by Lucy King
‘I’m very glad to hear it.’
Abby was glad too. Truly she was. She’d half expected her words back there in Leo’s car to fall on deaf ears, but to her relief and grim pleasure they hadn’t. She’d told him to back off, and that was what he’d done. He’d actually respected her wishes for a change. Exactly as she’d asked.
Those extremely rare occasions she’d been tempted to call him up or email him with some totally unnecessary point about the party had been nothing more than blips when she’d temporarily forgotten what he’d done. That was all.
The idea that she might have missed him was risible. She hadn’t missed him at all. She hadn’t had the chance, and now that she’d finally got round to deleting those damned Google alerts she hadn’t been tempted once to see if there was news of him. Not. Once.
‘Me too,’ she said firmly.
Gemma sniffed. ‘He’s a scumbag,’ she said for what had to be the thousandth time since Abby had told her what had happened.
‘Yup.’
He was. And she really had to keep remembering it, because lately the tiny part of her that had been flattered at the lengths he’d gone to to win her over when by all accounts he didn’t pursue women had been growing, and from time to time she’d found herself wondering whether she hadn’t maybe overreacted a bit.
Which was a totally loopy way of thinking, so the sooner this party was over, the better, because she could really do with everything settling back down, her thoughts, her behaviour, her life, basically.
‘Is anyone else there?’
‘Not yet.’ Pulling herself together, Abby glanced at her watch and saw that it was only half past eight. ‘But it’s still early.’
‘What’s the place like?’
She looked up and her breath caught. Even though it wasn’t the first time she’d seen the house it still made quite an impression. Honey-coloured Cotswold stone against a cloudless blue sky was a happy combination. And then there was the symmetry of the two-storey façade, the balcony that extended above the front door and the rows of large sash windows that appealed to the perfectionist in her.
She wasn’t particularly into buildings but she had to admit that everything about this one was easy on the eye. Including its owner.
‘It’s old. Huge. Lovely,’ she said, giving herself a quick kick in the shin, cross for letting herself even think about Leo like that. ‘Seventeenth century, maybe. Hundreds of acres. I think the housekeeper said the formal gardens are by Capability Brown. They’re beautiful. Then there are woods, fields and a lake out the back. Your average Oxfordshire manor house, basically.’
‘What does he do with it all?’
‘No idea. But it’s in a bit of a state and could do with some serious TLC so he ought to be doing something.’
Gemma sighed. ‘I wish I could be there.’
‘So do I,’ said Abby and she meant it—really meant it—because this event was going to be a toughie, although she suspected for none of the usual emergency, safety-pin-needed-type reasons, and she could do with her best friend and colleague.
‘Darn celebrity weddings,’ said Gemma dryly.
‘Especially ones that have been planned for eighteen months.’
‘And will probably last six tops.’
Abby grinned. ‘Cynic.’
‘Realist.’
‘Where’s that eternal optimism of yours?’
‘It’s taking a break. Simon didn’t call.’
‘Oh, no. I’m sorry, sweetie.’
‘Par for the course, huh? But never mind. Plenty more fish in the sea, and all that. And talking of fish, isn’t lobster on the menu tonight?’
‘It certainly is,’ said Abby as the mouth-watering menu popped into her head and she switched into work mode.
‘It’ll be spectacular. Karen’s a genius. She won’t let you down.’
‘I know.’
There was a pause, and then Gemma said, ‘Well, look, I’d better let you get on with it, but if you want to chat, rant or whatever you know where I am.’
‘Thanks. Likewise.’
‘Hope it goes well.’
‘You too.’
‘Give the lovely Jake a kiss from me.’
‘I will.’
Hanging up with a smile still on her face, Abby pushed herself off her car, and crossed the drive, her trainers crunching on the gleaming white gravel. It was a shame Gemma wasn’t going to be around on Saturday, but she’d be fine.
It wasn’t as if this were the first time she’d be without her wing woman. It wasn’t as if she were going to have time to ruminate over Leo and the way she felt over what he’d done was—a bit worryingly—changing. And it wasn’t as if he were here to bring it to the forefront of her mind. Or to distract her or disturb her or just generally upset her equilibrium.
No, she reassured herself, climbing the couple of steps to the front door and ringing the bell. He was probably in London. Or abroad maybe. Anywhere. She didn’t know and she genuinely didn’t care. As long as he was nowhere to be seen.
The sound of a catch turning snapped her out of her thoughts and she pulled her shoulders back, her smile widening in anticipation of the sight of the friendly and diminutive housekeeper.
But as the door swung open and Abby’s gaze fell on legs that were clad in faded blue denim and very definitely male the smile froze on her face because it clearly wasn’t Mrs Trimble who’d opened the door.
It was Leo.
And as she looked up and stared at him, for a moment unable to speak although she should have known fate might play a trick like this, everything she’d been struggling to convince herself about him over the last fortnight flew straight from her head. All those conversations she’d had with Gemma about how despicably he’d behaved. How badly she’d got him wrong. How dismally disappointing the male sex was in general...
