Occupational Hazard: The Ultimate Workplace Romance Box Set

by Eve Langlais

  ‘So, do you have a girlfriend?’

  ‘Not at the moment,’ he admitted, pushing his chair further back, out of her reach.

  ‘But you are into women?’

  ‘Yes, Hattie.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I think the last ten minutes have established that I am into women.’

  ‘So, what exactly is the problem?’ She sat back on her heels and looked up at him patiently.

  It was dangerously tempting just to tell her. Instead, he swivelled back to his computer and said over his shoulder, ‘Stand up. You look ridiculous down there.’

  She glared at him. ‘You’ve been making me look ridiculous all day. I don’t know why you’re so worried about it now. And don’t think you can avoid the question. I’m not making up the chemistry between us and, since neither of us have any prior commitments, I’m honestly struggling to see why you keep pushing me away. If you don’t fancy me after all, just say so. But you were in that kiss just then, too. And, from where I was sitting, you seemed to enjoy it.’

  He held up his hands in a gesture of despair. ‘I’ve told you before, I do find you attractive. But I don’t get involved with my models.’

  ‘I’m offering you no-strings-attached sex and you’re turning it down?’ She sounded incredulous. He could well believe it had never happened to her before.

  He shrugged. ‘The strings are always there, even if you can’t see them.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘Someone really did a job on you, didn’t they?’

  ‘I’m not talking about this any more. I’ve got work to do.’

  Hattie’s gaze slid across to the laptop. ‘Wow.’

  The screen still showed the image he’d been working at when she came in. The best picture of the day. It was one of the nude shots, showing Hattie stretching up to the chandelier, strewn with cobwebs and dust. Sunlight reflected on the crystal drops and glowed on the spider’s web, giving the illusion that Hattie was trapped in a glittering prison of light.

  ‘You like it?’ He eyed her sharply.

  ‘It’s amazing. It felt so ridiculous, standing like that earlier, but now I understand.’

  ‘What do you understand?’

  She’d moved nearer the desk and her head was near Tom’s as they both studied the picture.

  ‘The light… the cobweb… they’re so fragile and yet there, in that moment, they make me look powerless.’

  He drew in a sharp breath. She’d got it. She’d really got it. ‘Show me what you mean.’

  ‘Here.’ She traced the ray of light which curved over her breasts. ‘It’s like it’s holding me back. Stopping me from doing something. And here.’ Her finger moved up to the network of light which criss-crossed her face on the screen. ‘It looks like I’m afraid of it. Like something in a horror film.’

  ‘Science fiction.’ He’d had the same thought earlier.

  ‘Yes, maybe. I didn’t know my eyes could look like that.’

  ‘So pale? I played with the exposure a little bit.’

  ‘That’s part of it, I suppose. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like looking at myself in a nightmare.’

  ‘Look at this one.’ He scrolled through until he came to the image of her in the coffin. ‘What does that make you feel?’

  She stared at it for several minutes. ‘Honestly?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s ridiculous. I look like the fat Bride of Dracula.’ She gestured at the red lipstick and the white nightgown. ‘The props are silly.’

  He nodded. She was right. ‘How about this?’ He skipped ahead a couple of photos.

  ‘Oh.’

  It was the same set-up. She was still in the coffin, but this time he’d taken a close-up of her face with the hammer and changed the lighting. He could feel her tense up as she looked at the picture.

  ‘You were a total bastard making me do this.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’ She’d been really scared and he’d wanted to stop things. He had wanted to comfort her and show her all the illusions he was using and the precautions that were keeping her safe. But that wasn’t his job. He was here to get the real emotions out of her, and he’d done it.

  Hattie drew a deep breath. ‘But it was worth it.’

  ‘I think so. This is what I wanted. At least, it’s getting near what I wanted.’

  She stared at him in horror. ‘You mean, there’s more? Is this what the whole week is going to be like? A living nightmare?’

  ‘Only while I’m shooting.’

  ‘I take it back. I’m not scared of spiders or horses or heights at all.’

  He grinned.

