Crazy, Undercover, Love (7 page)

‘No. As long as you’re careful with them. Sensitive information leaking onto the market could be disastrous.’

‘I didn’t know we’d be discussing trade secrets,’ I joke, then fall silent when his face doesn't change. ‘Don’t worry. I know how to protect data.’ I lick my lips. Now for the killer question. ‘You do trust me don’t you?’

‘I don’t know you. But perhaps I’m being overcautious. I keep forgetting the agency vetted you.’

‘Uh-huh.’ I clear my throat uncomfortably. They didn’t vet me well enough, otherwise they’d know where I used to work. And the way I left. ‘Well, if it helps, I’ll write in shorthand. It’s a bit of a dying art so not many people can read it nowadays. I learnt it—’

‘I don't need your life history,’ he says shortly. ‘Let’s just get on with it. I’ll start with the running order of the AGM.’

I clench my fingers around the pen. God, what on earth is eating him up?

While I work my way through a sumptuous main course and a satisfyingly chocolatey dessert, Alex goes through the schedule for the next few days, picking at his own meal. Unwinding incrementally as he talks, his voice softens, broad shoulders becoming less rigid. I take notes but mostly listen as he describes key events and gives background on employees we’ll be seeing for one-to-one meetings.

‘Is this one of your hotels?’ I ask when he finally trails off.

‘No.’ He leans back in his chair. ‘I tried that once, but it didn’t work. I couldn’t focus on the AGM, kept being pulled into issues or noticing things that needed correcting. Here I’m part of a visiting organisation. I can let other people do the worrying.’

‘Cool.’ Oops, not the most professional language.

But he surprises me by grinning. ‘Yes, indeed. Cool.’

Is he laughing at himself, recalling my comment to Jess earlier about complete sentence construction? Why can’t he show his sense of humour more consistently? It would make it so much easier to read him, understand how I can earn his trust.

He leans forward, resting crossed arms on the table. ‘Aren’t you going to finish that?’ He points at the half eaten chocolate cake in front of me.

‘I can’t,’ I answer regretfully, pushing it aside, my taste buds still delighting over the smooth richness of the icing.

‘What a waste,’ he shakes his head sorrowfully.

‘I know, sorry. I’ll pay for it if necessary.’ It’s an empty gesture. I’m broke.

‘I wasn’t serious.’

Thank God. I bet the meal would cost a fortune. ‘Oh.’ The light-hearted moment gives me an opportunity to ask what I’ve been wondering about. ‘So?’

‘So?’ he echoes.

‘We’ve done the business bit. Now will you tell me where you learnt Spanish?’

‘No point.’ Shrugging, he picks my dessert fork up and toys with it, his large hands on the tiny utensil looking like something out of
Gulliver’s Travels
. ‘It’s boring. And I told you enough about my background earlier.’

Blimey. Talk about guarded. I was hardly asking for his inside leg measurements. Did he train at spy school or something? The thought is ironic but then I realise I could totally imagine him as a secret agent, one of the hot guys from
This Means War
.

‘Fine, you can keep your secrets,’ I smile, ‘but you’ve got to give me something. Nothing too personal, I promise.’

He raises an eyebrow but plays along. ‘You’ll just keep badgering until I do, won’t you?’ He shakes his head when I simply smile. ‘Fine. Go on then.’ he grumbles.

‘Okay,’ I tap my finger on my chin. ‘You’re the CEO of a worldwide organisation, so … what’s the funniest thing someone’s ever done to impress you? Or the weirdest interview you’ve ever conducted?’

‘You wouldn’t believe me.’

‘Try me.’

Relaxing back in the chair: ‘All right,’ he smiles, ‘but you asked, just remember that.’ Does he curve his lips slowly and sexily on purpose or does it just come naturally?

‘I will. I’ll remember if I wake tomorrow scarred by your stories that you're responsible for the trauma.’

One corner of his mouth curls up further. ‘I can live with that if you can.’

‘Oh, I definitely can,’ I spark, before sitting back in shock. I’m flirting. Inappropriate and Not a Good Idea. Then another thought. Dread seeps through me. What if I did do the same with Tony? That despite saying I wasn’t interested I actually led him on? Hot nausea rolls in my stomach so I take a deep breath to deal with it, tucking the notion away. The horrible feeling is soon forgotten as Alex shares some of his funniest and strangest experiences, ending with one particularly close to my heart, given my co-dependent relationship with sweet food.

‘Then there was the woman who wanted to work in our PR department and sent in handmade baked goods every day for two months.’ He takes a swig of water and I’m hypnotised by the movement of his strong throat muscles as he swallows, the dark stubble just under the skin.

