Secret Intentions

by Caitlyn Nicholas

  The headache he’d had the day before spent the morning morphing itself into a migraine, and whilst he’d never admit to illness, he would unhappily admit to the headaches that would plague him from time to time. Still, he’d nuked it with some heavy duty painkillers and things had taken on a warm haze ever since.

  Looking at Zani’s transparent joy over the job, he felt the familiar yen to want to share everything he did with someone, someone who really cared about the triumphs and tribulations of everyday life. With a small and irresistible shudder he thought of his last foray into a relationship. He should have run for the hills the moment he found out her name was Pixie. Women, he reminded himself a little blurrily, were nothing but trouble.

  Zani hesitated outside her front door, fumbling with nervous fingers for the right key. She glanced back at Corbin, who smiled genially and made no sign of leaving. Fang, who’d spent the evening alone in her basket, could be heard barking her head off. The moment Zani managed to get the door open, she shot out ready to defend her mistress against all foes.

  “Is this your guard dog?” asked Corbin, laughing as Fang’s paroxysms of barking faded into interested sniffing.

  “That’s Fang,” she said, grasping at the conversation with relief.

  “Fang? An interesting name for such a small, sweet dog.”

  “She’s purebred, and her official name is Princess Cherry Wuffles III. The breeder named her, and I couldn’t bear the thought of either Cherry or Wuffles,” babbled Zani.

  “Ah, I see,” said Corbin, who didn’t seem inclined to hurry back to the art gallery.

  “Coffee?” she asked, her voice catching, even though she was sure he’d refuse.

  He nodded. Her heart, which, up to that point had been thudding a little faster than usual, stopped. “Um,” she said after a short pause, during which her heart resumed operations.

  “Should we go inside?” he suggested.

  “Yes, I think inside would be an excellent idea.” With the air of one who regularly entertained large Frenchmen, she showed him through to the tiny sitting room just inside the front door.

  “Very nice.” He examined the room with interest, but didn’t sit down. “Why shorten it to Fang?” he asked, following her up the hall to the kitchen.

  “She sensibly bit my brother when she was a puppy. It was more of a firm suck really, but he’s never got over it.”

  “So you called her Fang to remind your brother of this?” Perceptively Corbin touched on a can of worms that Zani was not going to discuss. She was keenly aware it may seem mean-spirited to anyone who didn’t know Paul.

  “It’s a complicated situation,” she said, and turned away to busy herself with cups and the kettle. Conversation over.

  Having the unexpectedly observant Corbin in her home was unsettling on a level beyond the whole mess at Sunberri. The men in her family including Sebastian, the man her father dreamed she’d marry, were all so self-absorbed that they rarely, if ever, asked her about herself, and then it was only to cover social niceties before steering the conversation back onto themselves. She wasn’t used to men who actually listened to her.

  One thing was clear.

  Her task was to prove Corbin was leaking company secrets in order to take over Sunberri. It was not to have cozy kitchen table chats after art gallery exhibitions.

  She tried to think of something that would politely get rid of him, glancing at the phone and willing it to ring. An emergency, nothing too serious, but an emergency nonetheless would be perfect. True to form the phone did precisely the opposite of what she wanted and remained silent. She racked her brain to come up with something that wouldn’t make the next day at work awkward, but decided the best strategy was to get rid of him as quickly as she could, and instead, like Polly, she put the kettle on.

  He hadn’t seemed to take her coffee invitation on anything but face value, but perhaps he was just biding his time. She examined him closely for biding. Settled comfortably at the kitchen table, he’d bent to pay more attention to Fang, who gazed up at him adoringly. The tart.

  Out of both coffee and milk, Zani put a large mug of peppermint tea in front of Corbin. To his credit he peered into the cup and looked only briefly horrified. Unwilling to get any closer to him than she had to, she retreated to the safety of leaning against the bench top.

  “Nice house,” he said, glancing around the kitchen, at its scrubbed wood table, marble bench tops and giant fridge.

