Hate to Love You (15 page)

What the fuck? This was the woman who hadn’t even looked at me
during the court hearing for the restraining order, the woman who refused to
acknowledge my existence although I’d repeatedly begged her to hear me out, just
for a second.

She took out one of my letters to James and showed it to me.
“Do you stand by everything you wrote?”

Mind still reeling I nodded dumbly. My letters were all a
variation on the same desperate theme and I meant every word.

Francesca peered into my eyes, as if searching not only to see
whether I had a soul but what it was made of. I was too gobsmacked to return the
favour.

“If you are serious about being a part of Ryan’s life I’m going
to help you,” she said.

Was she for real? She didn’t look as if she’d break into evil
cackles but all the same... I peered at her, waiting for her to laugh in my
face. Francesca seemed to understand my bafflement, giving me a brisk nod to
confirm I hadn’t heard her wrong.

I wanted to laugh, I wanted to shout. I did neither, taking
deep breaths and wondering if any second she would change her mind and walk
away. The woman despised me and she always had, so...

“Why the fuck would you want to help me see Ryan?”

Francesca glanced at Tarzan and I took the hint. “This is
Reverend Tarcisius Mortgensen.”

Tarzan met her look and took my hand. “I’m Paisley’s special
friend.”

Startled, I pulled my fingers away and he tightened his grip.
Then it hit me. God, I love smart people. Francesca had seen me whomp that kiss
on him and he figured he should bail me out lest she add ‘corrupting ministers’
to my crimes. I squeezed his hand and he relaxed.

Thin-lipped, Francesca continued. “My reasons for helping you
are none of your concern. What matters is that Ryan has his mother in his life,
if you’re willing.”

Willing? Didn’t seven years of begging show how willing I was?
I bit my tongue and drew blood, but that was better than hurling abuse and
taking my anger out on Francesca. Once more I searched her face, trying to read
her motives and getting nothing. No wonder James was so good at shielding his
mind. I couldn’t shake the feeling her gesture wasn’t about helping
me
, but something else entirely. That she was hiding
something was obvious. But what?

“Are you abusing illegal substances?” she asked stiffly.

“No.”

“Alcohol?”

I shook my head.

“Cigarettes?”

“Occasionally, when I’m out at night.”

She frowned.

“But I just gave that shit up.”

Up went her nose. “You will sanitise your speech, young lady. I
will not tolerate foul language around my grandson.”

“I can do that, no problem,” I said, ignoring the little tickle
from Tarzan.

“If you prove your abstinence from drugs and alcohol and can
conduct yourself properly I will attempt to sway James in your favour.”

“Why?” I insisted.

Silence.

“Okay, tell me where and when to go for testing and I’ll do it.
Right now if you like. As for cigarettes and bad language, I don’t see how I can
prove to you I’m not doing either.”

“Honesty is what I ask of you. Truthfulness and respect for my
family.”

Jesus, she was asking that of
me
of
all people? What I had done to her son was far from honest or respectful, but
she seemed to want to trust me in spite of the past. No silent phrases bolstered
the feeling, just the intuitive certainty she wished with all her heart I was
true to my word.

I gulped over the tightness in my throat. If I was going to be
honest, I’d better start now. “I have no intention of giving up my job at
Flintfire.”

Her lips curled downward. “How you managed to place yourself in
James’s office doesn’t bear thinking, but since you’ve done so I wouldn’t expect
you to resign.”

My brows rose and I waited, but she didn’t accuse me of
stalking. Neither did she say that she’d advised James to seek a restraining
order for himself.

Nevertheless, I proceeded cautiously. “What makes you think you
can change James’s mind? He despises me. He never answered any of my letters or
phone calls and he refuses to talk about Ryan.”

Francesca took a deep, slow breath. “That is because I took
measures to ensure my son never forgot who you are.”

Measures?
“What the f—hell does
that mean?”

“James is a man of honour,” Francesca said, placing emphasis on
the word’s second syllable. “He was concerned about you after he came back from
his honeymoon. Once his anger cooled he regretted banning you from Ryan’s life
and talked of allowing you to see him if you came to London. Can you imagine my
horror? I had to protect him from your influence.”

