The Ex Who Hired Her. Kate Hardy
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‘Thank you. I’m getting the staff to do a rota; they’re all going to read their favourite stories.’ She smiled. ‘It’s lovely that everyone in the store wants to get involved, whether they’re from the shop floor or behind the scenes. Maureen from the canteen’s even coming in on her day off to read her granddaughter’s favourite story.’
‘Was that a hint that you’re expecting me to read a story?’ he asked.
‘Could be.’
She smiled again, and he noticed the dimple in her cheek. Cute. How had he forgotten that? And it really made him want to touch it. Touch her. Dip his head and brush his mouth against hers. Kiss her until they were both dizzy.
‘Jordan?’
‘Uh—sorry.’ He felt the colour rise in his cheeks. She’d just caught him staring at her like a fool. ‘You know me. Mind always on the next project.’
‘I said, it might be a hint. If you want to read a story for the kids, that is. If you’re not too busy.’
‘I’ll think about it.’ Again, he found his thoughts coming back to the baby. Did she ever think about their baby? Did she ever regret what she’d done? Did she ever wonder what it might’ve been like, making a family with him?
And just what was wrong with him, suddenly thinking about having a family? Since the break-up of his marriage, he’d pushed all that sort of thing to the back of his mind and concentrated on making Field’s the best department store he could.
‘What made you think about having story time sessions?’ he asked. ‘Did your parents used to read to you a lot, or something?’
She shook her head. ‘It was Miss Shields, my primary school teacher. She used to read a few pages to us just before we went home. And she took me off the official school reading scheme and lent me books that I enjoyed a lot more.’
He should’ve guessed it hadn’t been her parents to encourage her love of reading. She’d told him once that she was the first person in her family to stay on for A-levels, let alone think about going to university.
‘How about you? Did your parents read to you?’ she asked.
‘I had a story every night.’ From his nanny. His parents had been busy at work; they hadn’t had the time to read to him.
‘And you read to your own children?’
‘I don’t have children.’ Except the one he hadn’t known about—the one who hadn’t even been born. He knew he shouldn’t ask, because he really didn’t want to hear the answer, but he couldn’t help the question. ‘You were pretty good at that. I assume you read to yours?’
For just a second, he could’ve sworn that she flinched. And she turned away as she said, ‘I read to my godchildren. Meggie’s two.’
So she still didn’t have children. Then again, pregnancy would make her face up to what she’d done when she was eighteen. And he was beginning to think that maybe Alexandra was a bit less hard-boiled than he’d believed her to be. How did she feel about the prospect of starting a new family, knowing that she’d deliberately chosen not to have a family before?
‘Excuse me. I’m sure you’re busy and I need to get some things sorted here. Thanks for your help in stacking the chairs.’ And then she fled.
CHAPTER THREE
BUT Jordan couldn’t stop thinking about it all evening. Thinking about her. Alexandra still didn’t have children. Why? Was it the guilt about what she’d done to his baby stopping her, or had her husband not wanted children anyway?
Her husband.
The words dropped into his thoughts like a clanging bell. Alexandra was married. Jordan didn’t believe in cheating. And, even if she hadn’t been married, she worked with him. How many times had he seen an office romance end in tears? And then there was the kicker: been there, done that and she’d destroyed his trust. Never again.
No, what he needed to do now was to establish a working relationship with her; maybe then he could move on and leave the demons of the past behind, locked away where they belonged.
On Tuesday night, Jordan was working late as usual. He went to make himself a cup of coffee in the staff kitchen, and noticed the light shining through Alexandra’s open door at the far end of the corridor. She was working late again, too. Now he thought about it, she’d worked late every night since she’d started. Was she trying to prove herself to him? Or was she struggling with her workload, unable to cope with the demands of the job?
He walked down the corridor, knocked on her open door and leaned against the door jamb. ‘Won’t Mr Bennett have something to say about you working this late every night?’
She looked up and simply shrugged.
She was so ambitious that she’d put her job before her marriage? he thought, stunned.
Then she gave him a cool look. ‘Won’t Mrs Smith have something to say about you working this late?’
‘Touché.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘Actually, I didn’t come in to fight with you, just to say that I was making coffee and to ask if you wanted a mug, too. And, for the record, I don’t expect my staff to work the same hours as I do.’
‘I’m fine. I’m just settling in and enjoying the challenges of my new job.’ But she returned his smile, her expression softening slightly. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you just then.’ She glanced down at her left hand. The ring finger was defiantly bare. How hadn’t he noticed that before? ‘I guess I should tell you that there isn’t a Mr Bennett. Well, there is,’ she amended, ‘but he’s not married to me any more. I just kept his name.’
She was single?
For a moment, he forgot to breathe.
Oh, for pity’s sake. That wasn’t what this was meant to be about. He was simply trying to set up a decent working relationship between them. And maybe he should offer her the same honesty. ‘There isn’t a Mrs Smith, either,’ he admitted. ‘She went back to her maiden name after the divorce.’ And then she’d remarried.
‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you.’
‘And you.’
It was the most civil they’d been towards each other since she’d walked back into his life, and Jordan was surprised at how good it felt.
The harsh overhead light showed that there were shadows under her eyes. He remembered her looking like that years ago, when she’d been studying too hard. ‘When was the last time you ate?’ he asked.
She blinked, looking surprised. ‘What?’
‘It’s nearly eight o’clock. You’ve been here for more than twelve hours. Did you actually have a lunch break today?’
‘Yes.’
Though the slight hesitation in her voice told him the truth. ‘It was a sandwich at your desk while you were working, wasn’t it?’
She spread her hands. ‘Busted. But there’s just not enough time for lunch. There’s so much I want to do.’
He knew that, from the wish list she’d emailed him. Pop-up shops, chosen by the consumer through an online poll; a Christmas bazaar showcasing local craftspeople, held in a marquee in the courtyard café; an events programme including demonstrations that would also be broadcast on the Internet; and a dozen more ideas, some of them completely off the wall but he had a feeling that she could make them work. No, she wasn’t struggling with her job. She was struggling with prioritising things—and only because she’d had so many good ideas. He’d be doing the same, in her shoes.
‘If you don’t pace yourself properly, you’ll burn out,’ he warned.
Her