One Night with a Gorgeous Greek. Sarah Morgan
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Polly thought wistfully of the prospectuses they’d shredded. ‘I went straight to work in my father’s company when I left school. I learned on the job. You can learn a lot about something by doing it.’ Knowing that someone like him was never going to agree with her, she slumped back against the pillows. ‘Anything else you want to know?’
Her notebook landed on the bed next to her and she stared at it, her cheeks hot as she mentally ran through all the secrets that might have been revealed from that book.
He waited a beat. ‘Well?’
‘Well, what?’
‘It made for extremely illuminating bedtime reading.’
‘It’s very bad manners to read someone else’s private notes,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I suppose you also peep through keyholes and listen at doors.’
‘Yesterday I asked you who came up with the creative ideas. Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?’
‘I told you it was a team effort. That’s the truth.’
‘The tagline and thinking behind the running shoe campaign came from you. If this notebook is to be believed, you’re responsible for every decent creative idea that has come from Prince Advertising in the past three years. I’ve been looking through the portfolio and your company accounts—’
Polly flinched. ‘More bedtime reading? You obviously like a good horror story.’
‘More like a mystery. My financial director, Ellen, has unpicked the finances and those numbers make for interesting reading. Why did everyone agree to take such a drastic pay cut?’
‘You have a female financial director?’
‘Don’t change the subject.’
‘Why did we take a pay cut? Because no one wanted anyone to be made redundant. Close your eyes while I find something decent to wear. You’re right, I can’t have this sort of conversation in my pyjamas.’ Sliding out of bed, Polly grabbed something from her suitcase and shot towards the bathroom. ‘As I said, we’re a team. We’re in this together.’
‘You clearly have significant creative talent. Why wasn’t it recognised?’
The compliment stopped her in her tracks. Her smile faltered. ‘You think I have talent?’
‘Answer my question.’
Holding the clothes in front of her like a shield, she shrugged. ‘You met the board.’
‘When you hinted that they’d stolen your work, I assumed you were talking about the spreadsheets.’
Polly just looked at him and he sighed.
‘They claimed credit for all your ideas, didn’t they? When they pitched for business, you were part of the team?’
‘I had to be. No one on the board was able to present the ideas. So they went along as the figurehead and I did the talking.’
‘And you won High Kick Hosiery.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘We should have won that account.’
‘We were better. Which just goes to show that even a hot desk doesn’t always produce hot ideas. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a train to catch.’ The mere thought of battling her way through the train station made her want to lie down in a dark room, but she’d rather walk to Paris in bare feet than admit that to him.
‘You’re not travelling on a train. A doctor will examine you and then if he says you’re fit to fly then we’ll go to Paris on my jet.’
‘Your jet? Er—why?’
‘Because I don’t travel by train.’
‘No, I mean—’ She licked her lips. ‘Why are you coming? I’m assuming you’re not joining me for a romantic mini-break.’ She hoped that being flippant would break the tension between them.
It didn’t.
He was obviously as aware of it as she was because he narrowed his eyes.
‘I make you nervous. Why?’
Her stomach curled and her mouth dried. What was she supposed to say to that? Because you have monumental sex appeal. ‘You’re the boss. You can fire me.’
His eyes held hers. ‘That isn’t why you’re nervous.’
Wondering why she was such a mess when it came to men, Polly gave what she hoped was a dismissive shrug. ‘Look, there’s a lot going on, OK? Gérard’s business is important. He has one of the largest marketing budgets in Europe. It’s not just about this brand, it’s about the rest of his portfolio. If I do well in this meeting, he might give us more business.’
‘That’s why I’m coming with you. You shouldn’t be seeing someone of his seniority on your own.’
‘You mean you don’t trust me not to mess it up.’
‘On the contrary. I want to watch you in action. I want to know more about your novel creative process.’ Infuriatingly calm, he glanced at his watch. ‘Get dressed. We’ll finish this discussion later.’
‘Well, that’s something to look forward to. Yippee.’ She subsided as he shot her a warning look.
He walked towards the door and then paused. ‘You ought to know that an hour ago I had a call from the private investigator I hired to track your father. It seems that he’s also in Paris.’
‘Oh?’ Was it wrong not to be pleased that he’d been tracked down? Her mouth was dry and she wondered whether it was the bang on the head that was making her feel sick or whether it was the thought of weathering the reality of her father’s next relationship. And this time it would be worse because the woman in question was Arianna. Her friend. Damon’s sister. ‘He could be in Paris. My father is a romantic person.’
‘There is nothing romantic about a relationship between a fifty-four-year-old guy and a twenty-four-year-old girl.’
‘You don’t know that. You’re very judgemental.’
‘When it comes to protecting my family, yes, I’m judgemental.’ His voice was suddenly hard. ‘And, talking of judgemental, I hope you put ‘formal business wear’ on the list you gave Franco. If you’re going to take on the responsibility of a high-flying business executive then you need to look like one. You may be used to flouncing into work in party clothes, but if you’re meeting a vice president of marketing you need to clean up your image. The French appreciate chic. The look you should be going for is high-class and elegant.’
Smug in the knowledge that there was so much more he yet had to discover about her, Polly couldn’t resist a dig of her own. ‘Is that how your team was dressed when they didn’t win the pitch? You’re very traditional. Maybe the client didn’t want traditional. He said he was blown away by our creativity and individuality.’
‘Presumably he wasn’t referring to your appearance.’ Polly gave an innocent smile. ‘Or maybe he just has a thing for flamingos. I’ll get dressed and meet you in the living room. I need to make some calls before we leave. And for goodness’ sake get changed into something more rigid and formal. I’m not taking you to Paris wearing those jeans.’ Without giving him the chance to reply, she escaped into the bathroom and bolted the door.
‘This is the wrong hotel. I booked myself somewhere cheap and miserable.’ Prepared for something seedy, Polly blinked at the glamour and elegance of the luxurious hotel foyer. After seeing the inside of Damon’s private jet she’d thought that nothing could ever impress her again. Evidently she’d been wrong. ‘Unless the place has had a major upgrade in the past twenty-four hours, this definitely isn’t the place I chose.’ Light shafted off gold, marble and glass and every person who glided through the revolving doors looked like a multi-millionaire. A sense of inferiority nibbled the edges of her