by Nikki Ashton
My stomach lurched as he got up from his seat. He hadn’t said anything, but was this when he expected me to turn Alan Cromwell’s head? He’d be sorely disappointed if it was.
As the waiter came over to pour us some more coffee, I glanced at Mr. Cromwell, who had shifted his chair a little closer to mine.
‘So, Summer,’ he said as the waiter moved away, ‘I have to say you look beautiful tonight.’
He reached across the table and ran a finger down my cheek. ‘So very beautiful.’
I dragged in a sharp breath and inclined my head away from his touch. As my heart thudded, it felt as though my dinner was about to make a reappearance.
‘Well, that’s a lovely thing to say,’ I replied, shifting my chair back a little. ‘But I think maybe you’re being too generous.’
‘I certainly am not.’ Mr. Cromwell moved his chair forward and leaned closer to me. ‘You’re just my type.’
My stomach roiled at the thought of being his type. I was probably young enough to be his daughter. He certainly looked older than my dad.
‘Why don’t you and I go on somewhere?’ he asked.
I glanced over my shoulder wondering how to make an escape. I had to get out of here, and once I was back at the hotel, I’d be packing my things and getting the first flight out in the morning. Roman Hepburn could stick his job if this was what he expected me to do to get a client.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said through a clenched jaw. ‘But I don’t think so. I’m really tired.’
As I reached for my bag, Mr. Cromwell grabbed my arm and rubbed his thumb along my wrist. ‘Oh come on, Summer, you know it’s part of your job to keep the client happy.’
My heart sank. Damn it, his words just proved that Jack had been right! My palms started to sweat as I wondered what Roman would expect. The fear of being here with the two men was palpable. As I opened my mouth to tell Alan Cromwell to get his hand off me, the words wouldn’t come. My tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth, and I was trying desperately not to cry. I couldn’t show any weakness.
Trying to make ready my escape, I dragged my chair further away from the table and took hold of my bag. Mr. Cromwell’s hand tightened on my arm. I snatched it roughly away and grabbed my bag. Then out of nowhere, Roman appeared at my side.
I looked up at him with trepidation, tears brimming at my lashes, scared that he was going to insist that I let Mr. Cromwell letch over me. I should have just run when I had the chance.
‘I’m sorry, Alan,’ Roman said in a tight voice, ‘I’ve had an urgent call about a problem with a job we’re doing. We need to get back to the hotel. Summer?’
The relief was immense as he held a hand out for me. I just wanted to sag into his arms, but the uneasiness was still pulling at my stomach. He didn’t look happy, and I guessed it might be because I hadn’t played nice with Alan Cromwell. Well, I didn’t care whether he was pissed off, because as soon as we were away from Alan the Creep, I’d be telling Roman Hepburn exactly what I thought of him.
‘Goodnight Alan,’ Roman said holding out a hand. ‘I’ll be in touch soon with the quotation.’
Alan shook Roman’s hand and shifted in his seat. ‘Pity we have to cut the night short,’ he said looking straight at me. ‘But work calls, I suppose.’
Roman gave him a short nod. ‘Yes, sorry, Alan, but we really need to go. I’ll settle the bill on the way out.’
I suppose he thought it was the least he could do, seeing as I had to go back to the hotel with him.
‘Goodnight Roman,’ Alan Cromwell called. ‘Goodnight Summer, and hopefully I’ll see you soon.’
As we got into the taxi, I glanced at Roman who still hadn’t said a word. He was definitely angry because his jaw was tight and was pulsing rapidly.
‘How could you?’ I said my voice breaking. ‘I’m not something that your clients can use as a plaything just to seal the deal.’
Roman breathed in heavily and turned to face me.
‘I know and I’m sorry,’ he replied.
I felt the nausea rising at the realisation that he was acknowledging it. Yes, he was sorry, but sorry for what? That I hadn’t sealed the deal?
‘He had no right touching you like that,’ he snarled. ‘I was on my way back when I saw him creeping you out. I know that you like to look after yourself, Summer, but he blatantly took advantage of you being alone, and his position as the client. It’s damn not acceptable.’
