Rising Stars & It Started With… Collections. Кейт Хьюит
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don’t want to speak with Paulo. I discuss business with you.’
‘But you don’t want to discuss business.’ ‘Of course I do. There are some questions I have about his future use of the land—and about the maintenance of the jetty.’ He smiled and it lacerated. He lied and it killed her that he did.
‘I’m a PA,’ Charlotte said. ‘It’s not my job—’ ‘I choose who I liaise with. If you choose not to, then go and tell your boss that you refuse to speak with me.’ He let go of her wrist then, for he knew she could not run. He snapped his fingers at a passing waiter and told him to organise a meeting room now, and it was said with such authority that the waiter immediately put down the plate he was carrying and Charlotte stood trembling, waiting as a room was hastily arranged. All she knew was that she did not want to be alone with him, did not trust him. Neither did she trust herself, for as they were led through the foyer her legs were like liquid.
They passed the bar where they had so recently sat together, where he had pressed his leg into her. How he must have inwardly been laughing. She glanced at the restaurant and the balcony beyond, where he had so skilfully seduced her. They turned to the function rooms, and into one of them. The slam of the door behind her told her why she was so very afraid, for she was back in his space, back alone with him, and for all he had done, still there was want.
Want as he turned to face her, want as he walked over to where she stood, her shoulders back against the door, want as she tried to be free of him, want for the man she had thought she had met.
‘What I said about us to Nico—’
‘Cannot be erased by an apology,’ Charlotte cut in, for she must keep her head, must remember that it had all been a ruse, a lie, that she knew nothing about the man who stood before her now. ‘You were right with what you said this morning—we never met. You’re not the man I thought I knew, so let’s just deal with the paperwork. I don’t need to hear your feigned apology.’
‘Why would I apologise?’ She could not believe his audacity. ‘I was offering you a job—a far better one than you have, working for him.’
‘You really think that I’d ever work for you?’ She could not, could not, believe what she was hearing. ‘After what you did, you really think that I’d consider—?’
‘I would pay you more than Nico does.’
‘It’s not about money.’
‘What, then?’ Zander asked. ‘You prefer to be his mistress? To share him with his wife?’
She did slap him then, professional or not. A morning’s worth of hurt leapt down her arm and was delivered by her palm and slammed into his cheek. He did not even flinch, he just stood there, then gave her a black smile as, stunned by her own actions, by the venom of her thoughts, she shrank against the door. This was what he had made her.
‘I work for Nico,’ she said through pale lips, ‘because he is a wonderful boss. Because he has integrity, because I trust him, because he has never, and would never, expect what you clearly would from me. I could never work for you and I will never, ever sleep with you again.’
‘You did not object last night.’
‘Last night you seduced me.’ She could see it so clearly now. ‘Last night you set out to—’
‘Ah, po po po …’ He spoke in Greek, and she knew enough of the language to get his meaning, and it burned that he could tut, tut, tut away the night they had shared, could be so condescending about something that had been so wondrous. She felt as if she were back on the hillside with him, but with clarity now, could hear the birds calling, for war had already been declared, he just hadn’t thought to tell her.
Charlotte had to bite on her lip for a moment to catch her voice, for she would speak her truth without breaking down and her voice rose as she forced herself to continue. ‘Last night you let me think it was about me, that it was about us, when, in fact, you had another agenda entirely.’ Her hand stung from the contact with him, her palm burnt red and she raked it through her hair to cool it, to wipe herself clean from him. He watched a moment as the blonde curtain lifted and he saw the bruise that his mouth had made, a visible reminder, proof of what had taken place; but the curtain fell and still the image remained, not of purple on pale flesh but the feel of her skin beneath his lips, how she had melted to him, how right they had been, how close he had come to sharing with another person, how she had been his. ‘You really tell me you have not slept with Nico …’
‘You have no right to ask me that!’ And she hadn’t, but her past was her own and certainly not for sharing with him. Still, she could not stay quiet, remembered now his push to the bed, and that it had not been just lust for her that had driven him. ‘Did it turn you on, thinking that I had, Zander?’ There was a warrior inside, a woman who rose, who would not let him destroy her, and she found her and moved from the door towards him, challenged him when it would have been so much easier to recoil. ‘Did you like the idea, Zander, that you were better, that you made me come harder?’ She taunted him as she reminded him because, damn, he deserved reminding about what he had done, what he had so readily destroyed. ‘Well, you were wasting your time thinking about your brother—your mind should have been on me.’
‘It was,’ Zander said. ‘I was not thinking of that.’ The admission and the passion with which it was delivered surprised even him, because her words had taken him back there and, no, triumph over his brother had not been on his mind then; instead, it had all been her.
‘It was all you were thinking of?’ Charlotte sneered.
And he closed his eyes because, yes, at first it had been.
‘Those little chats …’ How it stung. How innocent she had been to lie in bed on a grey morning in London and listen to him, to recall how he had brightened her day, yet it had all been a game to him. How easily he had played her—how readily she had let him.
‘I should have heeded the warnings.’ She was furious not just at Zander but at herself, and then she threw back at him what Paulo had told her in Greek about his tawdry reputation, that he would sell his mother to the highest bidder, and she told him too how the islanders hated him.
‘I am not here for a lecture from you.’
‘Are you going to sign?’ She just wanted out of there, she wanted away, she wanted done, or she would start crying.
‘I have not decided.’ He looked at her. ‘Perhaps we go out on my yacht to discuss things, spend some time away …’
‘Never,’ Charlotte said.
‘Never?’ Zander checked.
‘I hate you.’
‘Tut tut.’ Zander smiled. ‘What would your boss say if he knew you were speaking to me like that? I thought Nico still wanted that land.’
‘I’ll resign before I have to spend a day with you.’ She was trapped, completely trapped, and the slap she had delivered had not put out the fire inside, for it was flaring again, as it had done the whole wretched morning, building and building till it could not be contained. ‘You have no idea what you’ve done to me. Because of you, I might have to put my mother in a home.’ Which was perhaps a bit harsh, for it had been heading towards that for months now. It was hardly all his fault, but Zander had made it impossible to approach her boss at this moment, impossible to negotiate for a better arrangement, when she had let him down so badly, and the words tumbled out untamed.
‘What are you talking about?’ He sneered at the hysterical female who blamed a night of passion for every last ill, but something niggled inside Zander, something unfamiliar, for he had seen her so vibrant, so happy, and now she seemed to be choking with fury and fear almost. ‘How can I be responsible for your mother’s—?’
‘Oh, what would you care about family?’ Charlotte snapped, already regretting the words that had spilled out, wishing she could somehow sink to her knees and retrieve them,