by Nikki Ashton
My interest was definitely piqued, but wasn’t sure that I should ask. The less you know, the less you can get into trouble for. It seemed Jack, though, was a gossip, because I didn’t need to ask.
‘Listen, Summer,’ he said. ‘I know that he’s your boss, but be careful out there in France.’
I tilted my head to look at him. ‘Sorry?’
‘Just be careful in France. It’s probably not my place to say anything, but one of the things I’ve heard is that Roman likes to use his female employees to entice his clients.’
My heart dropped to the bottom of my empty, growling stomach, and I could feel the colour drain from my face.
‘W-what? I’m sorry, what do you mean?’
Jack stood up and gulped back the last of his drink. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s probably a load of old bollocks; just a girl I know, who knows another girl. You know how it is?’
‘No, I don’t,’ I said, my shaking hand gripping my glass tightly. ‘Tell me, Jack.’
‘She just said that if Roman’s having a struggle getting the client on board, he’ll offer a little incentive in the form of some alone-time with his female employees.’
I shook my head. No way, Roman may well be a miserable bastard, but he was no pimp. Christ, was that what he was planning on doing to me?
‘Hey, nothing major,’ Jack insisted, leaning down to look me in the eye, and putting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. ‘He just leaves them alone so the girl can flirt with the client a little bit, then he’ll come back when he thinks the deal might be done.’
I swallowed the huge lump in my throat, as Jack took a step away. Was that why Roman had asked me about my clothes, to ensure that I had something that I could entice Mr. Cromwell with?
‘Honestly, Summer, You’ll be fine. Like I said, it’s probably just a rumour, but just be aware. Okay?’
‘Okay?’ I whispered.
He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, and flipping it open, drew out a black-and-silver business card and passed it to me.
‘If you find it all gets a bit much working for him, then give me a call. And, I’m sure France will be fine. Who is it you’re going to see out there, anyway? You said it was a local guy?’
Dazed, I stared down at the card, before snapping my gaze back up to Jack.
‘Erm, yeah, a man called Alan Cromwell.’
‘Al Cromwell, oh okay. Yeah, he’s a nice enough bloke. You should be fine with Al.’
‘Okay, well, thanks and good to see you.’
‘Yeah, you too. Take care.’
As I watched Jack leave, I knocked back the rest of my wine and wondered how on earth I could get out of going to France. Just at that moment, my phone beeped again. Looking at it, I saw that it was a text from Roman, and my stomach lurched.
Grumpy: Thanks for sorting flights and hotel. See you at airport at 6. DON’T BE LATE.
Without hesitation, I picked up Emma’s wine and knocked it back in one go. I may as well get pissed now, because there was no way I’d be getting drunk in France, not if I was to be on my guard at all times.
Monday morning had dawned and my stomach was in series of Girl-Guide knots. Not only was I worried that Roman was going to expect me to charm Mr. Cromwell, but also because I would be spending a lot of time with him. For starters, in close proximity on the flight to France. He had never mentioned the kiss in Ziggy’s, but then I’d hardly seen him since then, so maybe he’d want to talk about it while we were away. Suddenly my palms were sweaty and my heart was beating faster because, despite the fact that he could be the most grumpy man on the planet, I couldn’t ignore that he sent my libido into warp factor.
As Roman and I were finally ensconced in our seats, the sun was slowly rising and I couldn’t help that think that most people, i.e. those with a reasonable boss, were still sleeping and not getting on a plane.
‘Couldn’t you get anything a little later?’ Roman grumbled as he shifted in his seat. ‘We’re not due to meet Mr. Cromwell until four this afternoon, I don’t want to be fannying about all day.’
‘You said to get an early flight,’ I hissed as a stewardess stopped to check our seatbelts. ‘So that’s what I did.’
‘You are aware of our relationship, aren’t you?’ he said, pointing a swirling finger between the two of us. ‘That I’m actually your boss.’
‘Yes. Why?’ I said, unable to take my eyes off his lips.
‘Oh no reason. I thought maybe you’d forgotten seeing as you talk to me like shit.’
And I was back in the room.
