by Sarah Morgan
It was easy to imagine him as the child, drawing his dream. Especially when you saw the man he’d become. ‘Did he never acknowledge you?’
‘No. And the irony was, he never had any more children. I was his only child. Now isn’t that poetic justice? He wanted a family. The tragedy was that he actually had one, but he never acknowledged it. You’re not eating. Is there something wrong with your omelette?’
She’d been so lost in his story she hadn’t taken a single mouthful of her food. ‘Did you meet him?’
‘When she found out that he had no living heir, my mother was determined that I should have the recognition that she felt was my right.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Or maybe she was hoping that he’d take me on so that she could have her life back.’
‘You went to see him?’
‘Yes, but not because I wanted him to suddenly play “Dad”. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind. And his response was that it didn’t matter what she did, he would never give me Chigworth Castle. I was thirteen years old and so angry with him that I punched him, then I told him he didn’t need to give it to me because I was going to just take it from him when I was ready. It gave him quite a laugh, this skinny kid without a penny to his name trying to give him a black eye and then threatening to take his castle.’ He gave a cool smile. ‘He wasn’t laughing on the day I took ownership. Cristiano Ferrara fronted the deal so he had no idea who was buying it until it was sold. Not that it would have made any difference. He’d spent all his money so he wasn’t in a position to negotiate or withdraw. But I wouldn’t have put it past him to burn the place to the ground rather than stop me owning it.’
There was a dull ache behind her ribs. ‘When was this?’
‘Eight years ago. I was twenty-six, my career was on the rise and I’d landed a few huge commissions that proved to be life-changing.’
‘The art gallery in Rome.’
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘You’ve been reading my biography?’
‘I work for you,’ she reminded him. ‘I send your biography to the media and prospective clients on a daily basis.’ And with that single unthinking sentence she reminded him of the true nature of their relationship. The atmosphere shifted instantly.
‘Of course you do,’ he said smoothly, ‘and that is why I want you with me in Zubran. Because you know all these things.’ Once again he was cool and distant as he pulled out his phone and checked an email. ‘I’ve been waiting to hear from Dan.’
Dan was his pilot and Emma often spoke to him about Lucas’s travel arrangements. ‘Is the airport even open?’
‘Yes. They’ve cleared the runway and there is no more snow forecast so we shouldn’t have any trouble with our flight.’ He scrolled down, checking his other emails. ‘The helicopter will pick us up from here in an hour. I assume you have your passport with you?’
The shift from personal to professional was startling but she went along with it. What was surprising was not that he’d suddenly stopped telling her about his past, but that he’d ever told her in the first place. He’d given her another glimpse of a private, secret part of himself. And she was gradually building up a picture of a very different man from the one the public saw.
She knew so much more about him than she had yesterday. And she suspected he would rather that wasn’t the case.
She was going to forget it, she vowed, and just get on with the job. That would be best for everyone.
‘I have my passport, of course.’ There had been many occasions when she’d flown with him on short business trips to Europe and a few times to the US. She’d enjoyed the variety and as long as the trip hadn’t eaten into her precious weekends, she’d never objected. ‘The one thing I don’t have is clothes. And I assume there isn’t time for me to go home and pack.’
‘No. We have to leave immediately and anyway, the roads are impassable. You’re fine for the journey.’ His eyes lingered on her sweater then lifted to her face. ‘You can travel in what you’re wearing and you can go shopping tomorrow before the meeting.’
‘I have to wait until tomorrow?’
‘Seven-hour flight, four-hour time difference—’ he shrugged ‘—it will be evening when we arrive and you’re already exhausted which is hardly surprising given the amount of sleep you didn’t get last night.’
Presumably she wasn’t supposed to react to that. Presumably she was expected to treat what had happened with the same matter of fact casualness as he did.
So that was what she did. ‘Is there somewhere to shop close by?’
‘Avery will be able to advise you on the best place.’
