Hate to Love You (23 page)

“Excuse me?”

“Décor’s a bit scary.”

He grimaced and it made me want to shake him. Or better yet,
remind him of a certain bridal suite which had been anything but staid or
classy.

The senior partner’s niece, Patricia, was a dumpy brunette who
turned out to be pleasant, if vacuous. She informed me that “us girls” could
chill out at the pool while the men worked. It seemed pretty sexist to me but at
the end of the day I’d rather veg by a pool than be stuck indoors. Besides,
vitamin D is essential for your health.

My room for the night was on the third floor, along the
corridor from James and Greg. After an afternoon and evening where I saw nothing
of either boss I did the Spanish thing and took a siesta, then showered and
changed for the party.

I dressed conservatively—for me, anyway—in a tight
spaghetti-strap dress the colour of blood. I checked my cleavage. Yep,
definitely on display. Too much, I wondered? My nipples were suitably contained
so I decided not to worry. Heart of a Harlot Scarlet coated my lips and I’d
combed my hair into shiny waves down my back. I’d overslept, but I hoped my
tardiness would be overlooked.

I faced myself in the mirror and frowned. Ignoring the habit of
a lifetime, I deliberately looked into my eyes. The pain I always felt when I
did this hit me, but this time it was different. Muted. More like the throb of
recent trauma than the splitting pain of a gaping wound. I gazed at myself,
unsure. The more I looked at my reflection, the more she looked back at me,
waiting for me to explore deeper.

No!

I had a party to go to downstairs. A garish extravaganza in red
and black, as it turned out. Black and red velvet sofas and plush floor cushions
dotted the rooms. The red taffeta curtains were ruffled like flamenco dresses
and there were large, gilded mirrors on the walls. I checked out the ceiling,
half-expecting to see mirrors, and was slightly disappointed there weren’t
any.

Vibrant and glitzy, the party had an overtone of sexual
abandon. As well as chatting and drinking, couples were full-on making out and
people shared joints or snorted lines of coke. I took a deep breath. Should I
watch the X-rated or the class-A? Off to the left I found a smaller room with a
dance floor, complete with neon lighting and glittering disco balls. The music
was retro.

Sr Doria’s idea of a party was sex, drugs and disco dancing. I
wanted to dance but I also wanted to find James. I smirked, picturing him
dressed as John Travolta, strutting his sexy stuff or doing Michael Jackson’s
“grab and pump” in tight leather.

I suspected Sr Doria came from a poor background like me,
except I was the rags part of “rags to riches” and he’d made it to riches long
ago. I didn’t have any ambitions to be rich but if I ever were I hoped I
wouldn’t choose flamenco-meets-disco-porn for my home décor. I spotted Sr Doria
chatting to an actress I recognised from my favourite Spanish soap. He had his
arm around a busty brunette and was stroking her nipple through her dress.
Looking at the beauty I no longer felt conservative; I felt downright
frumpy.

My dress showed some skin but nothing like the amount of flesh
on display. Walking around the party was like walking on a tightrope: keep your
head level and don’t look down. The men were in black and the women in varying
shades of red. The colour contrast, coupled with the acrid smell of weed, was
giving me a headache.

Where was James?

Greg was on a corner sofa, sucking on Patricia’s face as if she
was an ice-lolly, all tongue and loud slurping noises. No wonder he had the
inside scoop on my job. He turned his head as I walked past and grabbed my arm,
eyes heavy-lidded and red.

“James went back to Valencia,” he said. “Big emergency at the
London office he had to deal with from the hotel.”

“Isn’t he coming back?” I exclaimed. “I mean, don’t we have
work to do in the morning?”

Greg mimicked James’s formal tone. “You’re in charge of the
final signings, Greg,” he sneered. “So big of James to allow me the grunt
work.”

Patricia kissed him sloppily. Her red outfit looked like
something a hooker would throw on the reject pile.

“Have fun tonight, Elizabeth,” she said brightly. “I see you’ve
let your hair down so enjoy it. Plenty of men around, women too if that’s your
fancy.”

I’m far from being a prude but all the same that was a little
too open for me. Oh God, was I turning into my mother? No fudging way! An image
of her running in and waving her rosary flashed in my mind, except it was my
face on her body. I left Greg and Patricia, feeling more unsettled by the
minute.

I’d never thought of myself as straight-laced or prissy. That
was Caroline’s territory. You want to have sex in front of a bunch of people? I
don’t want to watch but if it makes you happy... Twosome? Multiple choice?
Whatever. Not my joyride but I won’t condemn consenting adults. Go for it, I
say; just don’t forget the condoms.

