Crazy, Undercover, Love (6 page)

‘I asked whether you’ll be ready for dinner on time.’

‘Yes, no problem.’

‘No problem?’ A smile plays around his mouth. ‘If you are, you’ll be the first woman of my acquaintance capable of it.’

‘Maybe I’m not like the other women you're acquainted with then,’ I lift my chin, holding direct eye contact. ‘I’ll be ready,’ I glance at the slim silver watch on my wrist, ‘by eight fifteen.’ Twenty seven minutes. It’s not long but I’ll do it, just to show him.

‘I look forward to it.’ His smirk says he fully expects me to fail.

It feels like I’m at the Olympics, on the starting line. I fling open my suitcase, ready for the gun to fire to begin the race.

‘I’ll see you soon.’ His hand is on the door handle, straight-faced but a glint of humour in his eyes.

‘Fine.’ Picking up my wash bag, I fight back a smile.

‘I’ll be waiting in the suite.’ He pulls the door open.

‘Perfect.’ My fingers inch towards my black stilettos.

‘Actually, I’ll knock for you.’

He’s determined to not give me an extra second isn’t he? ‘Suits me,’ I say lightly. I put a hand on one hip, striving for casual, turn and manoeuvre myself so the other hand can grope around in the case behind me.

He watches every move. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’

‘Okay.’

Shaking his head, he slides from the room and I spin round to my case. Just as the door swings shut, his voice echoes through the tiny gap, ‘I’ll be waiting.’

It makes me laugh and I shake my head.

Right. Focus. Twenty-five minutes left. I lay out minuscule black lack underwear and a favourite evening dress I packed with two others, just in case. Tight, deep purple, strapless and with small jewel encrusted pockets, the hem is just above the knee. It’s one of those dresses that makes you feel good, boosts your confidence. And the hotel is so posh I have to dress up.

I pelt into the bathroom but am still able to appreciate the modern black and white tiles, the corner bath with jets and the gloriously huge walk-in shower. It’s divine. Imagine waking up to this every day. Bliss. Pulling on a shower cap, I push a button and step into the hot blast of water. I’d love to wash my hair – it’s gone wild from snow and wind and dry cabin air – but I don’t have time. Scrubbing with branded complimentary shower gel and realising Alex is probably showering only a handful of feet away, my eyes slide shut. Imagine what he’d look like without his formal suit, stripped bare. Broad chest, long muscular arms and legs, other interesting parts. He’s bound to be a dream naked. The man looks built. I bet he has a six-pack.

I inhale sharply, nipples tightening, an answering throb between my legs. No, stop it. To shake loose the dirty thoughts, I turn the temperature down, gasping as the icy needles chill my skin. It does the trick, reining my hormones in. Turning the shower off, I step from the cubicle, whip off the shower cap and dry briskly with the fluffy bath sheets, finishing up with lashings of moisturiser. Applying light make-up, I unpin and brush out my hair, tying it in a messy topknot and spraying it with gloss-effect hairspray.

Darting into the bedroom, I tug on underwear, ignoring the horrible slide of fabric on cream-dampened skin. Scrambling into the dress, I adjust it to sit right on my waist and hips and hold my boobs in. Threading on dangly jet black earrings and a matching chunky necklace, I spray on perfume before bucketing around the room for a quick tidy. I check my watch as I strap it back on. 8.13 p.m. Last thing is to slide my size eight elephant feet into black suede-effect stiletto heels.

Although expected, the loud rap at the door still makes me jump.

‘It’s Alex,’ his voice is muffled, ‘ready?’

‘Yes,’ I holler, ‘come in.’

Alex enters as I’m reaching across the bed to grab my clutch bag.

‘That,’ his voice sounds strangled, ‘is impressive.’

Standing, I note the new form-fitting black suit and pale blue shirt that sets off his eyes spectacularly. No tie tonight, top button undone. I prefer the slightly more casual look on him and gulp. ‘Thanks. I said I’d be ready in time.’ I can't help gloating.