  ‘No,’ she continued. ‘But you know what really freaks me out? Chocolate. And, um, bubble baths! And flower meadows.’ She wrapped her arms around herself and gave a dramatic shiver.

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he said gravely. ‘But, for tomorrow, we’ve already got the horse booked.’

  ‘Oh, God. You’re going to make me ride it, aren’t you? I’ll fall off.’

  ‘That’s not in the plan.’

  ‘Well, at least that’s something. I can’t believe I signed up to a week of this.’

  ‘Be thankful I could only afford this place for a week.’

  ‘Next time, pick somewhere with central heating.’ She’d flicked through to one of the nude shots that showed goose pimples all over her body, and fingers that had turned slightly blue with the cold.

  ‘Where’s the fun in that?’ Tom glanced down at her. She was wearing a thick woolly cardigan over jeans and sheepskin slippers, but she was still shivering. He put an arm round her shoulders.

  ‘The fun would be in having someone else to warm my bed, but apparently that’s out of the question. What’s a girl supposed to do?’

  ‘Hot water bottle?’

  ‘I could use a hot toddy.’

  ‘Come on, then. I’ll make you one while I’m having dinner.’

  She cradled the warm mug between her hands and watched Tom as he assembled a plateful of leftovers and nuked it in the microwave. His movements were as quick and deft as always. He wrapped the remains of a chicken pie in foil and replaced it in the fridge. Collecting knife and fork, he brought his heated dinner to the big scrubbed pine table where Hattie was sitting.

  ‘This is the only warm room in the whole house. I think I’ll bring my duvet down here and sleep in front of the range.’

  ‘Sorry you’re cold.’ Tom forked up another mouthful of food. ‘I didn’t know it would be this bad.’

  ‘I’ll live, I suppose. Maybe I’ll find one of the crew who wouldn’t mind warming my bed.’

  He raised his eyes and contemplated her for a moment before returning to his food.

  ‘What, you don’t think they’d want me?’

  ‘I think you’re trying to provoke me into sleeping with you.’

  ‘Is it working?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Pity.’ She smiled and sipped at her hot toddy. ‘Carl, you know, who does the lights?’

  ‘I know who Carl is.’

  ‘He’s cute.’

  ‘He’s married.’

  ‘Oh.’ She wasn’t going there with a married man ever again. ‘What about Pavel?’ The electrician wasn’t to Hattie’s taste, but Tom didn’t know that.

  ‘Gay.’

  She laughed. ‘I don’t think so.’

  Tom tilted his head to one side. ‘Well, maybe he goes both ways. But he certainly has a boyfriend he was giving a very loving goodbye to at the station.’

  ‘Tom Metcalfe, are you telling me that you are the only available man on this shoot?’

  He shook his head. ‘I keep trying to tell you that I’m not available.’

  ‘So you do. Sorry. I won’t ask again.’

  They sat in silence while Tom finished his meal and Hattie drank her hot toddy.

  ‘Look, I know today wasn’t brilliant, but I’ll do better. Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.’

  ‘You were fine. It’s me that’s th
e problem.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘It’s all very well you doing everything I ask of you, but I still have to ask the right questions.’

  She frowned. ‘But I thought you had it all planned. The props, the shots, everything.’

  He sighed. ‘I wish it was that easy. I have ideas, sketches, storyboards. But it doesn’t guarantee the magic.’

  ‘Magic?’

  ‘I don’t know a better word for it. You saw it upstairs. The difference between those two shots of you in the coffin. It’s lighting and placement, expression and focus. But it’s more than that.’

  ‘It’s chemistry.’

  ‘Chemistry?’ he said with a faint smile. ‘You think so?’

  ‘I have A-level Chemistry. So I know.’

  Tom laughed. ‘And what did you learn in A-level Chemistry?’

  She pressed her lips together, suppressing a grin. ‘I learned how to make Jamie Taylor want to kiss me behind the bike sheds.’

  He shook his head at her, but he was smiling. ‘You’re incorrigible.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘That wasn’t a compliment.’