I looked around, both repelled and fascinated. I’d never been
to a party like this. The sexual watershed left me cold but the drugs and booze
made me sweat. I was angry with James for leaving and angry with myself for
being angry. The urge to share a spliff with the skinny blonde in bondage-wear
was hard to resist. Alarm bells were ringing all over the place and I had to get
out of there. Mindful of my professional duties, I found Sr Doria and made my
excuses.

He waved me off, telling me to indulge myself whatever way I
fancied. Well I fancied a lot of ways but I indulged my empty stomach and then
escaped to my room. Literally, because on the way I got pounced on by a randy
partygoer. I was mumbling to myself, angry and frustrated and craving a hit when
he waved his dick and asked point blank for a quickie. It was pretty pathetic
and I didn’t feel threatened but I needed to let off steam. Luckily, my stint as
a homeless teenager taught me where to kick.

While he wheezed and cursed I slipped my shoes off and sprinted
to the third floor. Panting heavily, I ran into my room, slid the bolt home and
rested against the door. Then I jumped out of my skin. Greg was on my bed, naked
to the waist, looking me up and down as though I was another frozen treat. He
was drinking something with plenty of dark Bacardi. I could smell it across the
room.

He patted the mattress. “Come over here, Betty.”

Oh for bloody hell’s sake!

I’d had enough of men popping up on me and creeping me out, and
I’d had enough of watching people indulge. The carefully knitted rope holding me
together felt pretty
effing
fragile. I prided myself
on my ability to “Just Say No,” but resisting temptation had taken every last
molecule of willpower I had.

I wanted a hit so badly I could taste it, could see myself
heading back and snorting, shooting and popping anything and everything on
offer. Drowning in vodka straight from the bottle. I threw my shoes at Greg and
bared my teeth.

“Get the hell out of my room.”

His eyes went wide and he scrambled off the bed. “Calm down,
Lizzie. It’s just a courtesy call to give you the heads up. I’ve got two pussies
desperate and waiting for me down the corridor.”

Ugh!
“Spill or get out.”

He smacked his lips. “Patricia and a blonde with massive tits.
She’s—”

“Not about that! What did you want to tell me?”

His sly look was tinged with relish. “James phoned about the
emergency. In case you hadn’t heard, it appears someone’s been sticking their
gorgeous little fingers into the euro biscuit tin. We found out the day before
you came back to work. Client funds have gone missing from several Spanish
accounts. James asked me not to say anything because you’re under
suspicion.”

My jaw dropped along with the penny. “Me?”

Greg shrugged. “James wanted to know which accounts I gave you
access to. The money missing is from client accounts you do fiduciary deposits
for.”

I gawped at him, dismayed. Did James really think I would steal
from our clients? I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to ease the pounding
in my forehead.

“I was going to tell you about some irregularities I noticed
but then my parents died and... Damn it, I forgot!”

“Sure you did,” Greg said. He walked up and shoved his glass
under my chin. “Drink up Liza, you know you want to.”

I slapped the glass away, spilling some of his drink on my
dress.

“Don’t you want to know what I said? I told James I gave you my
banking codes and you did the transfers. You insisted, if I remember correctly.
I distinctly recall you saying you wanted to practice.”

I was horrified. “But that’s the truth. I needed to get to
grips with the fiducs. Those accounts are so convoluted, especially the Swiss
ones and—”

His gleeful laugh cut me off. “James is in deep shit if he
doesn’t find the money. Such a shame if his negligence gets him fired.”

“Fired?” I gasped.

“Not really,” Greg said, scowling. “But the scandal will render
him persona non grata. In good conscience he’ll end up turning down the
partnership they offered him. He’ll resign in disgrace just like he did at
Wimpress & Wimpress after ‘Trash at the Bash’ went viral.”

He looked me over and whistled appreciatively.

“I underestimated you, Lizby. You came up with something better
than what you did at James’s wedding and I congratulate you. Although, revenge
against James is hardly worth going to jail for in my opinion. But I guess
you’re so angry you don’t give a fuck. When I told you about Patricia taking
your position you thought you’d get back at James and Flintfire by stealing our
clients’ money. Motive and opportunity. Clever little bitch, aren’t you?”

My alarm hit the ceiling. “Why do I have to be the guilty one?”
I said, voice rising in panic.

“Because you’re the poor slut who needs it the most. What would
I do with a measly five hundred grand?”

“Half a million pounds is measly to you?”