‘Oh I’m sorry Mr. Hepburn.’ I replied, with attitude. ‘Please excuse my rudeness.’
I knew that I pushed the boundaries with Roman on a daily basis, but I couldn’t help it. He knew how to wind me up and, to be honest, he didn’t seem too perturbed by my backchat. To my way of thinking, he’d have fired me by now if he didn’t.
Proving my point, Roman ignored my comment and continued to grumble on about the lack of leg room and general state of the plane that we were flying in. The flight was only a little over two hours long, but Roman complained the whole time. And, while it was annoying, it distracted me from thinking about that kiss in his office at the club, the kiss that thankfully he never mentioned. It didn’t, however, distract me from his gorgeous smell. Because, to be honest, it was taking all my effort not to run my nose up the length of his body, it was so damn sexy.
It also hadn’t helped that when he’d ambled into Departures earlier, a little drool had formed at the corner of my mouth. He was dressed casually in loose-fitting jeans and a worn grey T-shirt that stretched nicely across his broad chest. It wasn’t the first time that I’d seen him out of a suit—he often came in wearing work clothes if he was going on-site—but it was still a lovely surprise so early in the morning. It was, however, the first time I had ever seen his arms bare of shirt sleeves, whether it be a flannel work shirt or a cotton dress shirt, and, God, they were ripped. His biceps, while not huge, were impressively big and a vision of me gripping them while looking up at him did flicker through my mind. Then Roman made some dismissive comment about my bed hair and I started to envision me gripping his throat instead. Thus, by the time we were in the taxi to go to the hotel, any good thoughts I had about Roman were almost gone. Only almost, because I couldn’t not admire his hair. Its style wasn’t unlike mine, shorter at the sides and longer on top, and today it wasn’t combed straight and gelled into submission: it was all messy and sexy—so, yes, if I had a crush on anything, it was his hair; but I could live with that. There was the usual stubble on his jaw too, but I tried to ignore that as it drew my gaze to his lips again, which were full and kissable … okay, this was getting ridiculous.
‘Right,’ Roman said as we exited the lift on our floor of the hotel. ‘I’ve got some work to do, so I’ll meet you downstairs in three hours. I’ve hired a car to drive us to the site where we’ll meet Mr. Cromwell. It takes about an hour to get there, and I’d like to have a quick look around before the meeting.’
I glanced down at my watch, it was almost eleven-thirty. ‘What about lunch, do you want to grab something to eat before we go over there?’
‘No. If you want something get it and keep your receipt or charge it to my room.’
With that he picked up the handle of his case and strode away leaving me gawping after his gorgeous bum.
‘You can see it’s a big job,’ Mr. Cromwell said to Roman as we wandered around the grounds of the villa. ‘But I want the best of everything, and by that I mean the best materials and the best workmen and craftsmen that you can find.’
‘That’s a given,’ Roman replied, running his hand down the stonework of the main house. ‘There doesn’t appear to be anything too wrong with the basic structure of this. Obviously, the barns are a different matter, but I’m confident that we can retain the rustic look and feel, even if we have to rebuild them from scratch.’
‘You think you’ll need to?’ Mr. Cromwell ru
bbed a hand across his chin, seemingly contemplating the costs.
‘On first inspection, the larger one is in better condition than the other two, but I don’t want to commit until my structural engineer has looked at them. Once he has, I can work out the exact costs.’
‘When will that be? Getting the structural guy here, I mean.’
Roman looked at me. I tapped at my iPad to find the calendars and timetables that I had stored on there.
‘Steve can be out here next week.’
‘Okay,’ Roman replied. ‘Get him a flight booked.’
‘Already done.’ I smiled at Mr. Cromwell.
‘Well, that’s what you call efficient,’ he said, returning my smile.
‘Summer is extremely organised, Mr. Cromwell. She’ll be my contact for the project if you can’t get hold of me. She will be able to provide you with any information that you need. And if she doesn’t,’ Roman said looking directly at me, ‘then I’ll want to know why.’
‘Can’t say fairer than that.’ Mr. Cromwell paused and looked from Roman to me, and then back to Roman. ‘Okay, Mr. Hepburn, as long as the numbers stack up, then I think we have a deal.’
