The Scandalous Collection. Кейт Хьюит
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‘Just more proof of how little you know me.’
‘What I know,’ Ben gritted, ‘is your little plan to take my employees out to lunch and then trip all over me worked admirably. The press have sunk their teeth into the story and are claiming the only reason I’m sponsoring this sports camp is as a cover to get into your bed.’
‘How ridiculous,’ she scoffed. ‘Surely there’s an easier way to get into my bed.’
For a split second Ben once again had the bizarre sense that she was putting herself down on purpose, and he felt his anger drain away. He realized he was overreacting, and he knew it was because of his own experiences with the press. Still he could not get the bitter taste out of his mouth, the sickening feeling of being used and manipulated simply for the sake of a photograph. ‘Read that,’ he said, thrusting a paper into her hands.
She took it, glancing down at it without seeming to really read it. After a few seconds she tossed it back onto the desk. ‘All of it drivel. Just ignore it. It’s just a trashy tabloid anyway.’
‘Did you read it?’ Ben demanded, and she blinked.
‘I scanned it.’
‘Did you see the accusations they were making against the camp?’
She lifted one slender shoulder in an aggravatingly dismissive shrug. ‘It’s just gossip.’
‘Which you obviously don’t care about,’ Ben snapped, ‘based on how heavily you’re featured in these rags. I know you court the tabloids, Princess. You make sure they get all the photos they want of you at all your high-flying parties.’ She said nothing, only lifted her chin in challenge, which infuriated him all the more. ‘I read an astonishingly thorough exposé of an affair you had with some Frenchman,’ he drawled, ‘including rather intimate details you were clearly happy to provide.’
She stilled, and Ben had an odd sense that she’d somehow retreated from him even though she hadn’t moved. ‘You’ve really done your research, Ben,’ she said with a cool little smile. ‘I’m so impressed.’
‘Trust me, it didn’t take much. Just pick up a paper.’
‘You’ve made your point.’
Ben sighed, raking a hand through his hair. ‘My point, Natalia, is that I run a respectable business, with sensitive, high-profile clients who come to me for discreet financial advice. This kind of exposure is exactly what I don’t want and can’t have.’
‘Then maybe you shouldn’t have asked me to volunteer.’
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have,’ Ben agreed. He’d thought he could handle the press, handle her, but right now he felt like he couldn’t. He felt like he was spinning out of control, and not just because of the press. Because of her.
‘So,’ Natalia said, ‘is that it? You lasted one day with me?’
‘Not a chance, Princess. I never lose a bet.’
‘Just your temper.’
He glanced down at the papers again, felt a stirring of regret. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have become so angry.’
‘You must be used to this kind of thing,’ Natalia said, gesturing to the paper. ‘Your family is always featured in the tabloids back in England.’ He knew it all too well. ‘I’ve worked very hard to make sure I’m not featured in—’
‘Which is exactly why you’re so annoyed that you got dragged in this time,’ she finished curtly. ‘Shall I shed a tear? Now you know how it feels.’
He’d been dragged in before, and he hated it, but he wasn’t about to tell Natalia that. ‘Are you saying you don’t go after that kind of publicity? That you’re innocent?’
‘Is that so hard to believe?’
‘You know your own history—’
‘Better than you do.’
‘You’re saying none of what the tabloids print is true?’ Ben demanded. He watched her flush, and with a jolt of regret he realised he’d hurt her.
‘Not all of it is true,’ she said stiffly. ‘And in this instance, no, I didn’t plan it all. Really, you give me far too much credit. I took everyone out to lunch yesterday to be nice. End of story. And when we were coming out of the wine bar I tripped. You saw my broken heel yourself. The press jumped all over it as they always do, and they made it look as naughty as they could.’ Her lush lips curved in a brittle smile. ‘Really, I wouldn’t expect anything less.’
Ben stared at her. Even though she was effecting a careless, relaxed pose, he suspected that’s all it was. A pose. He sensed a deeper, darker sea of emotions churning underneath. Disappointment. Hurt. Fear. Anger too—and he didn’t know if it was directed at him, the press or maybe even the whole world. If she hated the tabloid coverage, he wondered, why on earth did she go out of her way to get it? Granting interviews. Posing for photos. Waving at the cameras. He’d assumed she enjoyed the notoriety.
Now he wondered. Was Natalia just pretending—and why? It was a question he didn’t really feel like examining … or answering.
He straightened, raking his hands through his hair before dropping them to his sides. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I see now that I overreacted a bit because I hate the press.’
‘You hate the press?’ She widened her eyes in mocking astonishment. ‘What a surprise.’
‘Shocking, I know—’
‘Did something happen,’ Natalia asked abruptly, ‘to make you hate it so much? Something specific?’
Ben pressed his lips together. He had no desire to trot out his little sob stories, his mother’s distress at having her private heartache made into public shame, how the press had pounced on his own weaknesses again and again to milk a story. ‘I simply find the entire practice of making money off people’s anguish completely reprehensible.’ He stopped himself from saying anything more, for he knew he’d already revealed too much. Anguish. Yes, that’s what his mother had felt. What he had felt. Yet he didn’t want Natalia to know. ‘I suspect having you volunteer here has challenged me as much as it has you.’
‘As long as we’re both getting something out of it.’
‘When I asked you to volunteer,’ he continued steadily, ‘I didn’t foresee this kind of press coverage.’ That wasn’t, he knew, quite true. He had anticipated something like it, but he’d willfully ignored it, told himself he could handle it. And right now it felt like he couldn’t. ‘That was foolish on my part, I realise.’
Natalia’s eyes flashed, this time with sudden humour. ‘Wait a minute. You asked me?’
Ben felt a flicker of admiration for the way she adjusted, always matching him. And a flicker of something else. He watched her chest rise and fall under that crisp white blouse and he wanted to undo its buttons. ‘Didn’t I ask?’ he said, feigning confused innocence. ‘And you so politely agreed?’ A wry smile tugged at his mouth, and she smiled back, the moment spinning on and turning into something else—something that reminded Ben of how slender and lithe her body had felt last night, how close his lips had been to hers. How much he’d wanted to kiss her.
‘I think you’re rewriting history as much as the press do,’ she said.
Which brought them back to their current situation with an unwelcome thud. Ben jerked his gaze away from her blouse and those tempting little buttons. ‘I’m sorry for losing my temper and accusing you unfairly,’ Ben said. ‘I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. But we can’t have this,’ he continued, glancing down at the newspapers. ‘If the camp receives negative local press before it even starts, it could affect parents’ decisions to send their children, not to mention some of the camp’s endorsements.’ He glanced