He gave me a smug, satisfied look. “My wife is the heiress to a
fortune bigger than anything a working-class secretary could ever dream of.”

“Wow. It’s my turn to congratulate you,” I said sarcastically.
“Why do you even bother to work?”

“Because my father-in-law hasn’t had the grace to drop dead
yet, of course.”

Disgusted, I thought about the happy-looking woman in the
office picture and felt sorry for her. “Well I didn’t steal the money, so James
can investigate all he wants. Now get out of my room or—”

“Or, if you let me fuck you I’ll make sure they’re not too hard
on you.”

Ugh
. Greg looked as though he
wanted to suck on me like he’d sucked on Patricia. I opened the door and gave
him the finger, using it to signpost the pathway to hell. When he reached me he
leaned in, getting so close I could see the freckles on his chest and the slight
sag of his skin. I didn’t move even though his smell made me nauseous. If he
touched me I was going to twist his dick so hard the only thing he got
satisfaction out of tonight was an ice pack.

I smiled, seeing the intention in his eyes and getting my hand
into position. James’s thin voice pulled me back.

“Am I interrupting?”

Chapter Twenty

Casa Escondida

James came towards us as if the devil were on his tail. In one glance he took in Greg’s naked torso, my shoeless dishevelment and the way my hand was frozen halfway to Greg’s dick.

Greg winked at James. “Not interrupting, James, we’ve just finished. I’m heading back to my room for some extra fun.”

He sauntered down the corridor as if he’d just had the best lay of his life.

James looked me up and down, his accusing face immediately fanning my anger.

“What was Greg doing in your bedroom?”

I matched his tone. “He was enjoying lawyer-secretary relations, what else?”

His answer was to walk into my room, forcing me to follow. He slid the bolt shut and crossed his arms. No way! I was not going to listen to a lecture about professionalism. And besides, when did my room become a free-for-all? I made a move to show him the door but James swung me around by the shoulders.

His fingers burned into my skin. “I was told you left the party with a man.”

“If you mean the sex maniac whose dick I yanked halfway to the Costa Brava, then yes. Not that I owe you any explanations.”

His grip relaxed. Then he caught a whiff of my dress. “Have you been drinking?”

I wrenched away from him, hurt and angry—and just a little bit
loca
.

“Who the hell do you think you are barging in here and demanding explanations? I’m an alcoholic, a drug-addicted slut, right? So of course I downed a bottle of rum, had a few rounds of powdery bliss and spread my legs for every guy who’d have me! It’s been a long time and I really enjoyed it, especially the stud in black leather with the massive penis.”

James’s brows knitted together, making him look like a Neanderthal throwback. In fact, he looked as if he might club me over the head and drag me into his cave. Words zinged in his eyes too quickly to catch them all but what I did see—
Greg
,
bedroom
,
sex—
made me want to go iron-age and whack him with a pole.

I pointed to the door. “You need to leave, Scott-Thomas.”

He leaned back on his heels.

“Hey, time to beam out, Scotty.”

He cleared his throat. “I apologise for jumping to conclusions.”

I crossed my arms. “You have no right to question me.”

He crossed his. “I beg to differ.”

He’s right
, my mind agreed
.

As Ryan’s dad he had every right to know if I was using or drinking. I shut my eyes and rubbed my throbbing forehead.

“I had a hard time down there, okay?”

“No drugs or alcohol?”

I sighed and looked him in the eyes. He would either believe me or not. “No, but I won’t tell you I didn’t want them. Badly.”

James scowled. “Get your things. We’re leaving.”

“What?” I gasped. “Did you dine on crazy in Valencia? Number thirty-three on the menu was the
non compos mentis
special? It’s past eleven and you’ve made three trips today.”

He looked at me like he did at the office when he expected me to jump at his command. I ran my eyes up and down his tall, be-suited body. Dark and broody? Check. Angry and arrogant? Of course. But he didn’t look as though he’d had an attack of the crazies, unless—

“Have
you
been drinking?”

James glanced at his watch and headed to the door. “If you want to see Ryan next weekend you’ll be ready in five minutes.”

It took me two minutes to put my shoes on and grab my case.

* * *

A full moon kept us company as we sped along the coast. It cast its light on a glittering black sea, keeping just ahead of us as we drove to wherever James was taking me. I knew it wasn’t Valencia; we’d passed the turn-off a few minutes back. I ate a bit of my hair and spat it out.

“Where are we going?” I shouted.