He held his hand out to Roman, who took it and shook it firmly.
‘Oh and call me Alan.’
‘Roman.’ Roman dropped his hand and then turned to me. ‘Summer can you organise a table in the hotel restaurant for this evening. I take it that you’re free, Alan?’
‘Yes, I am. That would be great. But may I suggest somewhere other than your hotel?’ he asked, turning to me.
I looked at Roman, who gave me a quick nod.
‘Please do,’ I replied.
Mr. Cromwell gave me the name of a restaurant and the telephone number. ,Seemingly, he and his family had holidayed in the area for many years, so he was very familiar with good places to eat.
I moved away from Roman and Mr. Cromwell to call the restaurant, pleased that the girl on the phone spoke good English, and I didn’t have to use my schoolgirl French. After a few more minutes looking at the barns, Mr. Cromwell left with a wave and a promise of seeing us later.
‘That went well,’ I said, thankful that I hadn’t been required to flirt.
‘Hmm, too well,’ Roman grumbled. ‘He’s not spoken to anyone else, and that worries me.’
‘Why, surely that’s a good thing?’
Roman shrugged and started to walk towards the car that he’d hired.
‘I don’t know, Summer, something about it all seemed a bit too easy, which usually means it won’t be. But I guess we’ll see.’
‘Can we manage this and The Palisades?’ I asked getting into the car.
‘Because of the problems with The Palisades we have to do both. The other smaller projects that we’ve got going on aren’t enough to sustain the workforce. The warehouse conversion is fairly substantial, but we need this. So, yes, we can manage. I’ll use some of our own guys, but also local workmen as well.’ Roman buckled up, turned the ignition, and we sped out of the farmyard.
‘Do we need to be here until Thursday?’ I glanced at Roman, trying not to stare too much at his profile as he concentrated on the road.
‘I guess not. I was expecting to have to work harder to get the job.’ He turned to me and gave me the briefest of smiles. ‘When we get back to the hotel see what you can do with the flights.’
I nodded and then sat back, enjoying the view of the sea as we followed the coast road back to the hotel in silence.
I studied my reflection in the mirror and the butterflies in my stomach started to flap manically. Ever since I’d started to get ready for dinner with Roman and Mr. Cromwell, I’d felt sick. My main worry was what Roman expected of me. Would he really do what Jack had suggested, or was it simply a rumour? I hoped so, because there was no way I’d be doing any flirting with some man, just to get Roman a contract. If he expected me to, I didn’t care whether he sacked me on the spot, I wasn’t doing it. Something about what Jack had said was bugging me, though. Roman had saved me from Squat Guy in the club, so why would he then expect me to flirt with a potential customer? It just didn’t make sense. I would still be on my guard, though.
Bizarrely, I did want to impress him, and prove that I could wear a nice dress and behave impeccably. I stupidly cared what the miserable goat thought about me, and I had to question my own sanity.
Despite my chagrin when Roman had asked me if I had an appropriate outfit, I hadn’t. Oh I had the shoes and bag, but not the dress. Shoes were my particular drug of choice, and I thought nothing of spending hundreds of pounds on a pair that I would be happy to team with a pair of jeans. That was why I’d not only had to raid Pippa’s vast and expensive wardrobe, but also rush into town on Saturday and buy something suitable. Hence, here I was studying the short, pewter-and-black striped dress that I was wearing. It was a skater style with a faux crop top and full skirt. I had loved it on the hanger in the designer boutique: it was fun and flirty, while still being sophisticated. Now I had it on, I wasn’t sure it was appropriate. As I was quite tall—five feet seven—the skirt seemed even shorter, and I was sure if I bent over you could see my black, lacey boy shorts. Would Alan Cromwell see that as a green light to feel me up? While I contemplated changing into the cobalt-blue body-con dress that Pippa had loaned me, my mobile shrilled on the dresser next to the bed. It was a text message from Roman:
Grumpy: Hurry up, I feel like a prat standing in reception waiting for you.