The only reason I didn’t shake her within an inch of her life
was because Tarzan attached his arm around mine like a manacle. “What did you
do? Tell me, damn it!”

She looked me straight in the eyes. “I never told James of your
visits to London.”

“But he must have known,” I said, shaking my head. “I left him
those notes with the butler and—”

My outpour was stifled by the guilty look in Francesca’s eyes.
A tiny sliver, gone the second she reminded herself I didn’t deserve her
remorse. But it had been enough to read what had happened. She had shredded my
emotional, distraught notes without a second thought. And when James asked if
I’d come to Matham Manor she had lied, keeping him away from the teenage addict
who had single-handedly destroyed his wedding and humiliated him in front of his
guests—and the world.

And I couldn’t even blame her for it.

Feeling faint, I took slow, measured breaths and looked across
Hampstead Heath, seeing another girl, another time. The bench where I’d sat the
last time I’d come, oblivious to the rain, was still there. How I had stared at
the money in my tattered backpack! Stared and stared while I shook with rage and
sorrow.

I had repeated the words in the note Francesca’s butler had
handed me until rain and tears had washed the ink away.

I guess I should have shredded the money accompanying his note,
or gifted it to charity, but that moral cliff had been too high for my reach.
Alone and penniless, I had used it to finish my secretarial course, move to
Valencia and escape from Paisley Benton and everything that had happened to
her.

I studied Francesca as she was studying me. What she’d said
explained a lot, but something wasn’t adding up. “I’ve been writing to James for
years, so he must know that you lied.”

She glanced at Tarzan, as if reluctant to speak in front of
him. “I told James your letters were in keeping with your character and
convinced him it was best that I dealt with all of your future communications.
If there was a change in your attitude, I said I would tell him.”

I was speechless, wondering if I should check her forehead for
horns and her arse for a devil’s tail, ’cause Francesca could use her master’s
degree in Evil Bitch to teach Caroline a thing or two. But maybe...

“Have you told James the truth about my visits?” I asked, and
held my breath.

“No,” she said, then fixed me with a steely look. “And neither
will you if you want my help.”

I opened my mouth and Tarzan jumped in before I could let
loose. “What Francesca proposes is fair, don’t you think...sugar?”

I wanted to stomp on his foot, but of course, he was right.
Much as I wanted to tear into Francesca, the important thing was to play nice as
Marcia had said. She was, after all, willing to help me.

“I won’t tell him what you did,” I agreed, but oh, how it cost
me.

Francesca took out a sleek leather wallet and handed me a
business card. “Make an appointment for testing tomorrow morning and ask them to
bill me. If you are telling the truth I will telephone you. Now you must leave,
before James gets here. Do not approach my grandson without my permission or
I’ll forget this conversation and inform the police you violated the restraining
order today.”

Whatever it takes
, I reminded
myself, watching her stiff, elegant back as she walked away. My shoulders
slumped and I sagged into Tarzan’s wiry chest. I felt like an emotional multiple
choice questionnaire. I could tick anger straight away. Another few ticks for
remorse and guilt. Then there was hope and an odd sense of pleasure from knowing
that James hadn’t been totally detached towards me despite what I’d done to him.
And then anger again. Full circle.

I was tick, tick, ticking like a time bomb.

Tarzan kissed my cheek. “I don’t know about you but I want a
drink so badly I can taste it. Something stronger than tonic water and lemon.
Something dangerous.”

“Irn Bru it is then.”

He laughed and then looked pensive. “Now that I think of it I’m
hardly the kind of friend Francesca would approve of, not with my past.”

“I couldn’t give a flying fu—funny bone,” I said. “You’re my
‘special friend’ and if Francesca disapproves she can go fu... Oh God!”

Tarzan’s eyes brimmed with mischief. “I’ll devise a twelve-step
‘Swearers Notorious’ plan for you. Oh how the angels will sing, my child.”

“You’ll get to sing with them if you don’t shut up.”

He teased me and I groaned. Giving up smoking wouldn’t be a
problem. But swearing? That was a much harder ask. No matter what, I resolved to
keep my promises to Francesca and convince her that I had changed.

Seven years was a long time to pay for my mistakes, but just
like those starving cows in the Bible, the next seven years and all the years
after I’d be getting fat on the largess of having Ryan in my life. He was going
to know me, no matter what.