‘Avery owns her own highly successful company.’ Emma thought about the pictures she’d seen of the glamorous businesswoman. ‘She’s very nice and we’ve bonded over your guest list, but I suspect she and I may have a very different idea of what constitutes the “best” place.’ It was all too easy to imagine how her sister would react if she blew a sizeable chunk of her precious salary on a dress she’d probably only ever be able to wear once in her life.
‘I’m paying,’ Lucas drawled, ‘so the budget is irrelevant.’
‘You most certainly are not paying.’ Emma shot to her feet, deeply offended that he could even think she would agree to that. ‘Just in case you hadn’t already noticed, I am not Tara.’
‘Let me stop you there before you embarrass yourself,’ he interjected softly, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his legs, as supremely relaxed as she was ridiculously tense. ‘I am offering to buy you clothes because you don’t have any with you and because I’m asking you to dress for an event you’re required to attend in your role as my PA, not because we had sex. I am in no way being contradictory. I am completely clear about the nature of our relationship, Emma. It’s professional.’
And for a moment she’d forgotten that. And he knew she’d forgotten it. Feeling intensely foolish, Emma sat down again. And this was the problem, she thought helplessly. For her, the personal and the professional were now well and truly mixed up. It was impossible to separate them. When he’d mentioned buying her clothes, she’d assumed it was personal. ‘Well, thanks for clearing that up, but I don’t need you to buy me clothes for work either. I can buy my own clothes.’
He watched her steadily, a cynical gleam in his blue eyes as he acknowledged her tension and the reason for it. And along with the cynicism there was a tiredness that came, not from lack of sleep but from life. ‘Right now, I think whether or not I buy you a dress is the least of our problems, don’t you?’
He thought she couldn’t do this.
Determined to prove him wrong, Emma lifted her chin and stood up. ‘I don’t have any problems. Do you?’
Zubran was an oil-rich state on the Persian Gulf. She’d expected sand. What she hadn’t expected was the fascinating mix of red-gold sand dunes, mountains and stunning coastline that she saw from the air as they came in to land. The scenery provided a welcome distraction from dwelling on the change in her relationship with Lucas.
And really, there was nothing to think about.
She worked for him. If she wanted to carry on working for him, she had to pull herself together.
It helped that, from the moment they’d boarded the company jet, he’d been very much his old self. As focused as ever, he’d worked for the entire flight, pausing only to drink one cup of strong black coffee while, seated across from him on one of the ridiculously luxurious deep leather seats, Emma fretted and worried.
It was just a couple of days, she told herself. A couple of days during which she had to behave in a professional way and switch off any other thoughts. After that, once they were back in the office, everything would be easier.
‘Fasten your seat belt,’ he murmured, ‘we’re landing.’
She wondered how he knew that, given that he hadn’t even looked up from his work. ‘I know. I’ve been looking at the scenery. I expected desert.’
‘Zubran is famous for its coastline. The country has a long seafaring herita
ge and the diving here is incredible which is why I incorporated an underwater theme in the design of the hotel.’
Emma watched as a graceful catamaran danced over the waves beneath them as they came in to land. ‘How far is the hotel from the airport?’
‘Half an hour along the coast. The Ferraras never build hotels in cities. They’re all about fresh air and healthy living.’ Finally he glanced up, but only to exchange a few words with the flight attendants who had found themselves seriously underutilized on this particular flight.
As soon as they landed, he was out of his seat, impatient to get on. ‘Let’s go and see if my hotel is still standing.’
The short walk from the aircraft to the sleek limousine waiting for them on the tarmac was enough to tell her that a shopping trip needed to be high on her list of priorities. The sweater that had provided woefully inadequate protection against a British winter now felt as thick and heavy as a fur coat. She was grateful for the fierce air conditioning that turned the interior of the car into the equivalent of a mobile fridge as they sped along a straight road that led from the city up the coast. Rising to her left were steep sand dunes, turning from gold to red under the warm glow of the late afternoon sun, and to her right were the warm waters of the Indian Ocean, sparkling like a thousand tiny jewels thrown onto a carpet of blue velvet.
