Crazy, Undercover, Love (23 page)

So I force myself to act, stomping into the hallway and dragging my case into my room, upending everything onto my bed. Racing around unpacking, I stop only when my phone beeps. I rifle through my bag, hope soaring for a short moment. Alex?

Hi. What happened? Staff meeting, home about fiveish. See you then. J x

I should spend the next few hours looking for a job but I’ve got to face facts. After this weekend, my career is over. Once Alex tells the agency what I did I’ll be even more unemployable. I can’t summon any upset at the thought. What’s wrong with me, have I turned into an emotionless robot?

Stripping off my clothes, I stuff them in the laundry basket and change into my favourite loose boyfriend jeans and a baggy white top. I scrub my make-up off, until my skin is blotchy, and brush my hair into a ponytail. Wandering back to the lounge, I sprawl out on the sofa beneath the window and throw an arm over my face, fatigue overpowering me. I close my eyes, hoping to erase the entire weekend. Instead, all I can see is Alex’s face grinning down at me, all I can hear is his deep husky rock star voice when he’s turned on, all I can feel is the imprint of his warm hands on my body.

He’s just a guy. Forget him.
I squeeze my arm tighter over my face and after a few long minutes I fall into darkness.

A gentle hand on my shoulder drags me from an ignorant bliss I’m reluctant to leave behind. ‘Charley, wakey wakey.’

‘Hmm?’

‘I’m home hon, wake up.’ The hand rocks me again.

‘Okay, okay.’ Forcing heavy eyelids open, I squint at Jess. ‘Urgh. What time is it?’

‘Just after half five. I ran a little late, sorry.’

There’s concern in her sharp features, anxiety reflected in her grey eyes. I cast off the last dregs of sleep, sit up and yawn widely. And freeze, remembering where I am and why. Home, cast out. My face burns. ‘Oh, Jess,’ I groan, rubbing my forehead.

‘What happened?’ Shrugging out of her cropped leather jacket, she tosses it on the other sofa, her white-blonde bob darker than usual. When I glance past her, I see the night and heavy rain pressing in against the window.

Sitting and stretching, I meet her eyes. She is here now, and cares. Just like that, it rushes at me. My bottom lip quivers and though I bite down hard I can’t stop the emotional devastation, the scorching humiliated tears. ‘You’re going to say I told you so.’

Jess sucks in a breath through her teeth and spins on her heel. ‘I’ll get the wine.’

When she returns with two giant glasses and a bottle of Pinot, I tell her everything, and finally cry.

Back to Life, Back to Reality

– February –

As I wrap newspaper around my favourite silver-framed mirror, the black print smudges and rubs off on my hands. ‘Bloody hell! Perfect.’

Kneeling on my bedroom floor, I rub my fists in my eyes and try not to let the tears escape. I hate this. Absolutely hate it.
No. Focus
. Leaning forward, I grab a fragile jewellery box Jess gave me for my fifteenth birthday and start to roll it up in more cheap newspaper.

To my utter shock, I got paid for the weekend in Barcelona, though the letter accompanying the payslip made it clear the agency would be taking my name off their books immediately. I longed to call them and say I was transferring the money straight back – there’s a part of me that really didn’t want to take Alex’s money, however indirectly it might come to me – but I couldn’t afford to be proud. So I gave most of it to Jess to make up for some of the back pay on the mortgage, and reminded myself firmly it was for the work I did, not sleeping with the CEO, whatever he might believe.

But now the money’s all gone and so has the month I gave myself to find a job after I got back. It’s no good. Once I found the letter from the mortgage company Jess hid in her room, stating the last two payments were overdue and threatening repossession of the flat if payments don’t become more regular, I knew what I had to do. I can’t ruin the wholeness of Jess’s life by trying to hang onto the tatters of mine.

