The Accidental Mistress. Sophie Weston
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a hot babe waiting for you when someone was offering to show you some marvellous new bit of climbing equipment?’
Dominic’s eyes twinkled. ‘You’re saying I’m not sexy again,’ he said sadly.
Every woman at the table looked at him with professional assessment. Beneath the careless clothing the tall rangy body was powerfully muscled. Only that wicked teasing meant that you never quite knew where you were with him. He would be a challenge, but…
‘I’m saying you should have No Involvement tattooed on your forehead,’ snapped Abby, goaded. ‘Are you telling me I’m wrong?’
‘I thought I was here for PR advice. Not character assassination.’
Was he annoyed? Looking at those wicked green eyes, no one round the table could be sure.
Molly di Peretti said hastily, ‘A high-profile flirtation could get us some coverage, sure. But—’ She looked at Abby for a lead.
Abby was passing a list of his most recent girlfriends under rapid review. To a woman they were gorgeous, sweet-tempered and pliant. And temporary. No sign that Dominic wanted to abandon his detachment, as far as she could see. Still—he really needed that funding. There was a chance that it was a serious suggestion.
She cleared her throat. ‘Have you got anyone in mind?’
Dom opened his eyes very wide. ‘Me? Isn’t that your job? That’s what I thought you people got paid for.’ He sounded injured—and very innocent.
Abby knew that tone. Serious? Not a hope! She could have screamed. Or thrown her folder at his mischievous head.
‘Hmm,’ said the senior account executive, oblivious of undercurrents. ‘It’s a thought. It’s definitely a thought.’
Abby knew that her brother was winding them up, even if her colleagues had missed it. ‘Not a good idea at all,’ she said crisply. ‘Madame de Pompadour is not currently on our books. Besides, Dom’s girlfriend wouldn’t like it at all—whoever she is at the moment,’ she added acidly.
Dominic sent her an amused look. ‘No girlfriend currently on board,’ he said blandly. ‘I’m open to offers.’
‘I like it,’ decided the senior account executive. ‘We could definitely do something with that.’
Dom nodded enthusiastically. ‘What have you in mind?’ he said with flattering attention.
Abby groaned.
Dominic ignored her. ‘Something gorgeous and blonde with legs to her eyebrows?’ he said hopefully.
Abby dropped her head in her hands.
The senior account executive, less alert than Abby, gave an impatient wave of the hand.
‘Don’t bother you with details, huh?’ Dominic smiled with apparent sympathy. ‘Yeah, I know the feeling. People will fuss about the unimportant stuff, won’t they?’
But, lifting her head, Abby saw that his eyes were dancing in a way that she knew all too well.
‘Dom—’ she began warningly.
As if she hadn’t spoken, Dominic leaned forward and put his elbows on the boardroom table. He steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them. He was the picture of intelligent cooperation. Abby distrusted him deeply.
‘You’re getting a lot of advice for free. Don’t waste it,’ she advised him curtly. Without much hope. When something appealed to his sense of humour Dom was unstoppable. ‘Get serious,’ she finished despairingly.
He turned limpid eyes on her. ‘Serious? Honestly, Abby, I can see the idea has a lot going for it.’ He beamed round the table. ‘Just fill me in a bit. I mean, it was just an idea off the top of my head. I haven’t thought it through. Do you really think a mistress will spruce up my public image? And where do you think I should get one?’
Abby gave up. ‘Rent-a-Bird?’ she muttered sourly.
Dominic slapped her lightly under the table. ‘Ignore her. Come on, ladies and gentlemen. Remember, I’m just a simple country boy who doesn’t know his way around big city public relations. Walk me through this one.’
Abby cast her eyes to the ceiling.
‘Dom, stop this.’
But the senior account executive could not imagine a client teasing him.
‘Sex sells,’ he explained seriously. He was quite kind, but his tone said that Dom knew even less about real life than the newly employed Josh.
‘Ah,’ said Dom, still mild. ‘But we’re selling my next expedition, right? Um, sorry chaps, this may be new to you. But there’s not a lot of sex at the South Pole.’
The senior account executive was patient. ‘All the more reason why you need some in the PR campaign.’
That was too much for Dominic. His wicked control snapped at last. He gave a hoot of laughter and buried his head in his hands.
‘You’re mad,’ he said, when he could speak. ‘Absolutely out of your tree, every man jack of you. PR obviously rots the brain.’
He stood up and looked round the table.
‘Thanks for the offer of help,’ he said. ‘I know you meant it kindly. Think I’ll pass, all the same.’
He walked out, still chuckling.
He left silence behind him.
Then Molly drew a long, satisfied breath. ‘Unpredictable,’ she said, pleased with her research. ‘Told you so.’
Abby bit her lip. ‘I’m so sorry…’
Molly patted her hand. ‘That’s okay. We’ll tell Jay we gave it our best shot and Dom wouldn’t play. No problem. Even Jay can’t force the man to take on a PR package.’ She chuckled suddenly. ‘Though I must say I rather fancy setting him up with Madame de Pompadour. Sorry to be mean about your brother, Abby, but he could do with a crash course in respect.’
Abby winced. If it weren’t for family loyalty she would have cheered.
People gathered up their papers and pushed back their chairs, ready to move on to a more promising assignment.
Only the senior account executive still had something to say. He was not offended but his tone was wistful.
‘It would have made a great story. Think of the headlines. A man’s man and his lucky lady!’ He met the appalled eyes of his female colleagues and came back to earth. ‘With the right woman, of course. Only with the right woman.’
Abby and Molly exchanged eloquent glances.
‘The right woman?’ echoed Molly, incredulous. ‘You think there’s a right woman for Dominic Templeton-Burke?’
Loyalty lost the battle. ‘Fat chance,’ said Abby.
CHAPTER ONE
IT WAS one of those crisp clear late summer mornings that said autumn was coming. Isabel Dare, doing her stretches just inside the park gates, drew deep, luxuriating breaths. Peace, she thought.
Alone. Room to breathe. Silence to think, except for the birds twittering in the trees. For the first time in weeks, months, there was no one walking her off the pavement as if she didn’t exist. No stifling underground train with a stranger’s elbow in her side and her nose pressed into someone else’s back. No beep announcing the next text message.
Just not a natural London person, I guess, she told herself wryly.
The next text message would be, like all the others, from Adam. She knew what it would say. ‘Date 3 whn?’
The problem was, she didn’t know the answer.
‘Third