starting a conversation with him. She catches me looking and I glare at her, then wonder why. It’s nothing to do with me.

  ‘So.’ The waiter retreats. I set my water down, hiding a smile when Alex eyes my glass warily. ‘How come you know how to speak Spanish? And where did you go to school?’

  ‘Let’s talk about work, shall we?’ Alex bites. ‘It’s why we’re here, after all.’

  ‘All right.’ I rummage through my bag for pen and paper, annoyed at his tone. He really has got a ten-ton chip on his shoulder. Anything personal about him is clearly off the table. Rearranging my plate and cutlery to make room for my mini-notepad, I lift my head to find Alex frowning. ‘Is there a problem with me taking notes?’

  ‘No. As long as you’re careful with them. Sensitive information leaking onto the market could be disastrous.’

  ‘I didn’t know we’d be discussing trade secrets,’ I joke, then fall silent when his face doesn’t change. ‘Don’t worry. I know how to protect data.’ I lick my lips. Now for the killer question. ‘You do trust me don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know you. But perhaps I’m being overcautious. I keep forgetting the agency vetted you.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ I clear my throat uncomfortably. They didn’t vet me well enough, otherwise they’d know where I used to work. And the way I left. ‘Well, if it helps, I’ll write in shorthand. It’s a bit of a dying art so not many people can read it nowadays. I learnt it—’

  ‘I don’t need your life history,’ he says shortly. ‘Let’s just get on with it. I’ll start with the running order of the AGM.’

  I clench my fingers around the pen. God, what on earth is eating him?

  Chapter Eight

  While I work my way through a sumptuous main course and a satisfyingly chocolatey dessert, Alex goes through the schedule for the next few days, picking at his own meal. Unwinding incrementally as he talks, his voice softens, broad shoulders becoming less rigid. I take notes, but mostly listen as he describes key events and gives background on employees we’ll be seeing for one-to-one meetings.

  ‘Is this one of your hotels?’ I ask when he finally trails off.

  ‘No.’ He leans back in his chair. ‘I tried t
hat once, but it didn’t work. I couldn’t focus on the AGM, kept being pulled into issues or noticing things that needed correcting. Here I’m part of a visiting organisation. I can let other people do the worrying.’

  ‘Cool.’ Oops, not the most professional language.

  But he surprises me by grinning. ‘Yes, indeed. Cool.’

  Is he laughing at himself, recalling my comment to Jess earlier about complete sentence construction? Why can’t he show his sense of humour more consistently? It would make it so much easier to read him, understand how I can earn his trust.

  He leans forward, resting crossed arms on the table. ‘Aren’t you going to finish that?’ He points at the half-eaten chocolate cake in front of me.

  ‘I can’t,’ I answer regretfully, pushing it aside, my taste buds still delighting over the smooth richness of the icing.

  ‘What a waste,’ he shakes his head sorrowfully.

  ‘I know, sorry. I’ll pay for it if necessary.’ It’s an empty gesture. I’m broke.

  ‘I wasn’t serious.’

  Thank God. I bet the meal would cost a fortune. ‘Oh.’ The light-hearted moment gives me an opportunity to ask what I’ve been wondering about. ‘So?’

  ‘So?’ he echoes.

  ‘We’ve done the business bit. Now will you tell me where you learnt Spanish?’

  ‘No point.’ Shrugging, he picks my dessert fork up and toys with it, his large hands on the tiny utensil looking like something out of Gulliver’s Travels. ‘It’s boring. And I told you enough about my background earlier.’

  Blimey. Talk about guarded. I was hardly asking for his inside-leg measurements. Did he train at spy school or something? The thought is ironic, but then I realise I could totally imagine him as a secret agent, one of the hot guys from This Means War.

  ‘Fine, you can keep your secrets,’ I smile, ‘but you’ve got to give me something. Nothing too personal, I promise.’

  He raises an eyebrow, but plays along. ‘You’ll just keep badgering until I do, won’t you?’ He shakes his head when I simply smile. ‘Fine. Go on then.’ he grumbles.