Under the Boss’s Mistletoe

by Jessica Hart

  Jake’s fingers closed hard around hers. ‘Cassie, this is Natasha.’ He introduced her stiffly.

  Natasha smiled, although it looked as if it was a bit of an effort. ‘You’ve obviously met before,’ she said.

  ‘We all grew up together in Cornwall,’ said Cassie cheerfully. ‘I was madly in love with Rupert for years.’ She laughed. ‘You know how intense adolescent love is? I promise you, I adored him.’

  ‘You mean you don’t any more?’ said Rupert with mock disappointment, and with one of his patented smiles guaranteed to make a girl go weak at the knees.

  Ten years ago, Cassie would have dissolved in a puddle at a smile like that. This time her knees stayed strangely steady. ‘Not since I discovered what real love is,’ she said, smiling at Jake, who looked straight back into her eyes; for a second the two of them were quite alone.

  And then her knees did wobble.

  Rupert’s brows shot up. ‘You and Jake…? How very unlikely!’ His voice was light and mocking, but Cassie refused to be fazed.

  ‘That’s what we thought, didn’t we, darling?’ she said to Jake, and to her relief he managed to unclench his jaw at last.

  ‘We thought we were completely different,’ he agreed. ‘And it turns out that we are made for each other.’

  ‘What do your parents think about that?’ Rupert asked Cassie smoothly. ‘The Greys and the Trevelyans used to move in rather different social circles, as I remember.’

  Cassie lifted her chin. ‘They’re delighted,’ she told him. ‘They’re coming back to Portrevick for the wedding,’ she added, and heard Natasha’s sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Wedding?’

  ‘We’re getting married at Christmas.’ Cassie held out her hand to show her the ring, and then wished she hadn’t. Her nail polish was bright-pink and chipped, and looked slatternly compared to Natasha’s perfect French manicure. She pulled her hand back quickly.

  ‘Engaged?’ said Rupert. ‘That’s very sudden, isn’t it?’

  ‘It must seem that way to other people,’ said Cassie, annoyed by his mocking expression. Anyone would think he didn’t believe them. ‘But to me it feels as if I’ve been waiting all my life to find Jake again.’

  Slipping an arm around his waist, she leant adoringly into him. ‘I can’t believe how lucky I am. I always thought about him, but I never dreamt we would bump into each other again, and as soon as we did…bang! That was it, wasn’t it, darling?’

  ‘It was,’ said Jake. ‘It’s enough to make you believe in fate. Cassie came along just when I needed her. I should thank you,’ he said to Rupert and Natasha. ‘I didn’t think so at the time, I must admit, but you both did me a huge favour. If it hadn’t been for you, I might never have found Cassie again.’

  ‘So pleased to have been of help,’ said Rupert a little tightly.

  Natasha managed a bleak smile. ‘Christmas is very soon. I thought you didn’t believe in rushing into things,’ she said to Jake.

  ‘I didn’t until I met Cassie. But I know I want to spend the rest of my life with her, so there doesn’t seem much point in waiting.’

  Cassie saw the stricken look in Natasha’s eyes and for a moment felt sorry for her. But only for a moment. Natasha had hurt Jake. She had left him for Rupert, but it was clear she wasn’t at all happy to see him with someone else. It wouldn’t do her any harm to think about just what she had thrown away, Cassie decided.

  ‘It’s going to be a bit of a rush to get everything organised in time,’ she said, with another adoring look at Jake. ‘But you’re all for it, aren’t you?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he said, and a smile creased his eyes as he looked back at her. ‘I’m just worried about where I’m going to get that Regency-buck outfit.’

  ‘Regency buck?’ echoed Rupert with a contemptuous look as Cassie smothered a giggle, and Jake met his eyes squarely.

  ‘Cassie has always had a Mr Darcy fantasy. If she wants me in a cravat, I’ll wear one,’ he lied. ‘Actually, Rupert, you might be able to give me a few tips about how to wear one. You look like the kind of man who knows his way around a cravat.’