He smiles, acknowledging my victory. ‘Yes, you did, though I was talking about– Ah, never mind, you look very smart.’

‘Thanks.’
Smart?
I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so deflated by a compliment. It’s not as if we’re on a date, it’s a work dinner and we’re just colleagues, but would it have killed him to dream up something better than
you look smart
? It’s what Mum said on the first day of school or what Gran might remark about one of my more modest dresses. Huh. ‘Shall we go then?’ Moving past Alex, I grab the door handle.

‘Charley.’

‘Yes?’ I’m startled to find my nose practically pressed against his shirt front when I spin around. Too close. Way too close. He smells gorgeous and my knees go liquid.

He puts some room between us. ‘I was just going to say that  … ’ he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck.

‘Yes?’ A long uncomfortable pause follows. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing.’

A silence drags out. I’m ultra aware of my bare legs and tiny underwear, the raw urge to bridge the distance to him, push my hands into that thick dark hair and kiss him. I tighten my grip around the door handle, using it to anchor me to reality. It’s difficult. His eyes are so blue staring into them all day would be no hardship at all.

‘I mean, I just remembered,’ he says in a deep rock star husky voice, ‘that I need to make a quick call.’

I blink. Now, just as we’re going to dinner? After how keen he was for me to be ready on time? It must be important. It’s after office hours, so perhaps it’s his girlfriend he needs to phone. In the car he said he didn’t have one, but his definition of girlfriend and mine might be different. I don’t like the twitch in my stomach at the thought.

‘I’ll go downstairs then.’ I murmur. ‘Meet you in the bar?’

‘Yes. I’ll be down shortly.’

‘Okay.’

‘Okay.’

I’m pinned to the door by the intense expression on his face. It’s like he wants to say something but can’t quite get it out.
What
?
Please don’t tell me about your girlfriend. I don’t want to know.

'I’ll bring a copy of the schedule down with me,’ he states.

His reminder this is work is the perfect push to break away. ‘Great.’ Whirling around, I leave as fast as possible on my high heels. I need time. I need space. And for the sake of my sanity I need to see him as my boss … not a man.

‘Bugger!’ On my mobile to Jess, I hunt for a quiet corner in the hotel bar. The call will cost money I don’t have, but this is an emergency. ‘Bugger, bugger, bugger!’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘The CEO. Alex. He’s gorgeous! Tall, dark haired, ruggedly handsome and heavenly–bodied. Every time I’m with him I practically swoon, like a girl from those regency novels you devour. Or I basically drool. It’s so embarrassing. What am I going to do?’

‘Well, if you’d listened to me you wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. I told you, it’s not right—’

‘What’s not right is what Tony bloody Ferrier did to me. Jess, please,’ I beg, ‘less teacher mode and more best friend. You still love me, right?’

‘Yes,’ she sighs. ‘Of course. Okay, so you’re finally going gaga over a man.’ She chuckles, lightening up. ‘I must admit I was wondering if it’d ever happen.’

‘That is
not
helpful.’ Spotting a free table, I stride across the room and sit down, ordering a glass of white wine from a passing waiter with a series of elaborate hand gestures. ‘And I’d hardly say going gaga. I’m just struggling a little to stay professional, that’s all.’

‘Sorry, but a little? You just said you nearly swooned.’ She laughs.

‘I’m glad you think this is funny. Remember that when you’re having to pull me out of a giant tub of ice cream and prise the empty wine bottle from my cold fingers because it’s all gone wrong.’ Then I interject quickly, ‘
Don’t
say it.’

‘Fine. And you’re there now so we have to deal with it I guess. Hmm. He’s gorgeous. Well, I agree it would be better if he was fat, old, smelly and bald.’

‘If only. And what’s really annoying is he’s totally not my usual type.’ I nod a thanks to the waiter as he places a glass of wine in front of me.