I didn’t get an answer and from James’s tense profile I understood I wasn’t going to. Was the tightness in his shoulders due to the missing money I wasn’t supposed to know he’d found out about? Another time I might’ve asked him but I was in no mood for confrontation. As I gazed at the dark, mysterious waters, the moon’s reflection lulled me to sleep.

I woke up when we pulled into a single-track dirt road with no lighting. The air was more humid and it smelled of salt and seaweed. Had we turned towards the coast? The sound of crashing waves got louder as we approached a looming shadow ahead.

“Where are we?”

“Nowhere.”

Nowhere looked like the base of a large cliff. The closer we got the slower James drove, until we were approaching at snail’s pace. Then we drove into the rock face. Well, that’s what it seemed like anyway. James maneuvered the MG through a tiny gap in the cliff, the fit tight enough to reach my hand out and touch the rock. Seconds later we emerged onto a beach, with nothing except sand and sea to keep us company.

I looked around, bemused. “Is this where you strangle me and dump the body? Because I’m not dressed for death.”

“Dressed to kill,” he muttered.

I turned in my seat. “Are you going to tell me where we are?”

“Puerto Escondido.”

“You mean the Puerto Escondido you have on your desktop?” He looked at me sharply. “I saw the folder when I used your Mac. I wasn’t snooping,” I added hastily.

“The content is password protected.”

He got out of the car and took his shoes off, clearly expecting me to do the same. I followed suit, hoping it wasn’t one of those beaches with bits of debris or glass in the sand. It would be just my luck to step on something painful. The sand proved immaculate. Soft and cool, and soothing after my high heels.

James waited for me at the shoreline. I’d scoffed at many a corny film where the lovebirds walk down a moonlit beach holding hands. Kissy-kissy and lovey-dovey, sick-inducing sweetness. Now I wished we’d do the same, minus the sick part.

There was nothing loverlike about James’s posture though. I sighed, grabbed my handbag and went to meet him. He was looking at the sea as I approached. The summer heat hadn’t fled with the night and in the moonlight a thin sheen of sweat shone on his face and in the little hollow between his collarbones.

I made my voice light. “I’m not skinny dipping with you.”

James didn’t crack a smile. Like I said, I’m not good at being funny. We walked in silence and I focused on the crashing waves, enjoying the spray on my legs. It made me remember the stories of my early childhood, when only mermaids and silkies were waiting for me in the deep dark sea.

A few minutes later James veered inland to the base of the cliff. There was a small metal plaque nailed straight into it. I squinted and James took out a small flashlight and lit it for me to see.

Casa Escondida
.

Hidden house.

I didn’t need the flashlight to see the wooden steps jammed between the narrow gaps in the cliff. “You have got to be kidding me,” I said, gawping at the climb.

“Follow where I lead,” James warned. “It’s steep and potentially dangerous.”

Understatement of the year.

He slung my shoes and handbag over his shoulder and started climbing. I groaned. This had to be my punishment for every petty thought I’d ever had about him. I held on to the rope rail and followed where James stepped, hoping I wouldn’t fall onto the jagged cliff underneath. I lost count after one hundred and twenty-seven steps, but there were at least the same again.

My thighs ached and I was out of breath. James seemed barely winded, damn it, but it was clear my so-called exercise regime sucked. The first thing I saw when I reached the top was a small dirt parking area.

“What the—?”

I couldn’t see James’s face but his voice sounded amused. “I thought you’d enjoy the walk. It’s the best way to reach Casa Escondida.”

He gestured at the large two-story building behind him. It was in need of TLC but even shrouded in semi-darkness I could see it was beautiful. A typical Spanish hacienda with wooden shutters on the windows, and a wide outdoor porch that ran the length of the ground floor.

“So...when in Valencia you disappear to Casa Escondida?” I asked, flitting my eyes between the house and James.

“I’m going to run it as a rustic getaway.”

“And being a lawyer?”

“I’d had enough a long time ago. I put off my dream because of Ryan but he’s older now and he loves it here. I’ve turned down an offer of partnership and will be leaving Flintfire at the end of the year.”

“Greg will be pleased,” I murmured, and James chuckled.

I followed him into the house and we walked straight into a large sitting room. The walls were painted in terracotta, washed out and stained in some places and darker where pictures used to hang. A faded sofa and a few mismatched pieces of rustic furniture vied for attention with a fraying rug. It wasn’t the sort of place I would have imagined James taking a liking to and I told him as much.

“And why’s that?” he asked.

I snorted. “Duh...’cause you’re a posh snob, innit
?
”

He looked affronted. “No I’m not.”