It’s just a shame I didn’t ask my parents to lend me money when I went home for Christmas, because it turns out they’ve invested it all in the IT security firm Tom is setting up. Now that he’s back from Afghan and has bought himself out of the army he’s trying out civvy street. I’m really pleased for him, it just doesn’t help me. Which is why I’m taking up Dad’s offer to move back home and into the summer house for a while. Only until I get my life back on track. Until something good happens. I’ve always believed hard work and passion are the things that get you where you want to be in life, but the events of the last few months have made me think luck plays a part too. And at the moment I’m on a streak of the bad stuff.

Rising, I massage my aching back and stretch out my shoulders. I’ve been packing for three hours. Time for a break. Going into the kitchen, I grab a mug, throw in a teabag and sugar and flick on the kettle. How many more times will I get to stand in this room and do this?

God. This is my home, where I belong. I don’t want to leave.

Waiting for the water to boil, I wonder if Alex makes his own tea. I wonder what his homes are like or if he’s ever had to leave somewhere he loves. I growl in self-disgust. He keeps creeping into my head, though I do my best to drive him out. I’m sure Alex is getting on with his life and has forgotten all about me, so I need to stop giving him headspace.

I start scrubbing the oven top where Jess made us carbonara last night. The girl can really cook, but she leaves behind a mess reminiscent of a world war. Does Alex prepare his own meals or have a private chef? The second is entirely possible, even though he intimated he only put up with the trappings because it came as part of the deal.

‘No, Charley,’ I mutter, ‘you have to stop this. No more thinking about him, wondering about him. You will never,’ I scrape at a stubborn piece of dried cream on the hob with a butter knife, knowing Jess would murder me if she knew, ‘see him again.’ Giving the hob another wipe and throwing the cloth down, I wash my hands and pour the kettle. ‘And now I’m talking to myself,’ I puff out a breath, ruffling my fringe, ‘great.’ I stir the teabag round the mug, a suitable reflection of my spinning thoughts.

This is stupid. Surely in a few more weeks any feelings for and about Alex will be gone. Like a teenage infatuation, the emotions will fade with distance and time. I stir the teaspoon faster. I’ll forget the way he looked at me, smiled, the common ground we discovered even with the difference in our circumstances, the way I could be opinionated with him and he liked it and didn’t feel threatened, that he respected my career. I won’t think of the laughter and banter and that when he relaxed, this warm, sweet guy came out. I will turn away from the memory of how it felt to be within reach of his gorgeous face and sexy, built body. I’ll try my best to block out the warmth and excitement of the brilliant sexual chemistry between us. I won’t remember my surprise that he’s so much more than the spoilt rich CEO playboy I was expecting, how vulnerable he is about the family duty he takes so seriously.

Yes. I
will
forget. Definitely.

And I’ve dropped the ET claim, even though it sickens me to think of Tony sat in my office at the casino. I’m getting on with my life. I have to.

The spoon, guided by my agitated hand, whirls round in ever increasing circles, clank, clank, clanking against the side of the mug until it flies free, flicking me with scalding tea.

‘Ow! Bugger it!’ I jump back, brushing hot drops from my arms and running my smarting skin under cold water. At least the pain stops me moping. Fishing the teabag from the mug, I add milk, jerking as the doorbell rings.

I’m not expecting anyone.

Tugging at my casual green sweatshirt, I shrug at my faded, well-worn Levi’s. It’s Sunday afternoon and I’m dressed for comfort, not company. Jess is out and I thought I’d be alone. The bell rings again as I walk down the hallway.
Okay, okay.
When I unhook the chain and swing the door open, I draw in a sharp breath.

‘Alex!’ I step back, astonished, sharp lust pinging my silky knickers. Despite humongous bags under his eyes and stubble darkening his jaw, he’s still ridiculously hot. ‘W–what are you doing here?’ Mouth as dry as the Egyptian desert, I lick my lips. Alex on my doorstep is completely surreal. He belongs in Barcelona, at the hotel, not here. What the hell does he want?

