Jayne inwardly cursed. Marcus Wareing was the owner of the Michelin-starred restaurant at The Berkeley. She’d thrown down an impossible challenge only to find that the man standing in front of her was more than up to the task. With an irritated huff, she brushed past him and walked outside, feeling manipulated and backed into a corner.
Still, it was one dinner. She might manage that without killing him.
7
Rupe stood outside Jayne’s apartment and raised his hand. Rather than knocking, however, he let his hand fall back to his side and took a couple of deep breaths to compose himself. Up until that point, he’d been his usual flippant self around her. That strategy was a mistake with someone like Jayne Seymour. It was time to change his plan of attack.
During his research, he’d discovered she was going through a divorce. Her husband seemed a bit of a dick, a waster, and definitely not worthy of a classy lady like Jayne. Rupe wondered what the story was—why she’d ended up with someone like Kyle Thomas and the reason for the split. Instinct told him she’d been hurt and that was why she was draped in enough man repellent to put off the keenest of hopefuls.
The bad news for Jayne was that Rupe had a hide like a rhinoceros when it came to insults. They simply bounced off him. Just as well, because Jayne’s aim was as good as an Olympic javelin champion.
He also knew why she’d insisted on going to dinner that night and thrown what she thought was a curveball with the whole Berkeley demand. She hadn’t wanted to agree to a dinner at all, but her inherent good manners had won out, so she’d drawn on her experience of negotiation and thrown down a difficult challenge. It was a shame for her that his contacts and influence stretched far and wide. In fact, it wouldn’t have mattered which restaurant she’d picked. Either he or Cash would have been able to swing a table in a matter of a few phone calls.
Enough with the procrastinating. He lifted his clenched fist and rapped on the door. After a few moments, he heard chains rattling and the key turning in the lock. As Jayne opened the door, he caught his breath. He’d half expected her to dress down as a way of needling him. She hadn’t.
Jayne had chosen an emerald-green dress, knee length and off the shoulder. The colour was a perfect complement to her soft hazel eyes. The dress clung to every single curve—the promise of what lay beneath going off in his head like fireworks on Bonfire Night. On her feet, a pair of silver open-toed slingbacks added at least four inches to her height, bringing her virtually eye-to-eye with him. Her blond hair lay in loose waves over her shoulders. It was longer than he’d thought, but considering that every time he’d seen her she’d worn it up, he wouldn’t have known the length. Her makeup was light, apart from a bright-red glossy lipstick that decorated those amazing lips.
“Wow,” he said. “You look stunning. No, strike that. You are stunning.”
He half expected a witty comeback. Instead, she gave him a proper ice-free smile that made his stomach clench and his cock twitch.
“You don’t scrub up too badly yourself, Mr Fox-Whittingham,” she said.
“Oh God,” Rupe replied with a groan. “You’re going to call me that all night, aren’t you?”
She laughed. Oh, that sound. He’d flay himself if it meant he could hear it again.
“Okay, let’s go with Rupert for tonight only. You’re still technically my client.”
“Well, seeing as you’re in an amiable mood, can we go with Rupe? My mother was the only one to regularly call me Rupert, and usually only when I’d been very, very bad.”
Jayne frowned. “Was?”
“Yeah,” Rupe said, biting down on the surge of grief that rose within him. “She died. Eighteen months ago. Cancer.”
“I’m so sorry.” Jayne sounded genuinely sympathetic.
Rupe shook his head. “Let’s not start our evening on a maudlin note. I’m trying to persuade you this shouldn’t be a one-night deal.”
Jayne raised an eyebrow. “I hope you got in at The Berkeley.”
“What the lady demands,” he said, sticking out his elbow. He couldn’t hold back his smile when Jayne slipped her hand through. He did, however, manage to repress a hiss as that same jolt of electricity he’d experienced at the police station—the last time she touched him—shot up his arm. This woman might well be the death of him—literally.
His driver was waiting a short distance away from Jayne’s apartment. Rupe guided her into the back of the car, and once the door had closed, the noise from the street abated.