  She could almost hear him thinking “a bit too nice for an unemployed secretary who lives alone”.

  “My mother left it to me when she died.” As most people did when they heard that news, Corbin looked discomforted.

  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “Oh don’t be, it was years ago. She died of breast cancer.” Zani adopted a breezy tone designed to put Corbin at ease and declare the subject closed. She suppressed the small twist of grief that always accompanied any conversation about her mother.

  “You miss her. No?”

  Zani felt a flare of irritation. Bloody man, couldn’t he see that she didn’t want to talk about it?

  “No. Yes, I mean of course I do. She died when I was fifteen, and Dad never got over it. He didn’t have a clue what to do with me. It was so hard…”

  Corbin looked at her with such sympathy that it made her skin prickle uncomfortably. He didn’t need to know these things; they just made her and her family more vulnerable. Grabbing the cloth from the sink, she briskly wiped down the immaculate bench tops, her back to Corbin, her expression hidden.

  “It was a long time ago,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Now tell me, which part of France were you born in?” To Zani’s relief Corbin took the hint and began to chat about his idyllic childhood at La Rochelle, in the west of France. She neatly folded the cloth. But he watched her with an air of speculation that made Zani want to fidget. As if he’d figured out something important.

  He finished the peppermint tea with a grimace and placed the cup firmly on the table.

  “I should go. Thank you for the cup of…of…it was quite interesting.”

  “Thank you for walking me home, and thanks again for giving me another chance to work for you.” Zani began a farewell patter that lasted all the way back down the hall to the front door. Her bourgeoning relief faded when she opened the door, looked up to say a final goodbye and caught Corbin’s eye.

  There was an almost predatory gleam, and it put Zani’s senses on high alert. Suddenly she became aware of how close he stood in the narrow doorway. She smelled his piquant masculine scent and the peppermint of the tea he’d drunk. He half muttered a curse in French, and bent toward her.

  He’s going to kiss me, she thought a moment before his lips met hers.

  Startled, she stiffened and tried to pull away, but his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her closer.

  He is kissing me. Her mouth opened under his gentle pressure and Zani forgot any thoughts of resistance. Her lashes lowered as she gave herself up to the sensation.

  She felt giddy, as if she’d drunk too much champagne. Frigid air drifted around them from outside, but she barely noticed. Only Fang shivered as she sat in the hallway and watched the kissing couple with an air of resignation.

  Somewhere in the back of Zani’s mind a small voice was shouting. Telling her to stop, telling her that the last thing in the world she should be doing is kissing. But kissing Corbin was like eating Belgian chocolate. You knew you shouldn’t eat another, that one more would be too much, but you eat another anyway. Despite your noblest intentions you can’t resist the temptation. It’s almost an addiction.

  He pulled her closer and deepened the kiss. Zani twined her arms around his neck and, like butter in the sun, melted against him.

  Then the kiss was over. Corbin’s embrace relaxed infinitesimally, and Zani drew away from him. Self-loathing overwhelmed her in seconds. Fury uncoiled in the pit of her stomach and she stumbled ungracefully backwards into the safety of the house,
slamming the door.

  “What the hell am I doing?” she asked Fang, who stood in the hallway watching her with a quizzical expression. “What the bloody hell do I think I’m doing?”

  Secret Intentions

  Chapter Four

  “Back again? There must be something here you really like,” said the receptionist with a knowing smile when Zani arrived at Sunberri the following day. As she wearily climbed the stairs, Zani had a brief fantasy about going back and telling the overly made-up woman that her green eye shadow made her look like a clown.

  Relief warred with disappointment when she found Corbin’s office door closed, though she could hear the muffled cadence of his voice rising and falling. She’d spent a difficult half hour battling morning traffic and trying to decide if she should pretend the kiss had never happened and concentrate on exposing Corbin for the fraud he was, or tell him exactly what she thought about his grubby seduction attempt. Now she didn’t have to do either.

  Since he’d left the night before, she’d barely thought of anything but the kiss. Lying in bed, staring at the shadows that dappled the ceiling, she’d felt it burning on her lips. It’d taken on a life of its own.