Anxiety, hurt, confusion, anger. The conflicting emotions race through me like the colours and numbers on a spinning roulette wheel. I wait for it to slow and stop, for the ball to settle into a slot, for one emotion to win out. I grimace. Perplexity, with a massive dash of hope, seems to be the winner.

‘Can I come in?’ His face is unreadable, I’ve no idea what he’s thinking.

I run my eyes over his tight black jeans and clingy grey v-neck jumper under a winter coat. They look like things from our shopping trip on that last day.

‘They suit you,’ I blurt.
What am I doing?
Balls. Looks like I’ve no control of my emotions. I need to woman up. But he’s so big and dark and gorgeous. I’m startled my memory has faded enough in the last month I’ve forgotten how olive his skin is, how black his hair, the depth of his clear blue eyes, which are now deadly serious as my gaze meets his.

‘Thank you,’ he replies, something flickering across his face, ‘any chance you can answer my question now though?’

‘Question?’ I’m so blown away by him being here I can’t think properly.

‘May I come in?’

There’s a brief ache in my chest at his deep familiar voice and my breath snags somewhere in my throat. For a second, recalling the shouting and horrid things he said in the hotel suite, I consider slamming the door in his face. Then I remind myself I’d lied to him and hurt him, and burning curiosity to know
why
he’s here overrules any anger. But I need to take control.

‘It depends what you want.’ I lean against the edge of the door. ‘Are you here to yell and make accusations again?’

‘I hope not.’

‘You hope not? I was kind of hoping for a no to that one.’

‘I’m here to talk.’ A sliver of ice coats his voice, ‘I’m hoping it won’t end in any drama.’

‘Well, let’s do our best then,’ I say irritably, waving him to go along the hall. Slamming the door, I follow. A flash of heat prickles along my skin as I catch the smell of his fresh male aftershave, so I scoop in a deep breath as I walk into the lounge.

He turns from where he’s standing by the window and shoves his hands into his pockets. It underlines his height and taut strength of his body and an image of him standing by the hotel bedroom window in his jockey shorts flashes through my mind.

‘Shall I take your coat?’

He sort of
prowls
towards me, like in vampire books, and I keep still, craning my head further and further back so I can stand my ground as well as maintain direct eye contact. My eyes widen as he stops a foot away and the air between us thrums with unspoken tension. At least it does for me. And I suddenly want to tell him I wish things were different, that we’d met in other circumstances.

Shrugging his coat off, he hands it to me. ‘Thanks. I came here to ask you to tell me what happened with Tony Ferrier.’

‘Right.’ My fingers curl into the expensive wool of his coat and I can feel his body heat on it. Putting it down hastily, I point at the nearest sofa and sit on the other. ‘So why now?’ I ask as he perches opposite me. ‘How come you want to talk like adults a month after you sent me home with such indecent haste? And why, after the unforgivable things you said, should I even have this conversation with you?’ I can’t help it, the anger and humiliation rolls back over me. I’m in the suite that awful Monday, on the end of his guilt-making comments and edgy pain, feeling ashamed and defiant in equal measures. Shaking my head, ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit late, Alex?’

His jaw clenches but he consciously relaxes it, breathing in deeply through his nose, a muscle flexing in one tanned, whiskery cheek.

He smiles grimly. ‘I hope not. And you’re right, I made some totally unacceptable comments. I regret some of them,’ his voice is deep and ragged, ‘very much. In my defence, I was furious.’

I expected him to fight hard, say he had every right to say what he did. His response takes the wind out of sails that were billowing with turmoil and misery. ‘Yes, I get that.’ I edge forward on my seat. ‘And I understood why, after what you told me about Louise and how important it is for you to have honesty and trust.’ I pause, ‘I’m really sorry I made you feel so– so—’ I’m not sure how to describe it. He said in clear terms that day how little he was upset by what I’d done … because he didn’t care. That I was no better than Louise. That he never wanted to see me again. ‘Well,’ I shrug, staring at the small, chipped, wooden coffee table.