There was a hopeful spring in my step as we made our way from
the heath, turning around for one last peek at Ryan before we disappeared from
view.

Chapter Twelve

Channel
A
for Arrogance

Velma was flirting with James again.

I was heading back from the office kitchen when I heard his low chuckle and her light, admiring laugh. I let out an annoyed huff. The clunky office door was closed. Velma always shuts it when she comes in to flirt so she can keep James her prisoner.

Her thoughts, not mine.

How the hell was I supposed to balance a thick file, a chocolate biscuit on a napkin, a hot mug of tea and a box of ibuprofen while I grappled with the door? When I managed to get in, Greg was on the phone with his wife and Velma was perched on James’s desk. I slammed the file on a shelf, loudly, and cleared my throat. They paid me no notice.

“I love Spanish authors also,” Velma gushed. “So dramatic, so romantic...”

I set the mug down next to Velma’s hand and they continued to ignore me.
Don Quijote de la Mancha
would be James’s next read if he ever had time to hunt for a copy, and guess what? Velma could find him a hardback edition when she went to Australia for a family wedding.

I banged the box of pills next to the tea mug before I even knew what I was doing. Velma squeaked and James lifted a brow.

What the fu—
crap
was wrong with me?

Velma slid off the desk and threw James an unsexy smile that didn’t make her faux-violet eyes sparkle.

“I’ll pop by later in case you need anything,” she said, winking at me on her way past.

I watched Velma sway her hips to the door, my jaw so tight it hurt. Since when did she need to get James anything?
I
was his secretary, not Miss Sunshine. And when had she started copying my style and wearing sexy shoes? I whirled around, ready to make a snide comment and stopped. James was eyeing the ibuprofen and tea.

“You’ve been rubbing your forehead all morning,” I said defensively. “I thought you had a headache.”

“I think it just disappeared.”

Was he
smiling
at me? No, he had looked at the doorway before sparing me a glance. Velma’s simpering conversation must have cured his headache.

I snatched up the pills. “Then you won’t be needing these or the biscuit and brew I brought you.”

James looked expectant. Despite the delicious confections on our floor he prefers the Hobnobs I stash in the kitchen. He doesn’t know they belong to the woman he despises and I’m not telling him. Perverse, I know, but I get a strange kick out of watching him eat my food.

“Where’s the biscuit?”

“I had to eat it.”

His gaze dropped to my mouth. “Hence the crumbs.”

I probably smeared my lipstick wiping them away. “The tea survived,” I said, growing more annoyed by the second. “Assam mixed with Lady Grey from your Harrods stash, no sugar and two teaspoons of milk. I’ll take it back since you don’t want it.”

I made a move for the mug but James was faster, reaching his arm out so quickly our fingers touched. A tiny buzz sped up my arm and I yanked my hand back, pushing away the desire to touch him. He held out his palm and I stared at it.

He wanted to hold my hand?

“Thank you for the tea and the pills, Ms Benítez,” he said, looking pointedly at the ibuprofen. I dropped the box into his palm.

Greg hung up with his wife and didn’t bother to disguise his sly look. I went back to my desk and focused on boss number two, determined to ignore the way James was studying me. Funny how being the object of two men’s scrutiny can make you feel like prey for very different reasons.

I forced my shoulders to relax and spoke to Greg. “The cuppa I made for you is back in the kitchen,” I lied. “Earl Grey, milk and two sugars, isn’t it?”

James had taken out a pill and he paused it halfway to his mouth. Good, now he wouldn’t think I was giving him preferential treatment. Greg slid his eyes down my body and I sighed inwardly. Not only did he insist on calling me pet names, he never missed a chance to ogle me.

“Assam, black with one sugar, Liza, but never mind, I’m going for coffee and pastry.”

I smirked at his paunch. “Watch out Greg, you wouldn’t want to lose your six pack.”

He barely disguised his leer. “For you Betty, I’d give up all the pastries in the world. Just say the word.”

Well, the words I wanted to say would get me fired so I abstained. As soon as Greg was gone James cleared his throat like a schoolmaster before an errant pupil.