‘Why? Because he’s not a sensitive soul like the ones you usually go for who look like James Blunt on a bad day? Have you ever wondered if the guys you date aren’t really your type, and that’s why you never commit to them?’

‘Hey, watch it.’ I take a large mouthful of the wine. ‘You’re not so hot on the commitment front yourself, are you?’ I wince. ‘Sorry,’ I rush. She’s been in love with my oldest brother Tom for years, since a heated kiss on her fifteenth birthday caused mayhem and havoc in both our families. It almost ended our friendship when he rejected her. We don’t talk about it but I’ve always known he’s part of the reason she’s never had a serious relationship. Maybe one day it’ll work out between them. If anyone deserves a happy ending it’s Jess. ‘Besides,’ I switch subjects, ‘you’re forgetting Nick. He wasn’t my usual type and that didn’t work out.’

‘Yeah, he was a banker rather than an artist or musician, and a real man’s man. But he was also an ass who only wanted a trophy girlfriend. That was never going to be you. You’re too intelligent for a start.’

‘Doesn’t feel like it at the moment. Anyway, stop trying to get on my good side just because you’re losing the argument.’

‘I’m not! We’ve been friends for over twenty years, and you can be pretty annoying, I’ll give you that—'

‘Hey.’

‘But you do have
some
good qualities.’

‘Gee, thanks.’

Jess sniggers. ‘Pleasure. So, what’s he like apart from not your usual type but gorgeous?’

Maybe if I just focus on the negatives. ‘Arrogant, cynical, defensive and sexist. Oh, and stubborn. Entrenched in his views.’

‘Wow, that’s quite a list. And er, I hate to point it out Cee, but you’re not unfamiliar with the concept of stubbornness yourself.’

I cut across Jess, on a roll. ‘He fluctuates from distant one minute to laughing the next. You never know where you are with him. He’s also kind of old-fashioned. You know,’ another gulp of wine slides down my throat as if by magic, ‘complete sentence construction, wanting to carry my bags, not believing in employing female staff.’

‘Speaking the Queen’s English? Offering to help you? How dare he?’ she mocks. ‘Complete and utter bastard.’

I smile, knowing I’m caught out. ‘All right, perhaps I’m being a bit harsh but you can't quibble the last one.’

‘That I get and it’s not acceptable.’ She pauses, mulling it over. ‘How old is he?’

‘Early thirties.’

‘Miss Caswell.’ The deep voice is unmistakable.

Flicking a quick look over my shoulder, I freeze. Of course Alex is standing right behind me. The pit of my stomach drops down to my toes. God knows how long he’s been there for. Oh, crap.

‘Still, he doesn’t sound that bad,’ Jess is still chatting away, ‘from the way you described how hot he is, I think I could overlook some of the rougher edges. Or possibly train him,’ she muses. ‘Maybe I should pop across Europe and check him out?’

‘Um, I’ll get back to you on that. Gotta go.’

‘Something wrong?’

‘You could say that. Speak later.’ Flipping my phone closed, I stand reluctantly. How much has he heard? Everything including my comment about Tony? Talk about incriminating. Talk about blowing my cover. It would be just my luck if he kicks me out of this classy hotel with no belongings and no money and I’m left stranded in Barcelona.

Taking a deep breath, I swivel around. ‘Alex. I didn’t realise you’d be down so soon.’

‘Obviously. So would I have overheard the entire character assassination if I’d arrived earlier?’

Phew, he probably didn’t hear me mention Tony. Then mortification singes my face as I realise what he
has
overheard. ‘I’m sorry.’ Screwing my face up, ‘Er, what exactly—?’

‘Arrogant and sexist were mentioned. Old-fashioned and cynical also featured.’

‘I’m so sorry. Is there any point in saying some people might take some of those as compliments, in particular the old-fashioned part? You know,’ I squeak, wishing I could vanish in a puff of black smoke, ‘as in traditional values? Moral fortitude?’