  “It’s not going to make any difference,” she told Fang in the wee hours. The little dog regarded her sleepily from her basket, then yawned and closed her eyes.

  Now Zani sat, waiting for the computer to warm up and trying to ignore the beige which made her inner interior designer want to throw up. She wondered once again how the hell she was going to expose de Villiers and why the hell he’d kissed her. She jumped violently when Corbin’s office door was wrenched opened.

  Beset by nerves, she didn’t know where to look. At him? At the floor? At the computer? Where would someone calm and sophisticated look? She couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  “Oh, Zani, I didn’t hear you come in.” He hesitated with his hand on the door handle.

  “Er, ubberabba,” said Zani, finishing off with a shrill titter. Flushing, she wished she had just a little of the sangfroid that other girls seemed to have. This, in her wildest imaginings the night before, had not been how the scenario played out.

  “Look, um, about last night, I’d taken migraine tablets and I really wasn’t feeling myself. I shouldn’t have…wouldn’t normally have… Well, it won’t happen again.”

  Stunned, she stared at him, it took a moment to understand what he’d really said. The awful, humiliating truth quickly dawned. He’d taken back his kiss.

  “Won’t happen again?” she repeated woodenly, the taste of rejection, like a sour grape, making her grimace.

  “I shouldn’t have given you the job back. It was unethical of me,” he said.

  Something inside Zani unclenched a little. He was going on about the job, not the kiss. Then, with another wave of self-loathing, she reminded herself that the job was the priority.

  “Oh…” She guessed this was where he fired her again, and pushed back her chair slightly, ready to reach for her bag.

  “And I certainly shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I know I’ve done the wrong thing, so I’ll let you stay the rest of the week.”

  “Well thanks,” she snapped. Her vision swam as inexplicable tears gathered, and she dropped her head, praying he hadn’t noticed. Humiliation made her cheeks burn as she finally admitted she’d been secretly swept away with excitement. A man like Corbin de Villiers, who was pictured in newspapers with models, had wanted to kiss her. For all her protestations of anger, for a few short hours she’d felt buoyed, excited, wanted.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “You have every right to be angry,” he said stiffly.

  “You arrogant idiot, who the hell do you think you are?” she snarled. He recoiled as if she’d hit him. “My brother was right about you, you’re nothing but a slimy…”

  “Hi.” Phil from the IT department materialized at the door and startled them both. He gave Zani a wink and something very close to a leer.

  The rage that’d overwhelmed her swiftly tucked itself away for later. Humiliation still gnawed, but she started to think more clearly. She’d come very close to giving it all away.

  Corbin had a small, polite smile fixed in place. It didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Phil. Excellent timing. What can we do for you?” asked Zani, trying to be chipper and upbeat. It was a big ask, and she ended up sounding like a late night jewelry saleswoman on the shopping channel.

  “I called him, my printer isn’t printing,” growled Corbin.

  Zani glanced from one to the other. Men. They were all the same. Phil might smell pungent and have scurfy, oily hair—in fact he probably hadn’t washed himself since she’d last seen him—but other than that there was little difference between him and Corbin.

  “Let’s take a look then.” Phil adopted a patronising tone that wiped the remnants of the smile off Corbin’s face. They disappeared into his office, Phil prattling on about football. England had beaten France the night before, and although usually bored witless by any sport that wasn’t sailing, Zani had a moment of heartfelt patriotism.

  She seethed. She hadn’t really taken it seriously before, hadn’t wanted to believe Corbin was capable of ruining Sunberri to satisfy his own thirst for power and money. She’d thought she would come into the company for a few days, do her best, fail, and in a few months everyone would have forgotten about it. But now it was personal. Corbin de Villiers, loathsome, greedy worm, was going down, and she was going to use every ounce of guile she possessed to make sure it happened.

  Phil emerged. “Printer lost its IP configuration.”

  “Oh.” Zani didn’t care and was about to tell him.

