The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights: 6 Book Romance Collection. Zara Stoneley
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Bob’s eyes almost fell out of his head.’ Putting space between us, he looks me up and down. ‘That dress.’ He points at it like it’s a living thing that’s done wrong.
‘What about it?’ It’s ankle length with no high splits and it’s not that low-cut, so I don’t see what the issue is.
‘It’s clingy,’ his voice rolls out in a slur. ‘It shows off every gorgeous curve.’ He bangs his forehead with a fist. ‘No. Inappropriate Alex.’
Wow, Mr Stern CEO really has left the building. ‘And now you’re talking to yourself,’ I sigh. ‘Look, I’ll forgive you if you forgive me. So can I stay until Monday?’
‘Nope. Going home t’mrrow. Mind made up. Sh–sorry.’
‘But why?’ I cry.
‘Just too difficult.’
‘That’s not fair, I’ve worked hard for you today! And I flew, even though I was afraid to.’ I’m horrified by his comment. I’ve been so difficult he’d rather do without me, even though he has one-to-one meetings tomorrow he needs support for. He thinks I’m unprofessional. Tears scorch my eyes. It’s what I was accused of at the awful disciplinary hearing. Unprofessionalism. Inappropriate conduct. Even though it wasn’t true, it still stings. I won’t let myself give in to those dark thoughts, though. I have to fight. ‘You can’t do this, Alex!’
He shrugs, eyes going opaque. ‘Can. I’m in charge.’
The blood boils in my veins and I’m sure the colour’s reflected in my face, a knot of tension tangling behind my ribs. ‘I don’t understand you,’ I choke. ‘One minute you’re genuine and funny and the next minute you’re closed down and arrogant.’
‘As I said, I’m in charge.’ His face is set, though his eyes are still a little crossed.
‘Fine,’ I huff. ‘I’ll go home. But don’t expect me to be happy about it.’ I can always try and change his mind tomorrow, once he’s sober. Whirling around, I hike my skirt up and stalk towards the exit. Seeing the taller man from earlier, I stop him, sloshing his drink over my dress accidentally. ‘Bugger. Sorry.’ I breathe in. Rein it back, Charley. ‘Your boss has had enough to drink,’ I tell him. ‘I suggest you get him some water and painkillers.’ I spin away then back again to hold his arm. ‘Oh, and about a gallon of black coffee. Otherwise he’s going to suffer in the morning.’
I am so furious with Alex as I get into the lift that, despite my advice to his staff, I wish on him the biggest, worst, most clanging hangover possible.
A glass of red wine in the hotel bar doesn’t help calm my temper, nor does going to my room and flinging clothes into my case, in the event I can’t convince him to let me stay. Swearing loudly doesn’t make a jot of difference and even throwing my shoes against the wall doesn’t curb the frustration thundering through me. ‘Argh. Bloody, bloody man!’
I’m too wired to sleep: angry, hurt and charged full of sexual energy I can’t do anything with. I can’t believe it’s going to end like this. Sent home early like a disgraced teenager, no reference, no hope and back to square one. I hold back tears of impotent fury. Suddenly desperate to be free of my dress, I start wrestling with the ties behind my neck. A knock rattles the door. Whoever it is has the worst timing ever. Another knock.
‘Charley, open up.’ Alex. His is the last face I want to see. ‘I’ll stand here for as long as it takes,’ he says flatly, banging on the door again.
I square my shoulders. Just get it over with.
Wrenching the door open, I come close to taking it off its hinges. Hanging onto the ties of my dress where it’s tangled with the fingers of my left hand, I stand tall. ‘What do you want?’
‘To talk.’
Starting to push the door closed, ‘Not now.’
He shocks me by shouldering open the door, stepping over the threshold. ‘Yes, now.’
There’s a leap of excitement in my belly at his action. Down girl. ‘If you think I’m letting you in here whilst you’re drunk—’
‘I’m not any more.’ He kicks the door closed behind him. ‘I’ve had three espressos and lots of fresh air.’
I take him in. The tux jacket is open, bow tie undone, ends hanging loosely around his neck. The top few buttons of his shirt are open too. His hair is standing up in tufts and his eyes are bloodshot, but sharper than they were. ‘You’re not swaying or slurring,’ I observe, backing up to put space between us.
‘Like I said. I’ve sobered up. I’m sorry. I don’t drink very often, or very much.’
I can’t help it, he looks so ropey – adorable – but ropey, my mouth lifts in a smile. ‘I could kind of tell,’ I say. Then stiffen my shoulders. ‘That doesn’t mean you have the right to barge in here, though. Who do you think you are?’
‘A man who’s sorry for upsetting you downstairs?’
‘Really?’
‘Really,’ he repeats solemnly. ‘Sit down.’
‘I’m fine standing thanks.’
‘Do you ever do as you’re asked? Thialo! You can be so stubborn sometimes.’
I flounder, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. But he’s got me. Of all the things he could call me on, this is the one he’s right about. ‘I am stubborn,’ I admit tiredly, sinking down on the edge of the bed, even though everything in me says to stay standing on principle. ‘Thialo,’ I test the feel of it on my tongue. ‘I thought you didn’t usually speak Greek?’ Remembering his remark about it in the car to the airport. Was that only yesterday? Hard to believe.
‘I don’t, not really. Only when I visit my family,’ Alex starts pacing up and down the room, measuring the dimensions with his steps, ‘but I learnt as a child and sometimes it comes out, especially when … ’
‘When what?’ My arm’s starting to ache from its position behind my head, but I’m worried if I try to untangle my hand I’ll flash him.
‘When I’m stressed.’
‘I’m sorry if I stress you out.’ I rub my face with my free hand, exhaustion beginning to take hold. ‘I don’t mean to. It’s not my intention to be … difficult.’
Wincing, ‘I know you don’t,’ he says rapidly. ‘That’s not—’ He abandons the sentence with an exasperated huff. ‘There are just other things going on in my life right now that are making it hard for me to keep perspective.’
‘Hence the mission to get falling-down drunk?’ I raise an eyebrow.
‘I wasn’t aiming to go that far.’ I let out an unladylike snort, picturing the way I had to steady him against the wall earlier. ‘I needed a release valve.’ He grimaces, ‘But picked the wrong one.’ Rubbing the back of his neck: ‘To be honest, I’m embarrassed. I don’t usually behave like this. You’ve hardly seen me at my best this weekend.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Telling you far too much, getting drunk, ordering you home. I’m not myself at the moment. I pride myself on being professional and I don’t think I have been.’
I’m hardly one to talk, after trying to kiss him this morning and falling into his lap this afternoon. ‘Or perhaps you’re being yourself,’ I suggest.
‘What are you saying?’ he scowls.
‘Perhaps you’re being the person you’re meant to be? The only time I’ve seen you looking