‘No! Two whole months?’

‘Yes. Pies, cakes, fresh bread, cookies. The staff in business support were ecstatic.’

‘I bet they were, but how did sending all of those things in relate to her application?’

‘She wrapped everything in copies of her CV.’

‘You’re kidding!’

‘I’m not. I think she wanted to prove how successful a targeted PR campaign could be.’

‘Well it’s an interesting approach.’

‘And a tasty one.’ He pauses, straightens his face. ‘Unfortunately she hadn’t read the job details properly.’

‘Oh no, what?’ Propping my elbows on the table, I lean in.

He shifts closer and shares in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘The post was based halfway across the world and she wasn’t looking to relocate.’

‘No,’ I groan, laughing, ‘after all that?’

‘I know. But if she couldn’t even read the ad properly there wasn’t much hope was there?’

‘Everyone makes mistakes.’ My comment somehow changes the tone of our conversation because his eyes fix on the darkness outside the window, face paling.

‘That’s right. People do,’ he rattles out, like unrelenting hail striking glass.

‘I didn’t mean anything by it. I wasn’t talking about you. Are you all right?’ My hand creeps across the tablecloth, wanting to comfort.

Swinging his attention inside, he looks down at my fingers, blinks, tucks both hands away under the table and forces a smile. ‘I’m fine.’ Meaning he isn’t. ‘Apologies. Right, I’ve shared my war stories. Your turn now.’

The most recent battle can’t be mentioned yet. I need more time before mentioning Tony. ‘No war stories. Ask again.’

‘Tell me where you grew up then. What was it like?’

This is easy. ‘I was born in a pretty little village, Holmes Brook, which I always think sounds like a nursing home. It’s on the Dorset–Hampshire border. It has the one pub, a village hall and a few shops. It’s surrounded by fields and has a river looping around it. In theory I had a good amount of freedom.’ Describing it takes me back to sunny summer days filled with the smell of hay and a wide expanse of blue sky, the taste of sweet crunchy apples and evenings that took forever to dim.

‘Sounds idyllic,’ he murmurs, echoing my thoughts. ‘So why freedom in theory?’

‘I’ve got three older brothers and one of them was always following me around keeping watch.’ I smile fondly. ‘It drove me nuts. I know they were just looking out for me though.’

‘I can understand that. What else?’

‘Our family home is massive and on the outskirts of the village, with a duck pond next to it. My favourite part is the apple tree at the bottom of the garden. I used to love climbing it and throwing apples at my brothers’ heads.’ I laugh then halt.
Too much information Charley, his eyes will start glazing over soon, wrap it up
.

But he sighs and shares, ‘Sounds great to me. We had olive trees but we weren’t allowed to climb them.’

‘We?’

‘I have a younger brother.’

‘Oh. Well I’m sorry if I’ve given you tree envy,’ I joke.

‘So you should be,’ he smiles.

There’s a silence and I realise we’re staring into each other’s eyes. ‘So er, anyway,’ I bluster, ‘I ah, met my best friend Jess when I started primary school and we ended up buying a flat together in the city.’

‘And what do your parents do?’

For someone so fiercely private he's very interested in my life, but the more open I am, maybe the more he might trust me. ‘Dad was something in Defence for years, used to commute, got retired young, so chairs lots of committees on a voluntary basis. Mum devoted herself to us but took on charity work as we got older, running the WI, organising local events. I guess part of it is there’s family money and those are some of the expectations.’

‘Are your family well known in the village?’

‘You could say that!’ Laughing, I attempt to push the bitterness away. ‘They’ve always been the centre of everything. The spotlight was always on them. And on us.’ I didn’t mean to mention it, but he’s a good listener.

‘That was a problem?’

‘It taught me to be cautious,’ I admit, picking up my napkin and smoothing it out, ‘what people think of you matters in a small village. They don’t let you forget your mistakes in a hurry, that’s for sure.’ Absently, I fold the napkin at the corner, then back in on itself. ‘So you don’t take many risks.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Are you sure you want to hear this?’ I look up at him, fingers still working the napkin, folding and refolding.

‘Yes. Indulge me.’

‘Okay. Well, I tried to make Mum and Dad proud, but disappointed them when I moved to London. It was the only real risk I’ve ever taken, but I had to do it. As beautiful as the countryside is, staying in a rural community wasn’t for me. I wasn’t happy,’ I sigh, realising I’ve folded my napkin into a swan shape. Setting it aside, I laugh self-consciously. ‘I worked as a silver-service waitress in the next town over when I was seventeen. Anyway, me wanting to move away caused ructions and my parents spent months trying to talk me out of it. They’d rather I lived locally and got engaged to a nice village boy.’