The change in climate felt surreal after the howling winds and thick snow of England.
Knowing that the moment she stepped out of the car she was going to melt, Emma glanced at her watch. ‘What time do the shops close? I need to buy something to wear that isn’t made of wool.’
‘You don’t have time to shop tonight. I’ve asked Avery to put something in your room for this evening and she’s going to take you shopping in the morning. After the meeting you should have time for a short rest.’
‘A rest? Am I three years old?’
‘No, but tomorrow is going to be a long night.’
‘I don’t need a rest to prepare for that. I will run on adrenaline.’ Emma felt a tiny thrill of excitement. Was it a bit sad, she wondered, to be this excited about a party that was supposed to be business? She was supposed to be saying to herself, What a bore, working when I’m supposed to be on holiday. Instead she was thinking, Yay, a party. She was feminine enough to enjoy being given the opportunity to dress up and mingle with adults. And anyway, this wasn’t any party. It was the party. People had been virtually clawing each other out of the way to get on the guest list.
Lost in thought, she hadn’t even noticed that they were no longer on the main road until she looked up and there, ahead of her, rising up as if from the sea itself, was a beautiful glass structure in the shape of a shell. Of course she’d seen both the plans and the model, but nothing prepared her for the real thing.
‘Oh.’
‘All that hard work and your only response is “oh”? Let’s hope my audience tomorrow night are a little more enthusiastic.’ Smiling faintly, Lucas unclipped his seat belt as the car pulled up outside the main entrance.
Emma was so busy staring she stumbled as she left the car. ‘I said “oh” because I was lost for words, not because I wasn’t enthusiastic, not that I think for a moment my approval means anything to someone like you.’
‘Perhaps it does.’ He spoke softly and she turned her head to look at him, her heart beating hard. Warmth engulfed her and she repeated the word in her head like a mantra—professional, professional.
‘In that case you should know that I think it’s stunning. Beautiful and very clever. It must be hard designing something that works for this climate.’
‘Despite the fact we’re on the edge of the desert, it can become surprisingly chilly at night, although not as chilly as a castle in snowy Oxfordshire.’ A frown on his face, he removed his gaze from her mouth. ‘Air circulation and humidity was a challenge, as was the soil type but in the end it’s all come together.’
The heat was starting to make her feel strange and she didn’t know whether it was from the ferocious desert sun or the heat that came from being close to Lucas.
They reached the entrance and were greeted by a beautiful girl dressed in a smart uniform.
‘Mr Jackson. Welcome! I hope your journey was comfortable.’ She shook hands and then glanced at Emma, clearly expecting to see Tara. A consummate professional, her smile didn’t slip. ‘Welcome to the Zubran Ferrara Spa Resort. I’m Aliana, Head of Guest Relations. I hope your stay is comfortable, but if there is anything at all you need then do please ask.’
And judging from the woman’s expression, nothing was off-limits, Emma thought, feeling a rush of jealousy that she knew was totally inappropriate.
‘This is Emma,’ Lucas said calmly. ‘Emma is my PA.’
‘Of course.’ Despite the smooth response it was obvious that the girl considered ‘PA’ to be a euphemism for a very different role. ‘If you follow me, we have your suite ready. And Mr Ferrara asked me to pass on a message when you checked in.’
‘Message?’
The woman cleared her throat. ‘The message was, “Tell him he’s in the Presidential Suite and if it leaks I’m never working with him again.” His words,’ she said hastily. ‘I’m just the messenger. I’m absolutely sure that nothing you designed would ever leak, Mr Jackson.’
Lucas simply laughed and Emma was about to ask why there would be any concern about the Presidential Suite leaking when a pair of glass doors in front of them opened with a smooth hiss and they walked down a gentle slope and into the most breathtakingly beautiful room she’d ever seen.