“We could have taken a taxi,” Jayne said, nodding towards the front of the car, which Rupe had sealed with a privacy screen.
“Why would I do that? The equivalent would be renting a place to live when you already have a perfectly good house in the right location that’s paid for.”
She peered at him through a narrowed gaze. “You really are filthy rich, aren’t you?”
Rupe flashed her a winning smile. “Oh, I’m very filthy, darling. Rich is just one of the terms to tag onto the end of that adjective.”
Jayne raised her eyes heavenward. “You’re an impossible cad, Rupert Fox-Whittingham.”
Rupe chuckled. “My best friend’s missus always says that.”
“Is that the same friend who called my partner to see if we could take on your case?”
“The very same.” Rupe tilted his head to one side. “I take it you’re not a tennis fan?”
“Sport? I barely get time to eat, let alone any me time.”
“Cash used to be the number-one tennis player in the world.”
“That’s impressive.”
“Yeah. He retired four years ago. He could have still been playing today, but, well, he met Tally, had a couple of kids, and decided family was more important than tennis.”
“Lucky them.” A tinge of envy coloured her tone. “Glad it works out for some people.”
Rupe kept his face straight. Her offhand comment told him that his assumptions were correct. She’d been hurt and had probably sworn off men as a result. He didn’t respond, sensing that it wasn’t the right time to probe. After a glass or two of Prosecco, he’d test the waters.
“So why did you choose The Berkeley?” he asked, even though he knew the answer.
Her smile was as fleeting as the hint of devilment in her eyes, but he spotted both. “Because I thought you wouldn’t be able to pull it off at such short notice.”
Rupe clasped a hand to his chest and pasted a faux-aggrieved look on his face. “I’m hurt you would do such a thing.”
Jayne squinted at him. “I get the feeling I’d have to work a damn sight harder to really offend you.”
Rupe chuckled. Jayne would be a tough nut to crack, but hell, he was going to have a ball trying.
His car pulled to a stop, and Rupe looked out of the window. “Great, we’re here.” He jumped out and went around to Jayne’s side, but he should have known better. She was already out of the car and standing on the pavement, her clutch bag clenched between her fingers.
He waggled his finger in admonishment. “I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy.”
Jayne pointed to herself. “Millennial. Independent and proud.”
Rupe threw his head back and laughed. “You can get the door, then,” he said, waving at the entrance to the hotel.
Jayne walked ahead, which gave Rupe the chance to check out her arse. Not that it was the first time he had, but a sight like that never got boring. Her hips swayed as she moved—a hint of sexiness without being overt. Jayne was a serious girl, which was why he’d have to rein in the “Rupert-ness.” Blatant attempts at seduction or crude overtures would see him eating alone.
As he’d requested, their table was situated in a secluded part of the restaurant. Once seated, the waiter handed over their menus and left them alone.
“Would you like red or white wine with dinner, or shall I order both?” Rupe asked, his head buried in the wine list.
“Neither,” Jayne replied, causing him to lift his head. “I’ll stic
k to water, thanks.”
So much for my plan to get her tipsy. He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t drink?”
“You say that like it’s a crime. Yes, I drink. When I’ve had a bad day at work, or if I’m out with friends, I might have a glass or two of wine.”
Rupe gave her a wry smile. “Message received. At least I’ll know I’ve made it into the Jayne Seymour inner circle when you let me buy you a drink.”
“It’s an exclusive club. I doubt you’ll gain entry.”
“I like a challenge.”
Jayne leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. Her gaze was unwavering as she locked onto his. “If I had to guess, I’d say you have an extremely low boredom threshold and I’m not interesting enough to hold your attention. Work is my life, which doesn’t leave me time for anything else. I think you’ll discover my limitations this evening, and I won’t need to worry about you mithering me for another date, which would be a good result for both of us.”