‘So how did you manage to leave?’ Alex shrugs out of his suit jacket, hanging it on the back of his chair.

I won’t let my eyes wander down to check out his broad shoulders in the crisp blue shirt. Staring at his face, I admit, ‘In hindsight I could have been more mature, persuaded them it was my risk to take.’

‘And in reality?’ There’s a twinkle in his eye. He knows what’s coming.

‘I was eighteen. Let’s just say there was some bad behaviour.’ I roll my eyes, recalling my teenage flouncing and yelling. ‘They finally backed off when I declared I wasn’t going to live my life according to what other people wanted and was moving to the city whether they were happy about it or not, even if I had to live on the streets. I started packing a rucksack to make my point. Mature, hey?’

‘You were young,’ he excuses.

‘Yes, well  …  they didn’t exactly give me their blessing, but we stopped arguing at least,’ I smile wryly.

Too personal to share is that it’s still there between us. Going home is always tense. My parents love me but still don’t agree with my decision. The distance hurts but I’m not sure how to bridge it. It’s the reason they don’t know how broke I am or how close to failing. The plan is to tell them only if I absolutely have to. I don’t want them to think they were justified in the opinion that staying home would have been best for me. Whatever has happened, I’ll never regret making my own way in the world.

‘I know what you mean,’ Alex confides, a shadow crossing his face.

‘You ran away from home too?’ I try and lighten things, scrub the glint of unhappiness from his eyes.

‘No. Not quite.’ He goes still. ‘I never talk about it.’

But he needs to. ‘Well, I’ve trusted you with my teenage angst. Why not tell me about yours?’

‘It’s nothing controversial. Neither is it something exclusive to my teens. And it’s hardly angst. It was just what you said about the spotlight being on you.’ He picks the napkin swan up, turning it over between his long fingers. ‘I understand. Being part of a family-run organisation as successful and wealthy as ours doesn’t exactly give much opportunity for privacy. It’s always bothered me. That’s why I do the press conferences for the business when I have to, but don’t give interviews about anything else.’

I’ve got something in common with a billionaire. Who’d have thought it. Gazing into his gorgeous eyes, a shared moment of understanding flows between us and I gulp. I can’t do this.

‘That was pathetic,’ I tease to break the connection. ‘Tell me one of your actual secrets.’

‘It wouldn’t be secret if I told you. And besides,’ he says po-faced, ‘you'd have to sign a gagging order if I did.’

I’m not entirely sure he’s kidding.

‘You went to a state secondary school, right?’ Alex moves the subject on swiftly before I can comment on his surreal remark. ‘Why didn’t you go private?’

‘Mum said it would be good for us, give a better grounding in reality. I wouldn’t have wanted to go to a boarding school anyway.’

‘And why London rather than anywhere else?’

‘I left school with respectable grades, and took a Business Studies NVQ and a few A levels at the college in the nearest town. In the first year, I went on a theatre trip and fell in love with the city. After that it was just a question of time.

‘It’s great, so full of hustle and noise and people and shops and different places and experiences. It’s such a change after my childhood, was exactly what I wanted, no  …  needed. I wouldn’t want to raise children there but I’m a long way off that yet, so it’s not an issue.’ Woah, where did
that
come from? Why would he care about my plans to start a family one day? He doesn’t comment, but his expression goes shuttered and distant. TMI?

‘Did you go to uni?’ he simply asks. ‘Or have a gap year?’

‘No, straight to London. I did plan to go to Africa as a volunteer, help build schools and see a bit of the world.’

‘But?’

‘But I missed the application window.’

‘Why’s that?’

I glance away and mutter something.

‘Sorry, what was that?’ he asks.

I sigh. ‘I got glandular fever.’

Alex throws his head back and laughs, ‘The kissing disease?’

‘Yes, okay, I’ve heard that one before.’

‘Sorry. So was it? Down to kissing?’

It’s like he’s completely forgotten himself. That this is just work. Worryingly, I like it.

‘No comment,’ I reply cheerfully.

‘Fair enough.’ He drops the swan and traces a finger on the tablecloth. I wish for a flashing moment it’s my skin. ‘Did you know we send our managers out to Africa for charity projects?’

‘Yes, I—’
almost applied
. I manage to stop in time. Too close. ‘I saw it on the internet.’

He frowns. ‘You said earlier you hadn't managed to research the company.’

Damn, caught out. ‘That’s right,’ I think fast, ‘but I’m talking about when I was looking into it at college, surfing the net. I remember seeing something about Demetrio doing it as part of a corporate programme.’