  ‘Of course it was. That’s why you picked me for this job, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Why then?’

  He looked at her for a long moment, then shrugged. ‘Because you were the only woman I’d seen all day.’

  She frowned. ‘What? I was sure you’d have had hundreds of models lining up to work for you.’

  ‘I did. Hundreds of them. Teenagers, mostly. And the ones who weren’t were doing everything they could to look as if they were. Size zero, stinking of cigarette smoke, with dark circles under their eyes.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘They were girls, Hattie. Kids. Fabulous clothes hangers, but no life in them. No experience. Not women. None of them spilled over with their life story before I’d even got the camera out. They stood where they were told and went through the poses they know.’

  ‘That’s what the agencies teach them.’

  ‘Right. That’s what sells clothes. But I’m not in the business of selling clothes in this shoot.’

  ‘So, what are you selling?’

  He leaned back and Hattie held her breath. She wasn’t at all sure he was going to tell her. Eventually, he closed his eyes and spoke just one word. ‘Myself.’

  Himself?

  ‘My work. My photographs. My vision of the world.’

  Oh. ‘That’s scary.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘What’s the rest of the exhibition like? You said it was mostly ready.’

  ‘Landscape. Urban landscape. Some macro shots.’

  She shook her head. ‘That tells me nothing.’

  ‘Right. It’s, um… well, it’s about fragility.’

  Fragility? And he’d picked her to model for him? ‘So, I’m the contrast? Strength? Size? Weight?’

  ‘No!’ He slapped a hand on the table. ‘No, you’re part of it.’

  ‘You looked at me and saw fragility?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

  ‘I looked at you and knew I could shatter you.’

  The breath left her lungs like she’d been hit by a truck. He’d told her he wanted her scared. He’d said he was going to make her vulnerable. But this? She’d had no idea he could be so callously cruel.

  ‘You are a total bastard.’ There was no anger in her voice. Just calm, measured precision, telling him exactly what she thought.

  He shrugged, but there was guilt in his eyes. ‘That’s what being an artist does to you.’

  ‘You were wrong, though, weren’t you? I’m still here and I’m still in one piece.’

  He stood up and cleared his plate. ‘There’s still four days, Hattie. And I’m getting closer all the time.’

  ‘Not any more. Now I know what you’re after. I’m stronger than you think, Tom Metcalfe. Just you wait and see.’

  Chapter Four

  Hattie didn’t sleep well. Tom’s cold, emotionless voice telling her he planned to shatter her kept ringing in her head. He could do it, she had no doubt. He made her want to confide in him, to trust him with all the secrets she barely admitted even to herself. On that first night, she’d told him about her miserable office affair and its consequences. She’d never told anyone about the pregnancy – not even her mother. But now she knew what he planned, surely she’d be able to protect herself better?

  She forced herself out of her warm bed, wincing as her toes hit the cold floorboards. She washed her face quickly and dragged a comb through her hair. There were shadows under her eyes. She shrugged. Tom might think that added to her fragility. And, if not, that’s what the make-up artists were for.

  ###

  Oh God, there was a horse.

  She’d hoped he was joking about that. Or, at the very least, she had assumed he meant for her to be out in a field where there would be lots of nice soft muddy grass for her to land on. She hadn’t anticipated the giant stallion that towered way above her head right in the centre of the grand entrance hall. She clutched at the banister rail, wondering if she could just run back upstairs to bed. It was black, shiny, and huge. Twice the size of a normal horse – or maybe he just looked that way. Definitely too big for her. He couldn’t expect her to ride it. He knew she couldn’t ride.

  She tried to look on the bright side. If he was shooting inside the house, Tom couldn’t be expecting her to gallop through the countryside, jump over hedges, or chase innocent animals. Maybe she could manage to perch on top of it in here. Just so long as it didn’t move.

  She slunk down the stairs and carefully edged her way around the hall towards the costume team.

  ‘Another nightie?’

  Inge grinned. ‘Not today.’ She held up a shot silk ballgown which shimmered black and fuchsia in the light.

  ‘Ooh, I like that. I like that a lot.’