“Inappropriate behaviour will not be tolerated, Ms Benítez.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your professional conduct is being observed at all times and unsuitable interactions will be noted on your probation evaluation. In case you are unaware, Greg has no decision-making powers with regards to your permanent employment contract.”

I counted to ten in my head. “Don’t they teach you how to speak clearly in lawyer school?”

James leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Greg is married, not that it makes any difference to you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that sex with Greg will get you nowhere.”

Oh God, the way he said
sex
was just like the way he’d said
pussy
seven years ago. My brain shut down and my body responded.

“And sex with
James?
”

I don’t know who sucked in more air, him or me, but I know whose head was besieged by a painful cacophony of screams.

Oh no!
No
,
no and no.
You did not just say that!
my mind shouted
.

But it seemed as if I had, as if now that I could no longer speak to James with my eyes my mouth had taken over, turning my secret thoughts into words. Prickly, burning heat rolled over my body. I wanted to sink into the floor or press a magic button that would pop me into a different dimension. Mortified, I fixed my eyes on my computer screen as if I were watching the end of the world in vivid detail.

“Still the same Paisley,” James said softly. “And you still don’t understand that I was never interested.”

Liar!
my mind shouted.

He may be indifferent to me now but desire had fuelled the first kiss we’d shared. It had blazed hot and long in Caroline’s bed and it had surged, erotic and tender on the day of his wedding.

How dare he try to deny it?

Weeks of dealing with his thinly veiled disgust had taken their toll and I was sick of his attitude.

My voice went just as soft as his. “You can lie to yourself all you want but you were calling
my
name in bed, not Caroline’s. Have you forgotten how much you fantasised about me, or how many times I made you come?”

The corner of James’s mouth turned down. He caught the expression before it could turn into a grimace and schooled his face to indifference, but I saw it.

Score one for me
.

“What is it James?” I taunted, goaded by an emotion I couldn’t put a name to if I tried. “Can’t take the truth or was I too crude for your sensitive ears? That’s not what you thought back then. I remember how much you enjoyed telling me to...to...”

Oh, crap, why had I promised not to swear?

“You wanted
me
to tell you to... Fudge!”

“To
fudge?
” He made it sound more of a swear word than I had.

“A gooey American treat,” I retorted. “Crunchy on the outside, moist and chewy on the inside.”

“That’s a brownie.”

“Whatever. You know I’m telling the truth even if you choose to forget it.”

“You’re the last person to talk to me about truth,” he said tightly. “And what I
know
, Ms Benítez, is that I need the Mariano share purchase agreement. Is it ready?”

That was it? He was going to switch channels, get up and walk towards my desk without talking about that incredible night? Taking my virginity and sharing his body with mine had meant nothing more to him than a wild time in bed? Had I imagined our connection? The searing passion? The way we fit together so perfectly?

“Well?” he prompted, hand held out. “Is it ready?”

It took everything I had to answer as a mature professional. “Nuh-uh.”

“I said I needed it first thing. Didn’t you understand me?”

I’m prone to flippancy when I’m angry. “Maybe you should change the channel.”

His jaw clenched. “The channel?”

“Yeah, from channel
A
for arrogance, to... I don’t know, try
R
for respect.

“Respect has to be earned. I would say you’ve done the opposite, wouldn’t you?”

If looks were poison I’d be writhing on the floor, frothing at the mouth. As it was I flinched as he walked to the door, my anger crushed under the burden of guilt.

“I wish we’d never made love,” I murmured, so quietly I didn’t think he’d hear.

James paused and turned around. “We didn’t make love,” he said flatly. “We fucked. All night long, if I remember. You got my rocks off and I rammed into your cunt so hard you spurted all over my cock. Is that crude enough for you?”

It was game over, final score to James.

* * *

A few days later I was sitting at my desk tracking James through his morning ritual. Firm, sensual lips mouth a curt “good morning”; pause behind desk and long stare at City of London; finger tap on briefcase. It was time to look away before he switched his gaze.

See Paisley work. Work Paisley, work.

I fidgeted, wondering if James would ever stop studying me like one of his tax conundrums, with that determined problem-solving look on his face. A prickle of unease tingled down my spine. Greg’s eyes were glued to me also, flashing with a sort of knowing enjoyment that made me feel nauseous.