‘I might have done, because I don’t think there’s anything wrong in being polite or articulate, or being worried about something other than the latest fashions or music, but they didn’t sound like compliments the way you said them.’

‘No, I get that,’ I confess, squirming now, ‘but it was because … ’

‘Because?’

Because I was convincing myself not to like you.
I can’t say so or the conversation will leap from humiliating to downright excruciating. ‘It doesn’t matter. I apologise unreservedly. There’s no excuse for it. I don’t suppose there’s any way we can move past this?’

‘It’s too late to get another temp,’ he confirms, and I hate his voice being so cool and rigid after the rapport we built in the suite, ‘so I’ll try to forget it, even though every word is indelibly engraved on my brain.’

‘I’m so sorry. Again,’ I offer quietly, feeling awful. I can’t believe I was so indiscreet. My head was just so all over the place I didn’t stop to think. Not my usual style at all.

‘Yes, well.’ He stares over my shoulder, jaw tensing. ‘Just forget it.’

There’s nothing else I can say and the silence quickly becomes unbearable, so I look around the room. What might be Catalan art hangs on the cream walls and lots of small square mahogany tables with clean lines are dotted around trendy brown leather and purple velvet sofas. The long wide black bar is backlit by purple and red UV lighting, with metal high-backed stools grouped together, elegant square chandeliers hanging overhead. Full length windows overlook the marina, the boats bobbing up and down gently on the calm sea.

Alex lets out a heavy sigh. ‘Shall we go through for dinner?’

‘Please.’ As I grab my almost empty glass and clutch bag from the table, I stumble and Alex’s large hand shoots out to grab my elbow. I wrench it away, feeling like I’ve been branded, the heat of his fingers transmitting a tingling message through my skin straight to my tiny underwear. ‘Th–thanks.’

Turning around, I struggle to walk in a straight line, my knees are trembling so hard. Alex wordlessly follows and a young brunette waitress greets us at the entrance of the restaurant. Why do they all have to have such glossy dark hair? Not everyone has celebrity-shiny tresses, some of us mere mortals are challenged with hair that curls and waves and demands complete freedom, no matter what we might do to control it.

‘¡Hola! Table for two? Penthouse suite, si, Mr Demetrio?’

Alex nods and we trail after her as she sweeps through the packed room. The clink and tinkle of cutlery and flame-lit candles mix with muted conversations to create a warm, welcoming atmosphere. Alex’s jacket brushes my bare arm as he walks beside me. I ignore the shiver it causes.

‘By the way,’ he says in a low voice, ‘I know I said we’d forget about it, but I do want to clarify one thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘I employ women.’ His sideways look says he’s disappointed with my assumptions. ‘I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the benefits of gender balance. Some of my best senior managers are female, which is why six of them sit on the Board.’

‘Out of how many directors?’

‘Ten.’

‘Oh.’

‘It’s only my Executive Assistant I insist is male. Not that I have to justify anything to you.’

‘Of course not.’ He’s defensive, but I can hardly blame him after what he overheard.

We come to a beautifully laid table by the window overlooking the grand vista of Port Olimpic. It’s pretty, lights from passing boats shining and twinkling off the dark water, the rhythmic lap of waves against the jetties barely discernible.

I gulp as we sit down. It’s exactly the kind of set up I’ve been dreading – intimate and romantic. I flick a wary glance at Alex. His total concentration is on the menu. I frown as I finish off my wine. The last thing I need is to get drunk and sloppy and let my identity slip too soon. No more alcohol tonight. Reaching for a glass of water, my hand twitches and knocks it over, and I watch in horror as it sends a cascade of good old H20 directly toward Alex. But he’s quick, pushing back from the table like his chair is on wheels.

I jump from my seat, grabbing a napkin. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t get you, did I?’

He stands, waving a hand to someone behind me for assistance. ‘Luckily for me, no.’