She might as well not have bothered because one look and all she wanted was to throw her arms around his neck, kiss him to bits and tell him how much she’d missed him. Because, as nuts as it sounded given their last encounter, she had. Hugely.
‘Leo,’ she said with a bright smile even though annoyingly her heart was hammering with something that felt suspiciously like excitement and her stomach was practically liquefying with desire. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
‘It’s my house.’
‘I know, but...’ She tailed off helplessly because, really, but what?
But I told you not to show up until the start of the party? But I can’t stop thinking about you even though I shouldn’t because what you did was so very low? But can’t you see that you being here is going to make my job so much harder?
‘I want to see how things are done.’
‘That’s why you have me, though. So you don’t have to.’
‘I know. But I’m interested. And I might not get another chance. To watch you at work, I mean.’ He stopped. Frowned. Ran a hand through his hair and for one heart-stopping second seemed a little unsure of himself, before he gave himself a quick shake and looked at her steadily. ‘I also wanted to apologise.’
‘For what?’
‘You know for what.’
A pang of the hurt that she’d done so well to bury broke free and Abby stifled a sigh. ‘Look, Leo, can we please not go there just now?’ she said, suddenly a bit weary of it all. ‘Whatever’s going on, I’m at work here and I need to focus. So I’d really appreciate it if we could leave things at that for the next day or two.’
While Leo considered this she could see his jaw tightening, a clear indication that he wasn’t happy with her request, but that was tough, because she was here in a professional capacity and, however temporarily, she was calling the shots.
‘Fine,’ he said eventually. ‘But just so as you know, I do
want to apologise.’
‘If you think you can.’
‘I plan to give it a shot. Are you going to come in?’
‘Sure,’ she said, stepping over the threshold and stiffening as her arm brushed against his chest and what felt like a bolt of electricity shot through her.
‘Is my being here really a problem, Abby?’
She stopped in the hallway and turned to find him watching her, his face utterly unreadable.
Of course it was a problem, she thought. It was a huge problem because how on earth was she going to concentrate if he insisted on sticking around, wanting to apologise? But she shook her head and kept her smile pinned to her face. ‘Of course it isn’t. Not at all. As you pointed out, it’s your house. I can hardly order you to leave.’
‘Do you want me to leave?’
Absolutely she did, but what possible grounds could she have for asking him to do so? It wasn’t as if this party were a surprise to him. ‘I don’t mind what you do,’ she said with a cool nonchalance that she managed to drum up from who knew where, ‘as long as you don’t get in the way.’
He gave her the glimmer of a smile. ‘I won’t.’
* * *
But he did.
Not in the way of the streams of people who turned up over the next couple of days, and not, literally speaking, in her way. No, when he wasn’t holed up in his study, he took great care not to interfere. He remained very much out of the way, only fully joining in when it came to lunch. Then he’d come over and chat to her about how things were going and ask what was happening next. When lunch was over and everyone got back to work he melted away again. Nevertheless, she knew he was around—somewhere—and that was plenty enough of a distraction.
Vans came and went, disgorging giant urns, a dozen tables and ten times as many chairs, enough linen to sail a tall ship, kitchen equipment, speakers and miles of cabling. Delivery men arrived, dropped off and left. Her subcontractors were everywhere, whirling about, watching the clock and issuing instructions to their teams. Abby herself hovered around, keeping an overall watchful eye on what was going on, clipboard pretty much permanently in hand.
And all the while Leo was there. In her head and in her peripheral vision. Chatting easily to anyone he came across and helping out wherever muscle was needed.
Which was all very well and good but she never knew when or where he was going to pop up next, and as a result she was on edge and slowly going nuts.
However, what could she say without totally giving herself away? What could she do? Absolutely nothing.
Until this morning, that was, when she’d thought she’d had something of a brainwave. Figuring that if she could at least keep him in one place she could be sure to be elsewhere so she wouldn’t keep catching sight of him unexpectedly, she’d got him lending a hand to the guys who were putting up the marquee.
But that plan, which had started out successfully enough, had well and truly backfired because an hour or so after she’d given him his orders she’d accidentally seen him and any hope of keeping it together had gone to hell in a handcart, because he’d joined the others in taking off his shirt. And the sight of him pulling on ropes, hammering in pegs, his back bending and flexing, his muscles bunching and twisting, nearly made her pass out with longing.
From then on it had been hard to avoid that area. So hard.
Didn’t he know what the sight of his bare torso did to her? she wondered, heading into the kitchen to see about making tea for whoever wanted it. Surely he had to. So was it deliberate? Perhaps another rotten attempt to get her to yield to his desires and to hell with the apology?
Maybe he did and maybe he was, she thought with a sigh as she filled the tea urn with water and switched it on. She no longer knew which way was up when it came to him, although to be fair it was warm out there and it wasn’t as if he were the only one who’d gone shirtless.