  Rupert’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Clearly he couldn’t decide whether Jake was joking about what he was wearing, but he knew a snide attack when he heard one. ‘I’m afraid not, old chap,’ he said. ‘Natasha, there’s Fiona-didn’t you want to have a word with her? We’d better move on. Congratulations, and it was marvellous to see you again, Cassie.’

  He produced a card as if by magic and handed it to her, as Natasha nodded to them both and headed off as if grateful to escape. ‘We should meet up and talk about old times,’ he said caressingly in her ear as he kissed her goodbye. ‘I know Jake works all hours, but, as you’re so in love, I’m sure he trusts you off the leash! Why don’t you give me a ring some time?’

  Cassie looked after him, fingering the card. By rights she should have been thrilled. Rupert Branscombe Fox wanted her to ring him! He was as devastatingly attractive as ever, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he had only shown an interest in her to rile Jake. Years ago, Jake had pointed out that Rupert was only interested in girls who belonged to someone else, and it seemed as if he hadn’t changed very much. He had taken Natasha from Jake. Did he really think he could seduce her away, too?

  She glanced at Jake, who was wearing a shuttered expression. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘I’m not going to ring him.’

  His face closed even further. ‘It’s up to you,’ he said abruptly. ‘We’re not really engaged. Keep the card, and you can call Rupert when all this is over.’

  Cassie stared at him, hurt. She had forgotten about the pretence for a while, but clearly Jake hadn’t. Then she remembered how difficult it must have been for him to pretend, with Natasha looking so beautiful with Rupert, and she felt guilty for not realising how embarrassing it would be for him if he suspected that there was a danger of her taking this all too seriously.

  She tucked the card away in her bag. ‘Maybe I will,’ she said.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘IT’S coming on well, isn’t it?’ Cassie watched anxiously as Jake looked around the great hall. She badly wanted him to be impressed with the progress they had made, but to his eyes it must still look a bit of a mess.

  ‘That scaffolding will come down as soon as the decorators have finished that last bit of ceiling,’ she said. ‘And then the sheets will come up so you can see the floor. That still needs to be cleaned, but the fireplace and the windows have been done-see?-and they’ve made a good start on the panelling, too.’

  Cassie had a nasty feeling that she was babbling, but she was feeling ridiculously nervous. This was the first time she’d seen Jake since the reception at the Savoy. It had been a busy couple of weeks, most of which she had spent running up and down between London and Portrevick so that she could keep an eye on the work at the Hall. But there had still been rather too much time to think about Jake and remember how it had felt when he had kissed her.

  To wonder if he would ever kiss her again.

  Not that there seemed much chance of that. Jake hadn’t asked her to appear as his fiancée again. She had obviously been much too crass. Cassie felt hot all over whenever she thought about how garish she had looked that evening. She must have stuck out like a tart at a vicar’s tea-party. It wasn’t surprising that Jake wasn’t keen to repeat the experience. He only had to look at her next to Natasha’s immaculate elegance to realise just how unconvincing a fiancée she made.

  Their only contact since then had been by email. Cassie sent long, chatty messages about what was happening at the Hall, and Jake sent terse acknowledgements. She couldn’t help wishing that he would show a little more interest. Email was convenient, but she wanted to hear his voice. She needed to know what he thought about the decisions she was making. It was lonely doing it all on her own.

  But that was what he was paying her for, Cassie had to keep reminding herself. What was the point in a consultant you had to encourage the whole ti
me, after all? Still, she had thought that they had more than a strictly businesslike relationship. They had laughed together. They had pretended to be in love.

  They had kissed.

  Whenever she thought about those kisses-and it was far too often-Cassie’s heart would start to slam against her ribs. The memory of Jake’s mouth-the feel of it, the taste of it-uncoiled like a serpent inside her, shivering along her veins and stirring up her blood.

  It was stupid.

  It was embarrassing.

  It was pointless.

  Time and again, Cassie reminded herself that Jake only cared about saving face with Rupert. The engagement was a tactic, that was all, one that had the added advantage of promoting the Hall so that he could rid himself of an unwanted responsibility. He hated Portrevick and all it represented. Once the Hall was up and running as a wedding venue, he would settle their fee and that would be that. She had to keep things strictly professional.