‘W-what?’ I didn’t understand. I thought he was mad because I’d brushed Cromwell off. I wasn’t expecting him to be mad at Cromwell.
‘Did he hurt you?’ Roman asked, looking down at my arm. ‘When I got back to the table and saw that he had hold of you, I felt like punching him. If I’d known that’s what he was like, I’d have never left you with him.’
‘Oh,’ I whispered, relief that Jack Abott was totally wrong about him sweeping over me like a comfort blanket. ‘Thank you.’
‘Wow, a thank you,’ Roman said with a hint of grin. ‘We are making progress.’
As we pulled up outside our hotel, Roman got out first and held out his hand for me. When I stepped out onto the pavement, he leaned into the taxi and asked him wait. Gripping my hand tightly, he then led me inside and stopped us in front of the highly polished lift doors.
With a sigh, he stabbed at the button with his finger.
‘Why did you ask the taxi to wait?’ I asked.
‘Because I’m meeting a friend.’
My heart lurched as I wondered what gender that friend might be.
‘He lives out here.’
I shouldn’t have, but I grinned widely and did a little dance of joy—in my head, obviously.
When the lift arrived, Roman waited as I walked inside. He then held the door and I thought maybe he was coming up with me.
‘I’ll work on Cromwell’s figures in the morning, so you can have some free time. But get to my room by one o’clock.
‘Wow, a whole morning off, thank you Mr. Hepburn,’ I said with a grin.
‘I can always find you something to do in the morning if you’d prefer,’ he sniped back, with a shake of his head.
‘Nope, that’s fine, thank you.’
‘Fuck,’ he muttered, ‘another thank you.’
I should have been annoyed at his little dig, but I was far too distracted about him saving me, and the fact that he’d seen me safely into the hotel.
‘Thanks again for tonight,’ I said, giving him a small smile.
‘Don’t forget, one o’clock,’ he said without acknowledging my thanks. ‘We’ve got plenty of work to be getting on with.’
He then turned on his heels and walked back towards the hotel doors.
‘Grumpy idiot,’ I moaned while still taking time to appreciate the damn splendid bum that was disappearing through the doors.
Ugh, my mouth felt like the bottom of a budgie’s cage and my head felt as though someone had cut the top off it and shoved a woolly hat inside. Champagne was a killer, and I had drunk far too much of it the night before.
My head spinning about the enigma that was Roman, I had run myself a bubble bath to try and relax. I also decided that one of the half bottles of champagne from the minibar, would be a great accompaniment while I soaked. That would have been fine, except, once I was in my pyjamas, I felt bad for the other half bottle left all on its own in the cold, dark fridge, so I drank that one too.
With a groan I checked the time and rolled out of bed—literally. I landed on the floor and contemplated staying there. After a couple of minutes of being nose to carpet, I heaved myself up and into the shower. The early May weather was gorgeous outside, and I decided that my free morning would be spent lazing by the hotel pool. While Roman worked on his figures for Mr. Sleazy I wasn’t going to waste my time lying on my bedroom floor and lamenting the invention of champagne.
Almost an hour after shifting my body into the shower, I made it down to the hotel pool. The sun was high in the sky, and I was glad for m
y huge sunglasses, and the two painkillers that I’d had for breakfast. There weren’t many people around: a couple with their two young boys, an elderly couple sunbathing fully clothed and a middle-aged woman with a smooth, line-free face, pert boobs, but a wrinkled neck and arms—she was evidently working her way down her body with the plastic surgery.
I found myself a spot in the corner away from everyone else and close to a little cobbled path that led into the gardens of the hotel. Having stripped off my white, crochet cover-up, I slapped on some sun cream and made myself comfortable, surreptitiously pulling my red bikini bottoms out of my bum cheeks. With a contented sigh, I lay back on the sunbed, closed my eyes and let the warmth of the sun lull me to sleep.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ The loud growl dragged me from my blissful dozing.