  “You should come down to my office soon,” he said. She hoped she’d imagined the hint of suggestion in his words.

  Yes, that would be fabulous, when hell freezes over, she thought. “I’m quite busy here,” she said.

  “I do some great stuff on the Internet—” He leant over the desk with a conspiratorial smile. “—stuff no one here knows about but me, stuff that French idiot would have a total cow about if he ever found out. I—” He lowered his voice and huffed stale coffee. “—have this company by the short & curlies and nobody knows it.”

  Zani carefully schooled her face to show polite interest, rather than revulsion. “I’d be really interested to see that,” she said, her mind racing. Phil seemed determined to tell her he was up to something. Yesterday, she’d have been thrilled to think Corbin de Villiers wasn’t involved. Now she was quite fundamentally disappointed.

  “Really?” Phil was delighted.

  “Yes. I’ll come down later,” she said. Firmly disregarding the voice in her head screaming that she’d regret it.

  “Excellent. See you later, babe.”

  Babe?

  Smiling weakly at him, Zani gave a little wave.

  The office was warm and quiet. The hum of the computer and the tick of the clock on the wall were occasionally interrupted by the printer turning itself on, and then with a click and a sigh turning itself off again.

  Almost cross-eyed with boredom, Zani was starting to get truly desperate when her mobile rang.

  “You’ll never guess who I just spoke to!” It was Karen, almost squeaking with excitement.

  “I give up,” said Zani, swinging around in her chair and staring sourly out the window. Grey sky, grey drizzle, grey tops of trees, grey buildings.

  “Vladimir Klebnikoff.”

  Zani’s heart sank a little. “What did he want? Not more changes to the contract?”

  “No. It was the oddest thing. He apologised for his assistant, said he’d been completely wrong about the changes to the contract. That everything was in order and the deposit would be transferred into our bank account by the end of the day.”

  “What?” gasped Zani, mind racing. “Is it me or does that seem just a bit…strange?”

  “I know,” said Karen.

  “I mean, one minute it’s fairly obvious he’
s trying to weasel out of the whole thing, the next he’s practically hammering down the door.”

  “That’s not all.”

  Zani sighed, sure there’d be a catch.

  “The money’s already in our account.”

  “Already?”

  “I just checked on Internet banking. You should see our balance.”

  “Okay. Well, I suppose he’s just excited.” Even as she said it Zani knew it was not a plausible explanation. When she’d last seen him, Vladimir Klebnikoff had worn shiny patent shoes, a perfectly tied day-cravat, and a crisply ironed matching handkerchief in the top pocket of his tweed jacket. People with crisply ironed matching handkerchiefs were generally not the sort to get excited, particularly when large sums of money were concerned. They tended to get calculating.

  It all felt awfully weird.

  “I suppose. He didn’t sound very excited, but it’s hard to tell with a Russian accent,” said Karen. The enthusiasm in her voice had gone, and she echoed Zani’s worried tone.

  “I’d better go. I’ll call later,” said Zani, quickly hanging up and looking occupied as Corbin’s office door opened a crack.

  He peered out, hesitating when his eyes met Zani’s. Then, flinging the door wide he strode out. She felt a warm glow of satisfaction. He was scared.

  “Coffee?” he asked coolly.

  “A decaf skinny cap in a mug,” she said, narrowing her eyes and giving him a flinty glare. Coffee was not going to buy her forgiveness, but she’d certainly let him try. Corbin, looking a little perplexed, hurried out the door with a nervous backward glance.

  Okay. She needed to think, needed to plan. She stood, turned back to the window and looked blindly down onto the bleak street lined by leafless trees. Massaging the back of her neck with one hand, she tried to relax her shoulders and let a little of the acid anger go. Bastard. How dare he kiss her and then take it back?

  With indignation flaring, she hurried into Corbin’s office for another look around. The screensaver flickered on the computer screen. Holding her breath she moved the mouse, hoping against hope that she might be able to get into his emails. A prompt for a password came up and she swore. Who has a password on their screensaver?