  That didn’t stop her heart lurching whenever she saw an email from him in her inbox, or sinking just a little when she read the brief message. It didn’t stop her hoping that he would come down at the weekend, or being ridiculously disappointed when he decided to stay in London instead.

  But he was here now. Cassie had-rather cleverly, she thought-arranged with Wedding Belles that they would supply photos themselves rather than have the magazine send a photographer all the way from London to Cornwall. It would be cheaper for the magazine, and much more convenient for them.

  Tina’s boyfriend was a photographer, Cassie had explained to Jake in one of her many emails. He and Tina were in on the secret, and Cassie had organised for him to take some photographs to illustrate the article. They needed some shots of the two of them apparently working on the renovation of the Hall and preparing for the wedding together, Cassie had told Jake. Could he come to Cornwall that weekend?

  He would come down on Saturday, Jake had agreed, and Cassie had been jittery all day while she’d waited for him to arrive. She had changed three times that morning, and hours before there was any chance that he would turn up she would jump every time she heard a car. It was impossible to concentrate on anything, and even the most prosaic of conversations had her trailing off in mid-sentence or unable to make a decision about whether she wanted a cup of tea or not.

  ‘What on earth is the matter with you this morning?’ Tina had asked with a searching look.

  ‘Nothing,’ Cassie had said quickly. ‘I’m just thinking about how much there is to do. I might as well go up to the Hall now, in fact. There’s plenty to be getting on with. When Jake arrives, can you tell him I’m up there already?’ she’d added casually, as if she wasn’t counting the minutes until she saw him again.

  She’d given herself a good talking-to as she walked up to the Hall. She’d hauled out all those well-worn arguments about being cool and professional, and concentrating on making the Hall a success, and had been so stern that she’d been feeling quite composed when she’d heard Jake’s car crunching on the gravel outside.

  So it had been unnerving to discover that all he had to do was walk in, looking lean and dark and forceful, for the air to evaporate from her lungs in a great whoosh. How could she think coolly and professionally when every cell in her body was jumping up and down in excitement at the mere sight of him?

  Cassie swallowed and made herself shut up.

  Jake was still inspecting the hall. ‘It looks much better than it did,’ he agreed. ‘Are we still on target to have this room ready for the Allantide Ball? We’re in October already,’ he reminded her.

  ‘It’s only the fourth,’ said Cassie. ‘That gives us nearly a month until Hallowe’en. It’ll be fine.’

  It’ll be fine. That was what she always said. Jake wasn’t sure whether he envied Cassie her relaxed attitude or disapproved of it. There was so much about Cassie that made him feel unsure, he realised. Like the way he hadn’t known whether he was looking forward to seeing her again or dreading it.

  Jake didn’t like feeling unsure, and that was how Cassie made him feel all the time. Ever since he had met her again, he seemed to have lost the control he had fought so hard to achieve.

  Take that reception at the Savoy, when he had been so distracted by her that he had hardly been able to string two words together. Having to stand and watch Rupert kissing Cassie goodbye and slipping her his card had left Jake consumed by such fury that it was all he’d been able to do to stop himself from breaking Rupert’s nose again. He’d had to remind himself that Cassie was probably delighted. She had told him herself of how she had dreamed of Rupert for years.

  And, when it came down to it, she wasn’t actually his fiancée, was she? Why was that so hard to remember?

  Hating the feeling of things being out of his control, Jake had retreated into himself. He would focus on work. Work had got him where he was today, and it would see him through this odd, uncertain patch.

  He had been glad when Cassie had said that she was going down to Portrevick. It had felt like his chance to get some order back into his life-but the strange thing was that he had missed her. Her message about the photographs Tina’s boyfriend had agreed to take had pitched him back into confusion again, but he hadn’t been able to think of an excuse not to come, and then he had despised himself for needing an excuse. What was wrong with him? It was only Cassie.

  Now he was here, and so glad to see her his throat felt tight and uncomfortable. At least she was dressed more practically today, in jeans and a soft red jumper, but he had forgotten what a bright, vibrant figure she was. It was like looking at the sun. Even when you dragged your eyes away, her image was burned onto your vision.