‘Roman? What the …’
‘Where have you been?’ Roman demanded as he towered above me, hands on hips. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’
I shaded my eyes with my hand and pushed up onto my elbow. What the hell was his problem?
‘You said you didn’t need me until one.’
‘Well, I do now. I’ve been trying your mobile for the last hour; I even got housekeeping to open up your room for me.’
‘Did you not think that I might be by the pool, perhaps?’ I hissed, looking around at the other guests, who were casting worried glances in our direction. ‘And stop shouting, people think that you’re going to hit me or something.’
Roman turned around and glared at everyone. They all went back to their own business, except the wrinkly woman: she was still prone on her sunbed and hadn’t moved a muscle—but that could have been because she couldn’t move due to vast amounts of Botox.
‘I wouldn’t have had to come looking for you, if you’d just answered your damn phone,’ he said, his voice now a little quieter. ‘That’s if it’s actually on, of course.’
I reached down into my bag and pulled out my mobile. There were twenty missed calls from Grumpy, one from an unknown number, and a text from Pippa that simply said: ‘Have borrowed your new push-up bra!’ Hah! Typical of Pippa, I hadn’t even worn it yet.
‘I didn’t hear it. I must have been in a deeper sleep than I thought,’ I explained.
‘Yeah, well,’ he huffed, ‘maybe you should turn the volume up in future.’
‘So what did you want me for?’ I asked, choosing to ignore the last comment.
Roman scrubbed a hand over his face, but didn’t speak.
‘God, you infuriate me,’ he sighed, flopping down onto the sunbed next to me. ‘I need you to help me with the quotation.’
My breath caught in my throat as I stared at Roman. His jaw was set hard, but his eyes looked tired as he returned my gaze, yet he looked spectacularly handsome.
‘Okay,’ I replied, ‘I’ll come up with you now.’
‘As long as you don’t mind dragging your backside off that sunbed,’ he snapped, standing up. ‘After all this isn’t a damn jolly, Summer.’
‘Okay,’ I huffed, ‘I’ve said I’m coming.’
Roman shook his head and picked up my cover-up. ‘I’ll see you in my room, but get some damn clothes on first.’ He threw the white top at me and strode away. I think he even growled in the direction of the two small boys splashing about in the pool.
‘What the hell is his problem?’ I muttered to myself, dragging my cover-up over my head.
‘Lover’s tiff, honey?’ the elderly lady with the husband asked in a Southern-American drawl.
‘Sorry?’
‘That man of yours, he sure is feisty,’ she laughed.
‘Oh he’s not my man,’ I replied as I pushed my feet into my flip-flops, ‘he’s my boss.’
‘Jeez,’ she whistled. ‘They didn’t make bosses like that in my day. He’s one damn fine man. Although, don’t tell Harold I said that.’ The woman burst into laughter as she looked at her husband, who was snoring loudly next to her.
‘Well, nice to meet you,’ I said, as I passed the end of her sunbed.
‘You too, honey, and take my advice, make that man your boss in the bedroom too. He looks as though he’d be darn good.’
As I walked away, she was still chortling to herself, whereas I was feeling all hot and bothered at the thought of Roman ordering me around in the bedroom.
A little over three hours later, and we had finally finished the first draft of the quote for Mr. Cromwell’s villa and luxury apartments. It would need adjusting once Roman had received the report from Steve, our structural engineer, but the bulk of it had been written. While it was a lot of money Roman was quoting, I also knew that the margins were tight to ensure we got the contract.
Since I’d been working for him, I seen how hard he worked, and that he was a much better businessman than Mr. Barlow. He took ownership of far more than his predecessor ever had: he’d been more than happy to delegate every little task to me and other members of staff. Roman took responsibility for finding the work, quoting the right amount for it and then ensuring that we always came in within budget. However, it had only really hit home today, helping him with the Cromwell deal, how much stress he was under. Normally he locked himself away in his office taking direct calls and dealing with clients; today I’d been there when he’d taken call after call about not only The Palisades and the warehouse project, but all the other smaller projects that we were involved in. I had also heard him on the phone to Gareth, the company accountant, who was stressing about unpaid invoices, penalty clauses, and wage bills. I knew that the company had been in trouble when Roman took over, and I also knew that in a short time he’d started to turn things around, bringing with him not only his expertise, but a good reputation in the building industry. I now understood totally why he was so grumpy most of the time. Who wouldn’t be with that amount of stress?