Well, what did I expect? If Greg hadn’t known about my past with James at the interview it was obvious he’d watched “TB” along with the rest of the firm and found it more than amusing. As soon as James left for his first meeting Greg sat back with his coffee mug, staring at me so obviously I stopped typing.

“Working with James can be very demanding,” he said conspiratorially. “He’s a difficult man, isn’t he?”

Uh-oh, it was Office Politics and Backstabbing week. I shrugged and continued working on my contract. “More than some, less than others.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Betsy—’Trash at the Bash’ is a personal favourite of mine. When I recognised you at the interview I ripped up the other candidates’ CVs and lobbied hard for you to get the job.”

“Why would you do that?” I asked, document forgotten.

He chewed on his pastry, swallowed and had a sip of coffee, watching me with a calculating gleam in his eyes.

“Because you’ll be very useful to me,
Ms Benítez
.”

I stifled a sigh. I was getting really tired of hearing my name sneered out like that. “What do you mean?”

Greg laughed. “Don’t look so worried. A few of us have a bet running on how long James will keep his cool while you’re around. He’s an arrogant prick who needs taking down. You of all people would agree with me on that one. I gather he’s got custody of your kid and he won’t play ball, regardless of how you brown-nose him.”

I did not brown-nose James, did I?

No way
, my mind said hotly.
Well...not much anyway
.

Greg leaned forward and lowered his voice.

“Is there anything you left out at James’s wedding, any more dirt you’d like to serve up for us? You could make a ‘Trash at the Bash’ sequel at Lemane’s birthday party.”

Well, what did I expect? I had done the crap, so I had to take the rap. In this case, office titters and an envious colleague who wanted a repeat.

“No can do.”

Greg tapped his fingers on the desk. “Lemane always says a few words about those ‘special’ employees whose work has stuffed his pockets. James will be one of them, as usual. They’re sure to invite him to be a partner this year and we’ll be expected to say how wonderful he is at the party. It’s the perfect moment to burst his bubble.”

I stared at him, aghast. Office intrigue Flintfire style was like sitting at table 23 all over again, only I couldn’t sit back and enjoy it. Why, why,
why
had I decided not to read people at work? I should have paid attention to boss number two but James had eaten up my observational skills and I was left to gape at Greg like a fish hooked with a worm—an extra slimy one at that.

I wanted to tell Greg where he could stick his pettiness but I’ve learned a few things in the past seven years. One of them is to never deliberately antagonise the office psycho.

“You’ll have to count me out,” I said, aiming for cool but not unfriendly. “I don’t think I could top ‘Trash at the Bash’ even if I tried.”

True
, my mind agreed snidely.

Greg’s eyes rested on his favourite part of my anatomy. “Then you could think of a shocker for the Christmas party at the end of the year. We always go to a hotel and I could be available for—what was it you said in the video? Oh yes,” he said, pausing to lick his lips. “Ramming into your cunt until you spurted all over my cock.”

It was time to antagonise the office psycho.

“I’ll let you do that when paradise becomes a desert of despair.” I gave his paunch a derisive once-over to hammer home the message. Men like him don’t understand anything else and he got my meaning loud and clear.

Greg slammed his mug onto his desk. “I can make your life at Flintfire a living hell, Lisa.”

“Sexual harassment is illegal, Greg.”

“Once I show Lemane ‘Trash at the Bash’ he’ll see what a lying slut you are. And James won’t believe you either. So, you see, Libby, it’s not worth your while to make a fuss, not when you need a good reference to take into unemployment.”

My eyes popped as wide as my mouth. “Unemployment?”

Greg went back to smiling at me. “The senior partner’s niece, Patricia, will fill your position from January. She works for our biggest client in Valencia but the little fool has fallen in love and wants to live in London. It’s all been arranged but nobody besides myself knows, not even James. I’ve got the inside scoop and...”

I didn’t listen to his sickening voice, feeling battered by the news I wouldn’t have a job after Christmas. Dismayed. No more seeing James every day, smelling that tantalizing mixture of musk and spice, or—Crap! I was dismayed at my dismay. I should be thinking about Ryan, not James. What did seeing James matter? Spending time with Ryan was my goal and now I had only four months to convince James to let me reach it.