  Jake cleared his throat. ‘So, what’s happening about these photos?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Well, it’s not a big deal. Rob is just going to take a few pictures of us inspecting the work here, maybe pretending to look as if we’re making lists or looking at fabric samples. The idea is to have some “before and after” shots, but we don’t need many now. We’ll have to pull out the stops for the supposed “wedding” photos, but we’ll do those after the Allantide Ball, when the great hall is finished and we can decorate it as if for Christmas.’ Cassie looked at him a little nervously. ‘Is that OK?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Jake. ‘I can’t say I’m looking forward to it, but we’re committed now. We may as well get it over and done with.’

  ‘Tina and Rob said they’d be here at five.’ Cassie glanced at her watch. ‘It’s only three now. Do you want me to ring them and get them to come earlier?’

  ‘What I’d really like is to stretch my legs,’ said Jake. His gaze dropped to Cassie’s feet. ‘Those look like sensible shoes for once. Can you walk in them?’

  Outside it was cool and blustery, and the sea was a sullen grey. It heaved itself at the rocks, smashing in a froth of white spray as they walked along the cliff tops. The coastal path was narrow, and the buffeting wind made conversation difficult, so they walked in silence-but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one.

  When at length they dropped down onto the long curve of beach, they were sheltered from the worst of the wind. Although Cassie’s curls were still blown crazily around her head, it felt peaceful in comparison with the rugged cliffs.

  ‘This was a good idea,’ she said as they walked side by side along the tide line, their heads bent against the breeze and their hands thrust into their jacket pockets.

  ‘It’s good to get out of the car,’ Jake agreed. ‘Good to get out of London,’ he added slowly, realising for the first time in years that it was true. He had been feeling restless and uneasy, but now, with the waves crashing relentlessly onto the shore, the wind in his hair and Cassie beside him, he had the strangest feeling of coming home. ‘It’s been…busy,’ he finished, although the truth was that he had deliberately created work for himself so that he didn’t have time to think.

  ‘Has anyone said any more about our engagement?’ Cassie asked after a moment.

  ‘Nobody see
ms to talk about anything else,’ said Jake. ‘My staff are giving me grief that I haven’t introduced you, and you’ve been specifically included in endless invitations to drinks and dinner and God knows what else. I’m running out of excuses.’

  ‘I don’t mind going,’ said Cassie. ‘But you probably don’t want me to,’ she added quickly. ‘I know I don’t exactly fit in.’

  Jake stopped to stare at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I was so out of place at that reception,’ she reminded him. ‘I know I looked crass and ridiculous compared to everybody else there. It must have been really embarrassing for you.’

  ‘I wasn’t embarrassed,’ he said. ‘I was proud of you. You didn’t look crass. You looked wonderful. Nobody could take their eyes off you. Do you have any idea of how refreshing you were?’

  ‘Really?’ she stammered, colouring with pleasure.

  Jake began walking again. ‘You ought to have more confidence in yourself,’ he told her. ‘You might not have a profession, but you’ve got social skills coming out your ears, and they’re worth as much as any qualification. Look at what you’ve achieved down here.’

  ‘I haven’t really done anything,’ said Cassie. ‘The contractors are doing all the work.’

  ‘They wouldn’t be doing it if it wasn’t for you. You had the idea; you’re getting them all organised. It’s time you stopped thinking of yourself as such a failure, Cassie.’

  ‘Easy to say,’ she said with a sigh. ‘But it’s hard when you’ve spent years being the under-achiever in the family. Social skills are all very well, but it’s not that difficult to chat at a party.’

  ‘It’s difficult for me,’ Jake pointed out. ‘I never learnt how to talk easily to people. There were no parties when I was growing up, and precious little conversation at all. We didn’t do birthdays or Christmas or celebrating.’

  He walked with his eyes on the sand, remembering. ‘My mother did her best, but there was never enough money, and she was constantly scrimping to put food on the table. She was a hard worker. She didn’t just clean for Sir Ian, but at the pub and several other houses in the village. When she came home at night she was so tired she just wanted to sit in front of the television. I don’t blame her,’ he said. ‘She had little enough pleasure in her life.’