‘Do you want a drink of anything?’ I asked Roman as he stretched his arms above his head.
‘No thanks, a hot shower and I’ll be fine.’
I looked away quickly as his T-shirt rode up and gave me a glimpse of flat stomach and a happy trail disappearing into the waistband of his undies. I really ought to get back to my room and maybe call Emma, or Pippa, anything to distract me from that stomach! Oh and his smell again, it was so sexy and was addling my brain.
‘Okay, well, if we’re finished, I’ll go.’
Roman gave me a hint of a smile. ‘Thanks for today. You know how shit I am at typing up proposals. I’d have still been doing it on the flight home tomorrow.’
‘Hmm, it does take a while when you insist on using one finger to type.’ I picked up my bag and walked towards the door. ‘What time shall we meet for dinner?’
‘I don’t have time for dinner,’ Roman muttered as he started to tap away on his mobile. ‘I’ve got other stuff I need to do. You go for it, though; same as yesterday, either keep the receipts or charge it to my room.’
My shoulders dropped as my whole body seemed to deflate with disappointment.
‘Oh okay, I’ll see you in the morning then.’
‘Yeah, and make sure you’re in reception on time,’ he grumbled. ‘The taxi is picking us up at seven-thirty.’
‘I know, I booked the damn thing.’
‘I’m simply reminding you, that’s all. I know what you women are like, fannying around getting ready.’
‘Well, I’m not like other women,’ I snapped flinging the door open. ‘And if I’m late, then have a go at me, otherwise keep your thoughts to yourself.’
‘Hey, remember who’s the boss,’ Roman snarled with his back to me.
‘As if I could ever forget.’
I slammed his door behind me and stomped back to my room. Working with him recently had become a pain in the backside, even more so than ever before. One minute he was being nice, the next a total tool. Well, when I got home, I was definitely going to look for another job. Somewhere that the boss was old, grey, un-fanciable and gentlemanly.
Still grumbling
to myself, I let myself into my room and walked over to the bed, throwing my bag on top of it. I turned to my dresser and stopped. My heart thudded. On top of the dresser was a Chanel gift bag. I peeped inside the bag to see a bottle of Coco Mademoiselle, my favourite perfume. Propped up against the gift bag was a note:
Summer
Just a thank you for all your hard work recently, especially as I’m not the easiest boss in the world.
Grumpy
I gasped at the signature. How the hell did he know I had him in my phone as Grumpy? And—more to the point—what my favourite perfume was? Then the thoughtfulness behind the gift brought a lump to my throat, and I decided to have a rethink about my job search.
Once we got back to the office, Roman was his usual self: irritable and cranky. If anything, he was getting worse, even complaining about the style of my internal emails—who the hell cared whether I started them with ‘Hey Guys’.
Roman had almost brought me to the end of my very short rope when he decided that the Cromwell quote needed some amendments. I was just trying to decipher his scrawled changes, when Alfie Chambers, one of our carpenters, swaggered into the office with a huge grin on his face.
‘Hey, Summer, how you doing?’ he asked, perching on the edge of my desk.
I tutted at the sawdust that settled on some paperwork and gently nudged at his bum with a ruler.
‘Get off, you’re messing up my desk,’ I moaned good-naturedly.
‘Sorry.’ He stood up and pulled over a chair. ‘Where were you earlier this week? I missed you.’
‘France, with Roman.’ I opened my drawer and picked up a packet of biscuits, handing them to Alfie. ‘Here, I know that’s all you’ve come in for.’
Alfie grinned and took a couple of biscuits from the packet. ‘No, your beautiful face drew me here as well.’
‘Whatever. Now, what can I help you with?’ I asked, putting the biscuits back in the drawer.
‘Is the boss man in?’ Alfie said around a mouthful of biscuit.