He clears his throat. ‘I read your note once I’d calmed down and also spoke with the agency. They said you hadn’t made a complaint or anything.’

‘Why would I? And thanks for arranging for me to be paid. It helped.’

He waves a hand in the air. ‘You earned it.’ He drags a hand through his hair as my face falls. ‘I meant for the PA work, nothing else.’ He swears under his breath. ‘Anyway, I spoke to HR last week and they confirmed the tribunal has been withdrawn.’

‘Uh-huh.’ It feels like there’s a question behind his comment but I don’t know what he wants. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, I get up and pace over to look out the window, hiding my face.

The room’s quiet except for our breathing. Thankfully, all I can smell is the sweet vanilla candle on the windowsill. If I had to handle the sexiness of his scent again, I don’t think I could get through this conversation. I gaze at the regimentally positioned lamp posts and dark brown leafless trees along the street, not really seeing them, then look to the sky. The clouds are grey, torrid rain is coming. Shivering, I wrap my arms tightly around my waist.

‘Charley?’ Alex prompts.

As the sky outside darkens, I realise my face is reflected faintly in the window, so I concentrate on keeping my expression neutral, in case he can see it.

‘I know in Barcelona I didn’t let you explain the full extent of what happened but you were pretty adamant that you’d done nothing wrong, that it was all Tony. So why drop the claim if you think you’re the one in the right?’

I spin around, smiling sadly. ‘I know I’m in the right Alex, I don’t need a judge to tell me that. I realise that now. And I didn’t think I’d win, what with all the hotshot lawyers and things you said. Besides, I’d already decided to drop it over the course of the weekend. I’d had enough of it all. Remember what I said? Sometimes it’s knowing when to walk away.’

He stares at me. ‘I hate to see you so … defeated, after how feisty you were that weekend.’

I hitch my chin up, dropping my hands onto my hips as pride kicks in. ‘Don’t worry, Alex. I’m still that girl, and I’m not defeated. I’ll be okay.’ Saying it makes me feel it, and helps me believe it. ‘I’m just moving forward.’ I frown. ‘And honestly, I’m really confused at your reaction because now your company won’t have to go to tribunal. So you should be happy, right?’

‘Yes. But—’ He runs a hand over his stubbly jaw, making a delicious rasping sound. ‘I went to the casino yesterday.’

‘You did?’ Fear spikes. What else did Tony say about me? How much lower can Alex’s opinion get?

‘Tony wasn’t there, he was at a training course, but I spoke with a few members of staff in his absence.’ He pauses. ‘A croupier named Kitty was one of them.’

‘Really?’ Hope springs up. Kitty’s on my side. Not that Alex will automatically believe her, but still. ‘And what did she tell you?’

‘She’s in a difficult position, seeing as she now reports to him directly.’

‘Yes.’ Disappointment pulls my shoulders down. ‘She is.’

There are footsteps, and warm fingers bring my chin up to look into his intense long-lashed eyes. ‘But she still stuck up for you. And once she knew who I was and I’d asked her to be absolutely honest … She really doesn’t like him, does she?’

‘No.’ I wrench my head away from his touch. It’s too tempting to want to get nearer. I want him too much.

He frowns. ‘I got the impression hers is a widely held view.’

‘What do you want me to say, Alex? That I hate the guy? I do. I also hate that he’s there, when I’m not. And I can't stand the thought of him drooling all over the female staff.’ I shudder. ‘But why are you going to believe anything I say? After all, I lied to you about my name, my job, my background.’ I throw the challenge down but he ignores it.

‘I looked over the results and accounts from the period you were manager. They were solid. Better than that. I read all the staff appraisals too. You got the best out of people, were well respected and everyone I spoke to yesterday liked you. They talked about your enthusiasm and the hours you put in.’ Looking thoughtful, ‘Your record was clean.’