Thank goodness there was only a little over twenty-four hours to go till the party. Thank goodness come Sunday morning this horrible confusion hammering away in her head and the awful pressure building inside her would be gone because, frankly, she didn’t know how much more of any of it she could take.
* * *
Abby had been here for two days already, there was only one left and Leo still hadn’t found the opportunity to apologise.
He’d barely even spoken to her. He hadn’t had the chance. He’d never much thought about the work that went into an event such as this, yet clearly there was one hell of a lot of it.
While he watched from the sidelines, sometimes from the window of his study where he pretended to be working, sometimes offering to lend a hand, he discovered that Abby, in addition to being gorgeous, sexy and very, very capable, was a dynamo.
She was on the go non-stop from the moment she arrived to the moment she left, her pace dizzying and her energy bottomless, and at the mere thought of the complexity of her job his head swam.
Lunch was the only time she downed tools, and even that was only for half an hour max. Hardly time for a chat—and he’d tried—let alone an apology. And because she barely paused for breath, he hadn’t been able to get her on her own.
But that, he hoped, was about to change.
Impressive though Abby undoubtedly was—and he certainly admired her efficiency, the way she had with people and her frankly extraordinary talent for putting out fires—she was looking exhausted. She arrived at the crack of dawn and left well after dark, and the daily commute to and from London surely couldn’t help.
So he’d come up with a plan, this time a truly infallible one.
‘Need a hand,’ he asked, striding into the kitchen where she was leaning against the work surface and frowning down at the floor as the tea urn beside her hissed away.
Abby jumped, her gaze snapped up and for some reason she went bright red. ‘What? Oh? No, thanks. It’s just about done.’
‘In that case, would you like me to let everyone know tea’s ready?’
‘Thanks.’ Her eyes dipped for a second and then shot back up. ‘Is the marquee up?’ she asked briskly.
‘All done.’
‘Then would you mind putting your shirt back on?’
Ah, he thought, smiling inwardly. Not totally unaffected by him, then. ‘Does my shirtlessness bother you?’
‘Not in the slightest,’ she said without batting an eyelid. ‘You might catch a chill and I don’t think the insurance would cover it. Besides, I have standards to maintain. Order. You know?’
‘I do.’
He moved a cup so that out of the fifty or so that sat on the counter the other side of the urn it was the only one with the handle pointing up. She moved it back. And shot him a look.
‘I’ll put my shirt back on.’
‘Thank you.’
‘One thing before I round up the troops, though,’ he said, deliberately moving towards her.
She took a sidestep away, sliding along the counter, and eyed him warily. ‘What?’
‘Would you like to stay here tonight?’
Startled, she stared at him, her jaw dropping for a second before she snapped it back up. ‘What?’
‘Would you like to stay the night?’
She stiffened. Frowned. ‘I thought we’d been through this, Leo.’
‘I didn’t mean with me, although that would be nice.’
‘Then what did you mean?’
‘You look shattered.’
‘Gee, thanks.’
‘I’m concerned.’
‘There’s nothing to be concerned about,’ she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘It goes with the job. It’s fine. It always is.’
‘Perhaps I could make it better.’
She arched an eyebrow and said in a voice that could freeze water, ‘I’m sure you think
you could.’
Leo grinned. ‘Not like that.’
‘Then how?’
‘You get here practically before dawn and you don’t leave until at least nine. And I get that you have to, but wouldn’t it save time and stress if your commute took five minutes instead of fifty? There are over a dozen spare rooms here. You can take your pick.’
She blinked. ‘Oh. Right. Well, that’s very thoughtful of you, Leo, but my commute isn’t fifty minutes. It’s about ten.’
He frowned, faintly taken aback. ‘What?’
‘I’m staying in a pub in the village.’
Of course she was. Why on earth would she waste time commuting? Hadn’t he learnt anything about her in the months he’d known her? ‘I didn’t know.’ But he wished he had because then they could have had this conversation two days ago and he wouldn’t have worked himself into such knots.
‘Why would you?
‘Which one?’
‘The George.’
‘Any good?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s fine. Not exactly five star but it’s clean and has everything I need. The restaurant’s pretty terrible, though.’
‘OK,’ he said slowly as inspiration struck—at the right time, for once. ‘Then why don’t you come over here for supper?’
Her eyebrows rose. ‘Tonight?’
‘Yup.’
‘With you?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Oh.’
‘We need to talk, Abby.’
‘Do we?’
‘I’d like to.’
‘Hmm.’
If ever there was an advantage to be pressed, this was it, and frankly this was probably his last chance to get her on her own. ‘And, you know,’ he said casually, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocking on his heels, ‘if you refuse I might start to wonder why the pub’s terrible food is more appealing than Mrs Trimble’s legendary steak and ale pie. I might start to wonder if it’s something to do with me.’
Abby frowned. And after the tiniest of pauses, said, ‘Then thank you, Leo. Supper would be great.’