Rupe found himself unable to look away from those hazel eyes that held so much mystery and secretiveness. The words Jayne had used betrayed an underlying lack of self-esteem that wasn’t obvious at first glance. He wondered if her confidence had always been low or if the marriage breakdown had contributed to that. He’d bet on the latter. A successful lawyer wouldn’t usually be lacking in confidence.
“You’re right. I do get bored easily.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “But there’s something about you. I can’t put my finger on it. You intrigue me.”
Before she could respond, Rupe gestured to the waiter and ordered their drinks: a bottle of red for him and a mineral water for her.
“So what are you going to order?” He rubbed his chin. “I’d guess you’re a fish or chicken kind of woman.”
Jayne’s mouth creased in thought. “Why would you say that?”
Rupe swept his gaze lazily over her, and on its trip back up to her face, he lingered on her breasts. “You don’t get to keep a figure like yours while stuffing your face with hunks of beef.”
“Depends on the hunk of beef,” she hit back with a twinkle in those stunning eyes.
Rupe raised one eyebrow. “Was that a sexual innuendo?”
Jayne laughed, making Rupe’s skin tingle deliciously.
“I’m not sure you’re good for me, Rupert Fox-Whittingham.”
Rupe grinned. “Bad is way more fun, Jayne.”
After they’d eaten, Rupe ordered coffee. Just watching Jayne blow delicately across the top of the steaming cup made his stomach tighten.
“I expected you to give me a tough time tonight,” Rupe said, taking a couple of sips of his own drink.
Jayne cocked her head to one side. “It crossed my mind. I considered several approaches, from monosyllabic to acerbic, especially as you manipulated me into coming.” Jayne let out a soft sigh, which made Rupe chuckle. “And then I decided I’m just too damned tired to be combative tonight.”
“Heavy workload?”
“Yeah. I keep promising I’ll take a break, and then more work lands on my desk.”
“Like hapless billionaires needing an extraction from a tricky situation,” Rupe said.
Jayne chuckled. “Exactly like that. I’m taking this weekend off, though. Going to see my grandmother.”
Rupe leaned back in his chair. His research had told him Jayne’s parents were dead and her grandmother was her only living family. She had no siblings and was in the middle of a messy divorce. No wonder she worked all the time.
“You should take a longer period of time off. It’s important to be kind to yourself.”
Jayne’s face softened, and a surge of desire mixed with hope raced through Rupe’s body. Maybe he was breaking down some barriers.
“So tell me,” he said in an effort to distract himself from the growing bulge in his trousers. “Who hurt you so badly that you felt the need to become the ice queen? Because from what I’ve seen tonight, there’s definitely molten lava beneath the surface.”
Jayne dropped her cup with a clang. Coffee spilled down the sides and gathered in a pool in the saucer. “Who said anyone hurt me?”
“I did—and you did with that reaction.” He nodded at her cup.
Jayne shook her head. She pushed back her chair and gracefully got to her feet.
“Thank you, Rupert. You’ve just made a decision for me.” And with that, she picked up her clutch bag, spun on her heel, and headed for the exit.
“Shit.” Rupe scrambled to his feet. There was no time to wait for the bill, so he threw a more than generous bundle of notes on the table and set off after Jayne.
She was already way ahead of him. Those long legs of hers easily ate up the yards.
He caught up with her outside the restaurant. “I’m sorry,” he said, clasping her elbow. “I shouldn’t have pried.”
Jayne stepped away, causing his hand to fall to his side. “I kept my end of the bargain. Against my principles and better judgement, I went to dinner with you. Now, kindly leave me be.”
She put her hand in the air, but when two cabs passed by without stopping, she let her arm fall to her side, an irritated sigh spilling from her lips. She craned her neck, looking up the street, getting ready to hail the next one she saw.
“Let me see you home. You could be waiting ages for a cab.”
Her eyes cut to his. He watched in silence as she weighed her options. She could stand there hoping to eventually get lucky and grab a taxi, or she could take a ride home with him. Reading the disdainful expression on her face, he hazarded a guess that she’d rather take a ride home with a piranha.
