The Christmas Project: A laugh-out-loud romance from bestselling author Maxine Morrey. Maxine Morrey
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perfectly lovely and efficient as I am sure she is, is that I made a deal with you. Not your colleague.’
‘You made a deal for my company to help you organise your home.’
‘No. My understanding was that you would be the one coming back in to my home. And not once did you ever suggest that it would be someone else. And the fact that you still didn’t tell me you would be sending someone else when you called me, alerts me to the fact that you were, in fact, fobbing me off on someone else because you didn’t want to deal with me.’
‘Of course I wasn’t fobbing you off!’
Across the desk, Bernice did a Pinocchio impression. I turned my chair so that my back was facing her.
‘Or maybe you didn’t think you were capable of dealing with me, for whatever reason.’
‘I am perfectly capable of dealing with you Mr O’Farrell. I just prefer not…’
Oh. Shit.
I could practically hear him smiling down the line as I dropped myself in it. I mentally added ‘smug’ to the list of his unattractive qualities.
‘That’s what I thought. There’s still four hours of the session left Kate. I’d appreciate being able to use that time if you’re available. However, if not, I’m happy to reschedule to a time when you, personally, are able to attend.’
I gritted my teeth and pulled up my calendar. ‘I’m sorry that there seems to have been some misunderstanding Mr O’Farrell. I was under the impression that you were hiring my company and had no preference as to which organiser attended.’
‘I wasn’t aware there was anyone other than you.’
‘Then I apologise for not making that clear, but I can assure you that Bernice is a very competent organiser and I’ve had nothing but positive feedback from all of her clients. I’m very aware of the time frame with you, and as Bernice was free earlier than I today, at a time that fitted in with you, it seemed ideal that she should come over, rather than having to put you off longer.’
‘I’m sure that she is excellent at her job. However, when I said I wanted you last night, that’s exactly what I meant.’
Oh God. I do wish he’d stop saying that.
Across the desk, Bernice tilted her head and raised an eyebrow as colour whooshed up my face.
‘I understand. We’ve obviously already lost some time but I can do the rest of today’s session. If that’s what you wish.’
‘I do.’
‘Then I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘I look forward to it.’
Liar.
He hung up before I could say anything else. Snatching my coat from the hook, I rammed my arms into the sleeves, fuming at his laid back self-assurance. And the fact that he’d tripped me up into pretty much admitting that I had been more than happy to bump him onto Bernice.
‘You’re going then?’ Bernice asked, watching me savagely trying wrap a scarf around my neck as if wrestling a particularly venomous python.
‘I don’t think I have much choice now. Best just to get it all over and done with as soon as possible. Although, if I don’t turn up tomorrow, it’s because I’ve succumbed to my current desire to smack Michael O’Farrell right between the eyes with a snow shovel.’
‘Be a shame to ruin a pretty face like that.’
‘Fair point. I’ll smack him in the back of the head instead.’
With that, I yanked my bag onto my shoulder and headed out the door.
I rang the bell and heard the hurried thud of feet running down the stairs. A moment later I heard another thud, shortly followed by a few choice words before the door was pulled open. Michael O’Farrell stood there in a white T-shirt, faded jeans and bare feet, the right one of which he was holding up and rubbing.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked, as he mutely indicated me to step inside. ‘I thought I heard…something.’
‘Fine,’ he replied. He waited whilst I took off my coat and heels and then began heading towards the kitchen. I followed. ‘Would you like a drink? I’m making one anyway.’
My plan was to say no so that I could just get on with the task in hand but as he pressed the button on the coffee maker, buried amongst the junk on one of the work surfaces, the most delectable smell of coffee drifted out, melting my resolve in one tempting moment.
‘That would be very nice, thank you.’
He nodded and pulled another mug from a cupboard.
‘I saw that,’ he said, without turning.
‘Saw what?’
‘You raised your eyebrows in surprise that I actually got something out of a cupboard instead of just off the worktop.’
I really needed to work on my poker face.
‘You had your back to me. You have no idea what I did or didn’t do.’
‘I’ve eight nieces and nephews and spent a year teaching English in India. I’ve learned to have eyes in the back of my head.’
I rolled my eyes.
‘I saw that too.’
‘Oh, you did not.’
‘Boy. You’re bad at this game.’
I sucked in my cheeks and kept my mouth closed, as my eyes darted to the snow shovel leaning against the wall outside, next to the back door.
‘I’d get to it before you.’
‘Oh bloody hell!’ I burst out.
Michael’s face creased into a brief grin that faded as quickly as it had shown. ‘I can see why Janey likes you.’
I didn’t know what to say to that so I said nothing. But as the silence grew longer, my client seemed disinclined to fill it, happy, it seemed, just to lounge against the counter and drink his coffee. His gaze fell on me and the intensity of his eyes gave off the feeling that he could see much deeper than I was comfortable with. Which, of course, was ridiculous. I knew that. But still. I could also see why he was apparently never short of women to take up to his soulless bedroom. It wasn’t just the good looks. It was easy to see how those eyes and that gaze could be used to make you feel like you were the only person around, even in a room full of people. Or a bar full of alcohol.
‘What are you thinking?’
‘What?’ I asked, my voice coming out a little more squeaky than usual and colour flushing up my neck.
‘You had a very…interesting…expression on your face.’
I wasn’t sure what that meant but I did know I had absolutely no intention of telling my client that I’d been thinking about how easy it must be for him to pick up women in bars. I knew he’d just take it as a compliment. I’d hit myself in the back of the head with that snow shovel before I admitted to that.
‘I was just thinking about the best place to start.’
Michael drained his coffee mug, watching me over the rim. ‘Right,’ he said, giving me the distinct impression that he didn’t believe a word I’d just said.
‘And what did you decide?’
Thankfully I had actually been planning the best way to go about this particular case on the Tube on the way over so I had a quick answer ready.
‘I think the best thing to do is to start with your