My gaze drops to his trousers to check and I move towards him, hand extended reflexively to mop up.

He grabs my wrist before I reach my target, ‘I said you missed, Charley.’

‘Yes, of course. S–sorry,’ I stutter as he releases my arm. Was I really just about to rub his crotch? Dear God. Sloping back to my chair, I wish I could slide under the table and hide, especially when not one but two members of staff arrive to sort out the mess I’ve made. My face starts to burn. I’ve always been clumsy but today I’ve hit a new threshold; the water in the plane, almost falling over in the bar, and now attempting to give Alex a shower and rub him down. I should come with an Official Government Warning:
Spending time with this girl may be bad for your health/clothes/sanity.

The staff leave, taking away everything bundled in the fine linen tablecloth. People are staring, but Alex is consulting his phone, so I bury my nose in the menu. The waitress returns, laying out a new tablecloth and placing cutlery, napkins and crystal glasses out precisely. She gives me a small reassuring smile when I peek over the top of the leather bound booklet. ‘Thank you. Sorry.’

‘No problem, madam. It has happened before.’ She moves away, distracted by the next diner needing attention.

‘Now the drama’s over,’ Alex tucks his phone away, face taut, ‘shall we order?’

‘I apologised. It was an accident.’

‘I know. So have you decided?’

‘No. I need a minute.’

‘If you must.’

My teeth snap shut. He hasn’t forgiven me for my comments. Fingers gripping the menu, I focus on reading. Despite my turmoil I’m impressed by the delicious selection of Mediterranean dishes with international influences. ‘It all looks fantastic,’ I murmur finally. ‘I think I’ll have the
carré de cabrito glaseado a la miel con setas
.’

‘Rack of honey glazed meat with mushrooms?’ Alex translates fluidly. ‘I love a woman who’s not afraid to eat properly.’ He shakes his head. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘It’s fine.’ Waving his apology away. I can hardly criticise his behaviour when I’m so confused – and horrified – by my own.

Taking a breath, he neatly changes direction. ‘Have you been to Spain before? Your accent isn’t bad.’

‘Thanks. I took Spanish at school.’ I also handled occasional calls from international clients when at the casino, so I’m not as rusty as I might be.

‘Not French?’

‘Most of my friends took that.’

‘And you didn’t want to take the obvious choice.’

‘Guess not.’ I notice again the clarity of his blue eyes and the laughter lines that bracket his mouth.

‘It doesn’t surprise me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘At the risk of backlash, you’re quite strong-minded. You don’t seem like the kind of person to shy away from going your own way. You were probably about eleven if it was the first year of secondary school,’ he pauses and I nod, ‘and there would’ve been peer pressure to take the same language as friends, but you didn’t.’

Alex’s stare is unnerving. Is there something stuck to my face? Before there’s a chance to check, or ask him what his remark means, a waiter appears at my elbow. ‘You order first,’ Alex nods.

‘Thank you.’ I reel off my order and focus on picking up my iced water without incident, as Alex orders in Spanish just as well as I did. While drinking, I clock a glamorous blonde at the next table checking Alex out. She’s dining alone and has no shame about who the target of her interest is. I get the feeling if I wasn’t sat here she’d be in my chair right now starting a conversation with him. She catches me looking and I glare at her, then wonder why. It’s nothing to do with me.

‘So.’ The waiter retreats. I set my water down, hiding a smile when Alex eyes my glass warily. ‘How come you know how to speak Spanish? And where did you go to school?’

‘Let’s talk about work shall we?’ Alex bites. ‘It’s why we’re here after all.’

‘All right.’ I rummage through my bag for pen and paper, annoyed at his tone. He really has got a ten-ton chip on his shoulder. Anything personal about him is clearly off the table. Rearranging my plate and cutlery to make room for my mini-notepad, I lift my head to find Alex frowning. ‘Is there a problem with me taking notes?’