‘We’re under the water. Oh my—’ she gasped as a shoal of brightly coloured fish swam right in front of her, darting through softly floating fronds of seaweed. ‘It’s amazing. Like being inside an aquarium.’ For some reason she hadn’t noticed this on the model. Or maybe she had, but just hadn’t registered that it would be under the water. She was always so busy, she realised, she never really had a chance to appreciate the scope of his genius. It was truly imaginative. And restful.
‘It’s not entirely under the water. Just this room.’ Frowning, Lucas turned to the woman. ‘I told Cristiano to use the suite.’
‘Mr Ferrara is here with his whole family, including his young daughters,’ the woman said. ‘His security team decided that the Coral Suite is more suitable for small children because it’s possible to close off the pool. And you are, after all, the guest of honour. This amazing, iconic hotel is your brainchild.’ She looked suitably starstruck but if Lucas even noticed, there was no sign of it.
‘Right.’ He put his briefcase down on the table. ‘And when is the Prince arriving?’
‘His Royal Highness sends his apologies. He intended to join you for dinner tonight but instead he finds himself tied up with a delegation from Al Rafid. He looks forward to joining you at the party. As you know, every royal and celebrity in the world has been holding their breath hoping for a ticket.’ Smiling, she handed him a slender object that looked like a remote control. ‘The technology in the hotel is quite staggering but I suppose I don’t need to give you a lesson on that, given that you were involved in all stages of the planning. It’s all voice controlled.’
Voice controlled?
Emma had been so busy gawping that she was barely listening. She’d never been anywhere so luxurious. The use of glass made it feel as if they were actually on the water, part of the sea rather than the land. And it had been furnished to reflect the same sea, soft leather sofas designed for lounging, the floor covered in rugs in marine shades of blue and turquoise.
As the woman left them alone, she glanced around her. ‘Voice controlled? So exactly which part of it is voice controlled?’
Lucas was prowling around the suite, checking various details. ‘Everything. The lights. The blinds on the windows. The sound system. You can operate it all without once moving from the bed.’
His choice of words made her flush but fortunately he wasn’t looking at her.
‘So if I say music
—’ She stopped, enchanted as the smooth notes of Chopin flowed through the room. ‘Oh that is so cool.’
Lucas observed her delight with a lifted eyebrow. ‘That is just the default track. List the track you want and it will play it. And you adjust the volume by saying “volume up” and “volume down”. I wish I could install something similar in my clients,’ he drawled. ‘And now you need to get dressed. I’m taking you to dinner.’
It was the last thing she’d expected him to say.
Ever since she’d woken this morning he’d been careful to keep his distance. He’d warned her off. Apart from that one unguarded confession in the kitchen, their relationship had reverted back to employer and employee. During the journey he’d been cold and more than a little intimidating.
But now he wanted to take her to dinner, in this beautifully romantic place where the sun was just setting?
She should say no. Her heart raced away in a frantic rhythm. ‘I don’t have anything to wear.’
His eyes were on his phone as he checked his emails. ‘Avery has just sent a message to confirm that she arranged for a selection of clothes to be delivered to your room. She’ll pick you up at ten tomorrow to shop for something to wear at the party.’
‘But—’
‘Whatever she’s picked out should hopefully be enough to get you through until the morning.’
But Emma wasn’t thinking about the dress. She was thinking about having dinner with him. She was wondering why he’d changed his mind. ‘Lucas—’ Her voice was croaky. ‘Is this a good idea? Do you really want to have dinner?’
‘Of course.’ He didn’t glance up from his emails. ‘The restaurant is the most complex part of this structure. I want to see whether the end result gives the dining experience that I hoped for when I designed it.’
Dining experience?
Emma stood still, horrified to realise how close she’d come to making a total fool of herself yet again. Once again, her brain had twisted his words. A week ago if he’d mentioned dinner she would have assumed it was all about business. Now, she was imagining soft words and the promise of something more, whereas the reality was that when he’d asked her to have dinner with him it hadn’t been a romantic proposition, but a practical one. It wasn’t that he wanted to have dinner with her. It was that he wanted to have dinner in the restaurant he’d designed, and she was supposed to accompany him.