Daring to Date the Boss / The Tycoon Who Healed Her Heart: Daring to Date the Boss / The Tycoon Who Healed Her Heart. Melissa James
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Do come in.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, holding onto his courtesy, seething beneath. This woman wanted him to leave. She didn’t feel his famed charm, and his manners only seemed to bring out an irritated acerbity in her he’d never seen on TV.
He didn’t care—of course he didn’t—but he couldn’t help asking himself why.
Thrusting the thought away, he called the chef and asked for his lunch to be delivered to the cabin. He held out the dining chair in front of the salad Nicoise which was, indeed, wilting. Once he’d seated her, he called the chef again and ordered a new one despite her protests that it was fine to eat. She sighed and waved a hand around, vaguely indicating all five of the other chairs at the table, as if she didn’t care where he sat. ‘Please sit, Herr Bollinger.’ Inviting him to sit at his own table; he felt the cold fury rack up a notch.
He took the plate of salad away, placing it on the kitchen counter before returning to her, deliberately sitting opposite her. ‘The salad was sub-standard, Ms Chase. Of course I must replace it with a fresh one. We never serve stale salad in the restaurants, or in the actual hotel rooms.’
‘Well, since it was …’ And her sentence trailed off. She stared at him, her brow furrowed. ‘What do you mean by “actual hotel rooms”? Isn’t this cabin reserved for guests?’
He frowned. ‘I assumed my manager would have told you—this cabin is only for my private guests, as it’s my home.’
If there was one thing he hadn’t counted would discompose her, it was that. But there was no way she could fake a face pale to the point of whiteness. No way to darken those big, wistful eyes until they were pure black, pupils dilated with unadulterated fear and horror. ‘Oh … Oh, no, no. I didn’t … Um, I—I’m so sorry!’ she stammered.
No, she couldn’t be that good an actress. ‘You mean Max didn’t tell you when you asked to move in here?’ he asked, feeling the inadequacy of the words.
Now it was panic flaring in those easy-to-read eyes. ‘I—I must have forgotten. It wasn’t Max’s fault! He would have told me, certainly. I—I bullied him into it.’
She was babbling. Armand’s eyes narrowed as he kept his gaze fixed on her. He’d often found waiting an effective way to make women talk.
She was waiting in her turn, but not to unsettle him. She watched him with the air of one awaiting the guillotine. After a long pause, she whispered, ‘Please don’t blame your staff, Herr Bollinger. It—it was my fault. I saw the cabin, and—and I wanted more privacy, so I …’
‘You bullied Max into it. I see,’ he said, trying not to laugh. Half an hour ago, he might have believed it, but now he could no more see her bullying anyone than he could see her drowning a kitten. He didn’t have a psychology degree, but his profession required an ability to read people, and something disturbed him about Rachel Chase-Rinaldi.
‘And are you aware that other guests are complaining of neglect while at least three members of my staff come here at a time to be regaled with your amusing tales of the life and times of a Hollywood wife?’
Now she looked like a hunted deer, trapped in the headlights of his interrogation. She licked her lips; her eyes darted around the room, obviously finding no ready answer. At least ten seconds too late, she said, ‘It was me, all me. I’ve … been lonely and, um, they’ve been doing what your brochure says—taking excellent care of me.’
Every word came out with the fumbling of an honest woman trying to find an excuse. She couldn’t meet his eyes as she had so easily while she’d been fighting only for herself.
This was not the woman on the TV who always had the right words to hand, who always knew how to comfort others. So which of the two was the real woman and which was the fake?
‘I’ll have to commend them, then—but the arrangements will have to change, Ms Chase,’ he said quietly. ‘The current situation is unacceptable to me, and to my guests and, now I’m here, it will draw the kind of attention I think you wish least.’
The chair opposite him scraped back hard. She got to her feet, sickly pale but with determination in those speaking eyes. ‘Of course, I understand. I’ll leave on the first train. Do you know if there’s one leaving tonight?’
Armand had to fight the urge to blink. Nothing had happened the way he’d thought it would. There was no triumph in running off a woman who looked like a shot fawn.
‘You don’t need to leave, Ms Chase. If we move you into a suite late tonight, when no one will see, the woman here disappears and you return to being just another guest.’
She shook her head. ‘I think it’s best if I just go. I’ve caused enough trouble for you and your people.’
He’d never know later what changed his mind, unless it was the hunted look on her face, the fear she was trying to hide beneath defiance and determination: a sham of strength beneath her pride. The wall surrounding her was crumbling, and she was falling apart behind it. I have nowhere to go, her eyes said. Just as his mother had looked the day his father had sent Armand to boarding school. Just as she’d looked the night before he’d left, as she’d watched him taking the blows for her.
‘You don’t need to leave, Ms Chase,’ he said abruptly, wondering what the hell he was saying even as he spoke. ‘I have a proposition for you.’
CHAPTER TWO
RACHEL’S jaw dropped. ‘What did you just say?’ she demanded when she found her voice. ‘No, you couldn’t have meant—it’s a language miscommunication, right? I’m sure you didn’t mean that to sound like …’ You’re babbling. Abruptly she shut her mouth.
For the first time, Armand Bollinger’s eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘I should have said a business proposition. I beg your pardon for the confusion, Ms Chase.’
Though the words were smoothly said, his tone was filled with mirth. He was laughing at her for even thinking he could be attracted to her.
She felt her cheeks heat. ‘No, I’m sorry I thought that you could … I realise I’m not …’ Once more she broke off. The turbulent confusion inside her had grown to mammoth proportions in the space of seconds. ‘Forget I said it,’ she muttered, and closed her mouth.
‘The word proposition is a double entendre in itself,’ he said, and ended on that odd note. It felt to her as if he wanted to say more, but thought better of it.
The silences were becoming awkward, but she’d only make a mess of it if she spoke.
A knock sounded, and they both jumped to their feet. ‘It’s all right, I’m closer.’ She ran for the door before he could.
His voice came from behind her as she opened the door. ‘There are two trays.’ He took the heavier one from one of the two staff members at the door, neither of whom were her usual friends. Rachel took the other tray, and with a brief thanks closed the door. Much as she wanted to have a buffer, she was not asking any of his staff to come in. She’d put them all in enough trouble as it was. Disturbed by something, but not sure by what, she returned to the dining room.
‘I ordered a white wine. Will you take some?’ he asked in a European way as he poured a glass. Looking up with a smile, he held it out to her.
As she took the glass—she loved a good Chardonnay—it occurred to her what she’d seen behind the waiter holding her tray. ‘There were people watching us from the restaurant terrace.’
Herr Bollinger nodded as he sat again. ‘Naturally, Ms Chase. My regular visitors have worked out that some VIP must have taken over my cabin in my absence—but I saw no one with a telephoto lens, so I doubt they saw you clearly. The cabin’s over three-hundred metres from the main resort.’ He began eating, seeming unperturbed. ‘And that leads me to my original subject. We have a mutual problem, and we need to work out a solution