The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights: 6 Book Romance Collection. Zara Stoneley
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have even contributed a few suggestions, all met with approving nods, though the blonde – Sara Eden – was less enthusiastic. She might have been the woman eyeing Alex up at dinner last night, though I can’t be sure.
Taking notes at three more meetings, it’s soon time for lunch in the main conference hall, which has been arranged with round tables and matching chairs dotted around the room. Sitting with a few managers from the first session, I breathe in the scents of savoury and sweet food, listen to the group gossip about work and partners and kids, and slowly relax, though not enough that my appetite returns.
Staring blankly at the tablecloth, I recall Alex’s remark about having a happy new year. I love the end of one year and the beginning of another. It’s an emotional milestone, not just a fresh page because the month has changed, but a shiny new calendar on the wall. No matter how rubbish the past twelve months have been, you can hope the next twelve will be better. God, the next twelve have to be better for me. It doesn’t feel likely at the moment.
It takes me a minute to realise it’s gone quiet. The man next to me clears his throat and coughs.
‘Are you all right? Do you need some water?’ I query but his attention is fixed above my head. I swing around and notice Alex beside me. ‘Oh.’ Pushing my plate away, ‘Hi.’
‘Hi.’ His gaze flickers over me then round the table. Do I imagine it slides over Sara more quickly than the others, as she flicks her hair and looks at him from under her lashes? ‘Sorry to interrupt.’ He touches my shoulder. ‘I need to talk to you about a few things please?’
‘Of course.’ Standing, I stack my practically full plate in the middle of the table. ‘See you later everyone.’
‘Don’t go without on my account.’ Alex frowns at my food.
‘I’m done thank you. I’m not very hungry.’
His eyes flicker over my body and darken, making me flash burning hot, but he says nothing, gesturing to an empty table across the room.
Following, I smile when he edges a glass of water out of my reach as we sit down. He hasn’t forgotten my clumsiness last night.
‘How are you finding it?’ He leans forward. ‘Everything all right? Any questions?’
Nodding to show it’s all under control. ‘Fine, yes and no. Are you pleased with how it’s going?’
‘Reasonably, yes.’
‘Oh. Only reasonably?’
Searching my face, ‘It’s not a criticism of you. Just other things I need to sort out.’
I give him a relieved smile. ‘Right. But you’d say, if there was anything I needed to improve?’
‘There isn’t.’
‘All right,’ I lower my voice. ‘It’s just that … this morning, by the pool. I owe you an apology—’
‘Oh, that.’ He straightens his tie. ‘Let’s not dwell on it. It’s already forgotten.’
‘Is it? I don’t want to dwell on it, believe me, but you made the comment about me napping and … I don’t want you to think I make a habit of—’
‘I’m sure you don’t,’ he interrupts. ‘And I’m sorry. About my comment.’
‘No, I’m sorry. It was unprofessional,’ my nails curl into my hands and I drop my voice to a whisper, ‘to touch you like that. I didn’t sleep well last night, was a bit fuzzy when you woke me. That’s the only reason it happened.’
‘It was?’ I must imagine the glint of disappointment in his rapidly shuttered gaze. ‘Of course it was.’ Shaking his head: ‘Look, I was a bit hard on you. Let’s just forget it. We’ve other more important things to focus on.’
‘Okay.’ Forget it? I still remember the sensation of his warm stubbly skin under my fingertips, his thick, dark hair soft against my palm. ‘There were things you wanted to brief me about?’
‘Just a reminder you’ll be with me this afternoon taking notes at management meetings.’
‘I remember. It’s probably quicker to type them straight into your laptop. Is that okay?’
‘Whatever you want.’
You naked in my bed? Thank God I don’t say it out loud. And that my dress is thick enough he can’t see the effect the thought has on my nipples, which immediately go hard and bead.
‘If that’s it then?’ I squeak. Clearing my throat, I rise from my chair.
His voice stops me. ‘What did you think of the presentation? It went well, didn’t it.’ His smile is a touch arrogant.
I won’t feed his ego by telling him how inspirational he was or how much he impressed but I’ll give credit where it’s due. ‘I liked your plans for the UK projects.’
‘Thanks.’ His fingers tap on the table. Quick, slow, quick, quick, slow. ‘I believe they’re worthwhile, especially if it means other people get involved.’
‘I’m sure they will.’ Pushing back from the table, ‘Catch you—’
‘What’s the worst thing about your job?’ he asks quietly, leaning forward.
Being sexually harassed by your creepy assistant? No, not the place for that conversation. Crap. What do I say? Think about it from a PA angle. ‘You’re not about to go off and do some Undercover Boss thing are you?’ I ask, to give myself time to think.
‘What?’ He looks blank.
‘The TV programme? Where CEOs go undercover on the front line to find out what’s really happening within their companies? Then deliver the findings back to the Board?’
‘I don’t watch much TV. And I’m sure most of it’s garbage anyway. And no, I’m not doing undercover whatever it was, I’m just … interested.’
‘Right.’ I place my chin on my hand in a deliberate thinking pose and make a mmmm sound. He stifles a smile. ‘Well, I guess it would be rapidly shifting priorities.’
‘Really? I didn’t think you’d be bothered by that. You can’t handle the pressure?’
‘Of course I can! I’m just answering your question.’ I take a breath. ‘And just because I don’t like it, doesn’t mean I can’t do it. Does that make sense?’
He nods jerkily. ‘Strangely, it does.’
What’s going on with Mr CEO? ‘So what are the worst things about your job?’ I follow a hunch.
‘Nothing. I love it,’ he answers robotically, dragging a hand through his hair. ‘Why?’ he shoots defensively.
I sit back in surprise. ‘I was just asking the question you asked me.’
He sits back too, frowns. ‘Ye–es,’ the word slides out. He’s thinking. Considering. ‘But that’s different.’
‘Because I’m a junior member of staff and you can tell me what to do?’
He waves off the remark. ‘It’s not about hierarchy in that way,’ he replies, ‘but I suppose it is.’
‘Meaning?’
‘You can share things. But I’m the one in charge.’
‘So you can’t share? Or won’t?’
‘I can’t let any doubts or weaknesses show.’
‘Rubbish! You’re as human as the rest of us. Aren’t you?’ Yanking my notepad and pen from my bag: ‘But just to keep you happy.’ I scrawl on my pad as I talk. ‘I, Charley Caswell,’ I declare, ‘promise not to blog/post/tweet/socially broadcast/sell to the papers/tell