I sighed and picked up my clutch bag. It was too late to change now; I hadn’t even had chance to tone down my hair that I had styled it into a quiff. I wondered if I should have gone for my more conservative workplace style? Oh well, it would have to do. So with a quick touch-up of bright red lipstick, I left my room to meet Roman.
As I made my way across the reception towards Roman, my black-studded Louboutin shoes clipped on the marble, alerting Grumpy’s attention. He turned towards me, still looking down at his mobile phone in his hand. I took a few seconds to take him in and drew in a sharp breath. He was wearing a charcoal-grey suit, with a white open-necked shirt. He’d tidied up his stubble, but it was still there. He looked handsome—swoon-worthy handsome. As I got closer, he raised his head and stared wide-eyed at me.
‘Summer.’ His voice was so quiet I could barely hear him. It was almost reverent.
‘Hey,’ I said holding my hand up in greeting. ‘Sorry you’ve had to wait.’
‘Yeah, well,’ he said with a cough, ‘it gave me time to answer a couple of emails. You’re here now, so let’s get going.’
Roman strode ahead of me and pushed through the door to the hotel vestibule. He did at least hold the door open for me while nodding to the doorman to call us a taxi. The man stepped forward and clicked his fingers, indicating for the car at the head of the line to move forward. As the sleek, silver Mercedes pulled up at the pavement, the doorman bent to open the door. I stood back expecting Roman to get in before me, but he placed a hand in the small of my back.
‘After you,’ he said softly.
My breath hitched slightly as I felt a small shock throughout my body. Unnerved by Roman’s touch, I clutched my bag to my chest and lowered myself into the back seat of the car, in as ladylike fashion as possible. I thought that Roman was going to sit in the front, so was surprised when I felt his knee pressed against mine.
‘Oh sorry.’ I shuffled further along the seat, not missing how hot my leg felt where Roman’s had touched it.
‘L’Aromate, s’il vous plait,’ Roman said leaning between the seats to the driver.
‘Oui, Monsieur.’
‘Ah, so you speak French,’ I said lightly, grinning at Roman.
‘Only the basics,’ he replied. ‘But if this deal goes ahead, I think maybe we both need to get a better grasp of the language.’
‘What, me too?’
Roman didn’t look at me, but messed with the cuffs of his shirt that were peeking out from his jacket sleeve. ‘Yep, you too. They may
speak good English, but we’ll gain more respect if we learn their language. It will also mean that we will know exactly what is being said about us.’ He turned to me and gave me an absolutely glowing smile. It caused my heart to flip.
‘Oh shit,’ I muttered, shocked at how hard his smile had made my heart beat.
My head felt as though it was in a blender, he had me so confused.
‘What’s wrong?’ Roman frowned.
‘N-nothing,’ I stammered like an idiot. ‘I just … I just realised I didn’t water my plant before we left.’
I groaned inwardly and lowered my head to stare at my clutch bag on my lap. Hadn’t watered my plant—was that the best excuse I could come up with?
‘Don’t you live with your parents?’ Roman asked quizzically. ‘Just ring them and ask them to water it.’
‘Yeah, I’ll text my mum,’ I mumbled as I fiddled with my mobile.
‘Sometimes you’re a bit weird, you know.’
I looked up at Roman and frowned. ‘Well, thanks for that.’
He grinned and laughed—two smiles in a matter of minutes. ‘You’re welcome.’
My heart sank. Not only was his smile beautiful, but his laughter was rich and deep, and I actually felt a little excited down below. What the hell was he doing tonight? Where was the rude, abrupt dick that I usually worked for: the one that I wanted to strangle on a daily basis? This was all too confusing and making my head hurt.
Dinner was going well: the food was excellent, the wine extremely fine, and the conversation was pleasant. The only problem was that Roman was being charm personified, not only to Alan Cromwell, but to me too. As the night had worn on, his bitching and sniping started to fade from my memory, and I found myself desiring him more each minute. Gone was my irritation with everything he said; now all I could think of was how I’d like that slight stubble of his to irritate me between my legs.
‘Would you excuse me, please,’ Roman said throwing down his napkin. ‘I just need to visit the bathroom.’