“News to me. But besides that, this place is bohemian and relaxed.”

“I can be relaxed.”

“Yeah, like when you’re sleeping?”

“You tell me.”

Okay, it was official: James was doing my head in. I did a rewind to the first day at Flintfire and then fast-forwarded to now, sifting through the images and picking out clues like little lumps of sugar. His attitude was cold but his looks were steamy. He’d danced with me at the office, almost beat Manuel up to protect me and let me sob all over him in Brighton.

Today he’d flirted at the hotel and been angry at finding me with Greg. Then he’d brought me to his hidden lair and from the look on his face and the blast of heat he was throwing my way, he was gearing up to ravish me.

Oh for fudge’s sake! I mean he was gearing up to
screw my brains out
, damn it, not ravish me. My body went on alert and little tremors of anticipation coursed through me, silencing the voice screaming “danger!”

“Why did you bring me here?” I asked huskily.

And just like that all traces of warmth disappeared from James’s face. “Funds have been embezzled from Flintfire’s client accounts.”

Translation: James thought I was a thief, just as Greg had said. That he would believe me guilty after his tender compassion in Brighton felt worse than one of my father’s punches. I stuck my hands on my hips.

“Did you hide the loot in that trunk over there, Scott-Thomas? Because I get it now—it’s Montecristo meets Bond and the baddies are after you, right? But what do you need me for?”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I brought you here to ask you a few questions.”

Of course
.
How stupid to think he wanted to show me Casa Escondida because I was important to him. He didn’t want to interrogate me at Sr Doria’s villa in case I needed cuffed and hauled off to jail. A recurring theme where he and I were concerned, and I would have laughed had I not felt weighted by his suspicion.

I guess you can’t destroy people’s lives and expect them to trust you. I didn’t bother telling myself I shouldn’t care what James thought. I was too miserable, too frazzled from the party to attempt the lie. The fact was I cared deeply and I always had. But James would only ever think the worst of me and nothing I ever did would change his opinion.

Why had I thought he cared about me? Wanted me?

Disappointment sank into my pores, saturating me with its heaviness. I tried to rise above it but it clung to my skin like quicksand, threatening to drag me under. I had to get out of there, run straight into the sea and wash it off. Maybe I would shed my human skin while I was at it, become a silkie and swim away.

James blocked me at the door. “Did you appropriate the funds from our client accounts?”

His tone was the one I hated most from him—dry, cold and hard as steel—but it was exactly what I needed.

“You should’ve joined Greg in my bedroom,” I said. “Then both of you could’ve dropped your pants and I would’ve seen who’s the bigger prick.”

He inhaled sharply. “Did you indulge your physical needs with Greg?”

“
Indulge my physical needs
?” I mimicked derisively. “Like drinking water or going to the bathroom?”

“I’m waiting, Ms Benítez.”

“Oh, so we’re back to Ms Benítez, are we? If you must know, Greg and I bonked like rabbits on speed. He’s got a huge dick. I barely managed to fit my mouth around it. It was like a watermelon, red and juicy and...”

Crap. Why hadn’t I said it was as big as a cricket bat or as long as a police truncheon? James’s face looked oddly severe, as though he was caught between anger and laughter.

“A watermelon?” he asked.

“That’s right!”

“Awfully big for a rabbit.”

I rubbed my abdomen salaciously. “I’m still sore.”

“Did you take the money?” he said, all traces of humour gone.

“No!”

“Do you know who did?”

“No.”

Some of the tension left his shoulders. “I believe you.”

“But Greg said—”

“Did you sleep with him?”

I stared at him, open-mouthed.

“Answer me,” he demanded.

Of all the bloody—

“What is it with you, anyway? You accuse me of drinking, then you drag me down a beach and up a death trap so you can accuse me of stealing. And now you want to butt into my sex life?”

“I didn’t accuse you. I asked, like I’m asking you now. Did you have sex with Greg or anybody else tonight?”

One-track mind or what? I threw my hands in the air.

“
You
obviously need to get laid, James. Go back to that orgy you told me nothing about and find a willing partner or three. Or if that doesn’t suit... Just. Screw. Yourself.”

“Answer me.”

“What do you care? And don’t give me that bull about unprofessional conduct.”

“I want to know because of Ryan.”

“No way, that is not your reason. I could still be a mother to Ryan even if I’d channelled Don Juan at the orgy. I know what you’re after. You want to judge me and feel superior. You want to compare me to women like Caroline and congratulate yourself for your discerning tastes.”