What His Money Can't Hide. Maggie Cox
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majority of his work was in the private sector, and up until now Drake had been happy to keep it that way. After all, it had made him rich beyond imagining, and thankfully had taken him far away from the pains of his childhood and youth. Yet in the end he’d seen accepting the commission as a cathartic exercise and an opportunity for him to erase a painful part of his past. For as well as regenerating his home town Drake also planned to demolish the house he’d grown up in and build something much more beautiful in its place.
His cruel father was long dead, but this small act would help Drake feel as if he were mentally freeing himself from his father’s grasp. Drake could imagine facing his father and saying to the man, No matter what you did to me when I was a kid, your despicable treatment is not going to rule the rest of my life. Now I’m the one who’s in control, and I’m going to knock this godforsaken house down and erect something in its place that will be testimony to a member of the family that at least has some integrity … who cares about making the environment more beautiful!
And Drake would do it too. He might have had his issues whilst living there, but nobody could accuse him of being a coward in not facing his demons. To help dissociate the personal from the pragmatic he’d made the decision to treat this commission just as any other architectural project he undertook, and he intended to apply his renowned design skills along with every bit of dedication and experience he had to help make the planned improvements an unmitigated success.
Up until now he’d believed the best way to deal with his sorrowful childhood memories was to relegate them to the deepest, darkest corners of his mind and endeavour to forget about them. It didn’t always work, but at least his policy of single-mindedly focusing on what was right in front of him had definitely helped bring rewards beyond even his wildest dreams …
‘Good morning. What can I get for you?’
Cutting off his distracted perusal of the goodies inside the display case, Drake glanced up into the most arresting pair of glossy brown eyes he had ever seen. If there were any thoughts in his head at all in that moment he couldn’t have said what they were. He was simply mesmerised. The owner of those eyes was a girl who was breathtakingly beautiful. She was dressed plainly in a maroon T-shirt with the café’s logo on it, and a pair of ordinary blue jeans, with a short navy-coloured apron tied round her trim waist. The nondescript clothing merely emphasised her loveliness.
Her thick dark hair was fashioned into a simple ponytail, and her features were nothing less than sublime. The only evidence of make-up that Drake could detect was the dark eye-pencil that underlined her lower lashes. How refreshing, he thought. So many women these days dressed for work as if they were going out to a nightclub. The other thing he noticed about the girl was that she bore a passing resemblance to an Italian movie actress he admired … except she was even prettier.
He was totally unprepared for the dizzying pleasure that assailed him. As his avid gaze met and held hers, he felt as if he was drowning in it. He stared helplessly, just like a dumbfounded schoolboy. ‘I’d like a large Americano, a couple of plain croissants—and do you have anything savoury, like a panini?’ he asked, his voice a little gruff as he answered because the arresting sight of her had so completely thrown him. ‘I’m hungry this morning.’
The girl’s big dark eyes widened, as if she was amused, but then she quickly lowered her lashes and looked away. ‘We don’t have any paninis, but you could have a toasted muffin with some bacon, or even bacon and egg?’
As her glance levelled once more with his, Drake saw her polite smile was definitely guarded. Had she registered his stunned reaction? A girl with looks like hers must get men hitting on her all the time. She was probably sick of it. No wonder she seemed wary.
‘I’ll go for the bacon muffin, I think.’
‘Okay.’ Her hands were already reaching for a large cream mug and a tray, but her brown eyes met his for another fleeting moment before turning towards the gleaming bank of coffee-making equipment behind her. ‘Why don’t you take a seat at one of the tables and I’ll bring your order over to you?’
‘Sure … thanks.’
Drake had immediately noted that the medium-sized cosily proportioned café wasn’t exactly teeming with customers on this drizzly September morning. He scanned his surroundings with a bit more attention to detail. The décor, with fading artistic prints on the walls, was definitely a little tired, but there were some charming extras—such as comfy sofas scattered with ethnic print cushions and a bookshelf full of well-thumbed books—which helped create a welcoming and friendly atmosphere. Another plus was that everything appeared scrupulously clean and tidy. But for a café that had a prime location on the high street he knew it ought to be a lot busier than it was to make a profit. Also, the prices he’d seen on the menu were far too low. The owner obviously didn’t have a business brain.
He frowned, feeling oddly guilty all of a sudden. Clearly the area had not prospered over the years. Drake was struck anew at how fortunate he was to have escaped the poverty that many of the local population were crippled by, and it certainly wasn’t going to get any easier for people in the current economic climate, he knew. At any rate, because the place was so quiet it meant he had his pick of the most appealing tables and the inviting sofas. Selecting a corner seat, he pushed his fingers through his light brown hair and found his attention once again drawn to the beautiful young waitress. The graceful way her slender body moved as she went about preparing his order put him in mind of watching a captivating butterfly.
In the midst of the wistful thought, a wave of irritation assailed him. Usually nothing tore him away from his work, but right now the compulsion to focus solely on her was doing a good job of exactly that. Consequently, the plans of the area that he’d received from the local council didn’t immediately get plucked from his briefcase. Instead he scanned the copy of the Financial Times that his chauffeur Jimmy had so thoughtfully handed to him as he’d left the car, but every now and again his glance was helplessly lured back to the girl.
Due to his success as one of the most in-demand architects in the country, Drake had never been bereft of interested female attention. But it had been six months now since Kirsty—his party-planner girlfriend of just under a year—had broken up with him, calling him ‘spectacularly selfish’ and too work-obsessed to fulfil her hoped-for dreams of marriage and children. He hadn’t denied the accusation. Frankly, he’d been surprised they’d lasted as long as they had. Usually his relationships didn’t extend beyond three to four months.
The truth was, Drake wasn’t interested in a deeper commitment. He much preferred having his freedom. The only problem with that was the fact he had a very healthy libido, and wasn’t keen on soulless encounters purely for sex. His ex and he hadn’t been a match made in heaven, but he had definitely missed having a warm and willing woman in his bed for the past six months …
‘Here you are.’ The brunette stunner who had prepared his breakfast flashed him another wary smile as she placed his coffee and food down on the table. ‘Enjoy,’ she added, clearly intent on returning to her post as quickly as possible rather than linger and pass the time of day with him.
‘What’s your name?’ The question was out before Drake could check it.
Her slim shoulders tensed visibly. ‘Why?’
Her guarded, less than warm response didn’t faze him. He shrugged a shoulder. ‘Because I’m curious.’
Turning the tables on him, she challenged, ‘What’s your name?’
‘Drake.’
‘Is that your first name or your last?’
‘My full name is Drake Ashton.’
‘Of course.’ Her widened brown eyes reflected dawning realisation. ‘You’re the celebrated architect who’s going to rejuvenate the area by creating attractive and affordable housing for potentially interested residents.’
She could have tagged supposedly onto the end of that sentence, because her tone suggested she doubted that he would be able