  She was fitted with the industrial underwear that sucked her stomach in and pushed her breasts out.

  ‘I look like Marilyn Monroe,’ she decided.

  ‘With a better bosom,’ Inge pointed out.

  ‘Of course.’

  Hattie stepped into the gown and waited while Inge fastened it at the back, then shook the skirts out. The bodice fitted like a glove, smooth around the shape created by the underwear. The skirt fell to the floor and trailed behind as Hattie twirled and preened.

  ‘It’s stunning. Can I keep it?’

  ‘If you have a spare five grand you can.’

  Hattie froze. ‘I can’t wear a five thousand pound dress.’

  Tom glanced over his shoulder. His eyes lingered just a moment too long for polite indifference, but all he said was, ‘Relax. It’s insured. But please don’t spill tomato ketchup down this one.’

  ‘Right. No ketchup. I’ll try.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Come on, then. Let’s get you mounted.’

  Hattie stood behind Tom as he checked the side saddle. ‘I don’t like horses. They kick.’

  ‘Can’t kick you when you’re sitting on top.’

  ‘But they move.’

  ‘The handler’s holding his bridle. He’s very well-trained. Give me your foot.’

  Tom boosted her up into the saddle. The horse skittered off to the side and she shrieked. The handler patted the huge beast as if it were no more dangerous than a tiny kitten. Hattie took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the scent of leather and polish. She put one hand out to touch the horse, but instantly pulled away when it raised its neck and whinnied as if it could feel her hand approaching. Gripping the saddle hard, she peered down.

  ‘It’s a long way to the floor. What if I fall off?’ she asked Tom. She could hear the shaking in her voice. God, he must be loving this.

  ‘Don’t fall off. Here.’ There were pommels on the saddle to hook her legs around. It didn’t feel at all secure. She gripped the reins for dear life. Her palms were too sweaty. She couldn’t hold on. She was alre
ady slipping, wasn’t she? Or was that vertigo? Oh, God, she was too high up.

  ‘Feel safe?’ Tom patted her knee.

  ‘No.’ She waggled her stilettos at him. She was absolutely sure that they weren’t safe for her. Or the horse, come to think of it.

  He grinned at her. ‘You’ll be fine. Just remember the reins aren’t handles, Hattie. Let go of them.’

  She gritted her teeth and unclenched her fingers from the leather straps. ‘I’m going to fall off.’

  ‘Sit up straight, face forward and don’t panic.’ Tom wandered off to speak to the lighting guys and to make sure the props had been set up how he wanted. Hattie was left stranded on top of approximately a ton of horse. Better on top of it than underneath, she told herself grimly.

  So long as she didn’t look down.

  Don’t look down. Don’t look down.

  She looked down. Her stomach lurched and she gave Tom an imploring glance. If he had an ounce of sympathy, he’d let her climb down now.

  He shook his head, eyes glinting with creative energy. He was looking forward to this, she could see. Heartless bastard.

  She’d told him last night that he wasn’t going to break her. No matter how much he made her face her fears, she was going to show him that she was a strong, confident woman. Hattie Bell wasn’t going to be photographed cowering with fear on top of a horse. She picked up the reins and pretended she did this all the time.

  Sit up straight. Face forward. Don’t panic. Easy. Just as long as she remembered not to look down.

  The shot silk looked amazing against the sleek, dark coat of the horse. The black disappeared into the background, but the pink sparkled with life. Tom signalled that the lights should be moved a little closer, then checked his viewfinder again. Hattie’s spine was rigid and she’d grasped the reins again, transmitting every spark of tension to her mount. The handler was holding the bridle, murmuring soothing noises to the horse and keeping it quiet.

  ‘Clear the shot.’ He waved the handler away. Hattie’s mouth tightened and her knuckles gleamed white. ‘Perfect.’

  He took several shots with the pale sunlight streaming into the room. There was a delicious incongruity between the raw strength of the stallion and the refined beauty of the house. And Hattie, strong and brave, beautiful and fragile, was the perfect embodiment of the contrast.