Rupe didn’t wait for a reply. He called for his car, and thirty seconds later, it stopped by the side of the road. Rupe opened the back door.
“Come on, Jayne. Get in.”
A couple of seconds scraped by, and then, without saying a word, she climbed inside. With a sigh of relief, Rupe got in beside her. Jayne had her back to him, giving him the cold shoulder physically and metaphorically. He decided to leave her be. His questioning had clearly touched a very raw nerve, and he cursed himself for cocking up so spectacularly.
She still hadn’t uttered a word when they stopped outside her apartment building twenty minutes later. She unclipped her seatbelt. “Goodnight, Rupert,” she said in a curt tone.
The car door slammed behind her, and she disappeared inside. Rupe hesitated for a couple of seconds. Then he muttered, “Fuck it,” and ran in after her. He took off up the stairwell. It’d be quicker than waiting for the lift. When he reached her floor, a little out of breath, he paused for a few seconds before banging on her door.
“Jayne, open up.”
Silence.
“Jayne, for fuck’s sake. I’m sorry, okay? My timing was off. It’s none of my business. Just let me in. Five minutes—that’s all I ask.”
More silence.
“Fine. I don’t have anywhere to be. I’ll just settle in here for the night.”
Rupe slid down the wall and pulled his knees into his chest, wrapping his arms around them. Stubborn bloody woman. What the hell am I doing here, huh? He could pick out a dozen women who’d have been quite happy to entertain him for the night. The problem was, he didn’t want a dozen women. He wanted one woman. Trust him to home in on the elusive, principled lawyer.
His head snapped up when the lock rattled. Jayne opened the door as Rupe scrambled to his feet.
“You’re an idiot,” she said as he dusted off his trousers.
He gave her a goofy grin. “Guilty as charged.”
She turned around and left the door open. He followed her and closed it behind him. Jayne sat on the couch and curled her feet beneath her.
“If you must know,” she said as he settled himself into a chair at right angles to the couch, “I caught my husband screwing my best friend over that table.” She winced as she pointed to a large, rectangular dining table on the far side of the open-plan room. “He’s being an arse over the divorce be
cause he thinks he’s owed more than I think he’s owed.” She gave him a look of surprise. “And I have no idea why I just told you all that.”
Rupe stroked his chin. “What does he think he’s owed?”
Jayne shrugged one shoulder. “Half of everything, despite putting very little financially into our marriage.”
“Cheeky fucker.”
Her mouth twitched at the corners. “That’s one of the nicer terms I’d use to describe him.”
Rupe leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. “I’m sorry. That’s a shitty hand to be dealt.”
“Yeah, well.” Jayne picked at a thread on her dress. “I only wasted seven years on the deadbeat.”
Rupe tilted his head to the side. “Am I forgiven?”
She let out a resigned sigh. “Do you always get your own way?”
He chuckled. “Usually.”
Jayne stood, and for a moment he thought she was signalling for him to go. Instead, she wandered into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of white wine and two glasses.
“Make yourself useful,” she said, thrusting the bottle and a corkscrew at him.
He raised an eyebrow. “Wow. I expected to have to work a lot harder to make it onto the list.”
“Oh, you haven’t, but seeing as I can’t seem to get rid of you, I’m going to need a drink to help me cope.”
Rupe flashed her a winning smile as he uncorked the bottle and poured the wine. He handed one over to Jayne, and they clinked their glasses together.
“To inner circles,” he said.
“And annoying, pompous rich guys,” she replied.
8
Jayne began to relax as she sipped her wine and listened to Rupe talk about his business. Who would have thought there was so much money in computer games? Despite all his shortcomings, he’d grown on her. He was a terrible cad and a playboy for sure, but underneath all that, she sensed a pretty decent guy.
And he wasn’t too bad on the eyes either.
She shook that thought away. She’d failed as a wife and as a woman. Her career was all she had left, and getting involved with a client went against her self-imposed ethics. Plus, who needed a man anyway?
Mismatch: A Winning Ace Novel (Book 4) (A Winning Ace Novel) Page 5