London Falling (14 page)

“Believe me, there is nothing going on between Aimee and me.” Except for some full-on kissing last night.

Lucy narrowed her eyes; she didn’t believe him. “I hope not. Because I like Aimee and I would hate to see her hurt.”

“I believe I should be offended. Why do you think that I would hurt her?”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Do you really see yourself dating her? Telling people you met when she interviewed to be your housekeeper? Introducing her to Father?”

“She’s getting her finance degree. There’s nothing wrong with Aimee or her background.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Lucy rolled her eyes again. “Did you forget that she works for you? That she lives here? That she’s depending on you for her livelihood right now? Or at least a place to live.”

Simon tossed his fork on the plate, his hunger gone. She was right. It was insanity to even consider Aimee in that way. He’d meant to apologize this morning and instead he’d only insulted her with sexual innuendo and rude behavior, and Aimee deserved better than that.

What was wrong with him?

“Don’t worry, there is nothing going on between Aimee and me. I have too much to focus on right now, including this event.” He cleared his throat.

“Can we get back to business?”

Lucy narrowed her eyes at him, but she eventually nodded.

Picking up his notes, he glanced at the first item on his list. Location.

“Did you give Claridges a call to see if anything opened up?”

“Um, hello?” she said, knocking her hand against her head. “New Year’s Eve. You know, the time of year that most people are out celebrating and renting every available space in the city, instead of helping out their ungrateful brother when he calls and begs for last minute help. I checked everywhere, including The Holiday Inn. Just what sort of miracle worker do you expect me to be?”

“Someone must have cancelled. Have you been checking?”

“I’ve been checking. There’s nothing. Besides, this is more intimate.”

“I hate intimate.” Damn, he was still holding out for a last-minute reprieve. The last thing he wanted was a bunch of people wandering through his house and invading his personal space. He couldn’t wait until he no longer had to dance to his father’s tune and could run the business as he wanted. Although his father’s demanding nature had made Simon the success he was today, at some point he had to let Simon sink or swim on his own.

“The invitations are already out, Simon.” She tossed a cream-colored card onto his desk. “I had no problem getting Isabella Piccininni from the Royal Opera. They’re thrilled that they’ve got another wealthy benefactor in their clutches and they’re willing to do whatever it takes to pry money from your fingers. I’m planning to have her sing for everyone at eight. I haven’t been able to sort the caterer yet.” She cleared her throat. “I was wondering what you thought about having Aimee cater the event? She’s seems to be a good cook, and she’s already here.”

He laughed. “Right. Because the Royal Protection Services won’t do a background check on every person in the house and having an illegal serve the royal family and half the House of Lords wouldn’t cause a scandal. We’re going to have to get her out of the house that night.”

Lucy sighed. “You’re right. I’ll see if I can convince her to stay at my place.”

He swallowed. His life was a house of cards right now. With one false move, everything could tumble down. “Good. She has to be gone that night, no matter what we have to do to arrange it.”

A uniform? Aimee pulled out a pair of beige cashmere pants. Were they both insane? Like she could wear any of this to clean house. She added the cashmere pants to a pair of black Chloe pants, a Calvin Klein skirt, a fitted cotton shirt of which she didn’t even recognize the brand name it was probably so exclusive, and a long Burburry sweater. Oh, and a pair of Prada shoes. Yes, Prada shoes. Brands so exclusive that she’d never even considered walking past a store that carried them, let alone wearing them. She didn’t even want to try them on. That much.

How could Lucy just give this stuff away? No one gave anything away for free, least of all designer clothes. And what if she messed them up? She didn’t have the money to pay for these.

She unzipped the second bag and discovered that at least Lucy had a practical side. A pair of Earl jeans, several Gap t-shirts, a black turtleneck, and a pair of tennis shoes. Coach tennis shoes, but at least they were tennis shoes. Unfortunately, they were way too big for her feet. And an old ski jacket, thank goodness. If she was very careful and wore her pajamas when she cleaned and cooked, she might get through this and return the clothes unscathed.

The jeans were a little too wide at the waist and too long, but she folded them up at the bottom and covered the gaping waist with the turtleneck sweater. By the time she added her boots, she looked half-way respectable.

Respectable enough to visit the police station to see if they’d located Rodney and all her stuff. The last time she’d spoken to the cops, they’d barely given her the time of day and acted like it wasn’t worth their time to even talk to her. One of them even had the gall to suggest that she might have “forgotten” that she loaned her stuff to Rodney. As if. She still had a raging desire to kick that cop in the groin–after she poked his eyes out with a stick.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t be at the station when she got there, and instead some nice female cop would help her try to locate Rodney.

After she let Cupcake out to do his business, she left him in her room and went to go find Simon. She needed cash to put her plan into motion, and running errands was the perfect cover. In his study, Simon was packing his briefcase. Lucy stood with her coat and was the first to spot her.

“Oh lovely, the clothes fit,” Lucy said.

Simon’s head snapped up. He perused her outfit, almost as though he was looking for something to be wrong with it, but a flare of approval lit his eyes.

Aimee let out her breath, not realizing until that moment how much she had wanted his approval. “I’m heading out to run errands.”

“I’ll give you a ride,” he said.

“No, I’m line.”

“No, I’ll give you a ride.”

“No, that’s okay. I don’t need one.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m dropping Lucy off on my way, so it’s not an issue.”

“Seriously. I’m line. I have to run a personal errand so there’s no need to go out of your way.”

“What do you mean, personal errand?” he asked.

If she wanted to keep her baking plans a secret, she couldn’t have him following her into the grocery store, and she definitely didn’t want him to follow her to the police station. She picked the most boring task. “I have to stop by the police station, see if they found my stuff.” He’d never want to do that. “Seriously, I can take the tube.”

Although he said nothing, he did do the eyebrow-raising thing again.

And he waited. And waited.

It was cold outside. And he probably wouldn’t want to come inside the station. “Fine,” she said.

As they headed out the door, Simon stopped on the front porch, looked right and then left.

“What are you doing?” Lucy asked front the sidewalk below.

He said nothing, but grabbed Aimee’s arm and led her across the street.

“What are you doing?” Aimee asked, trying to shrug his hand off her arm.

“Simon?” Lucy said from behind.

He stopped in front of a beige sedan. A guy wearing a black puffer jacket was contorted around the gearshift as if he were sleeping. Simon knocked on the driver’s window, but the guy ignored them. Simon tapped on the window again.

“What’s going on?” Lucy asked. “Who is that?”

The guy must have realized that they weren’t going away, because he finally sat up and opened the window. He looked at Aimee, then Lucy, and then focused on Simon. His face turned red.

Simon leaned one arm on the top of the car and pulled Aimee’s face closer to the window. “This is Aimee Kennedy. She’s a friend of my brother’s.

In town from Seattle.”

The guy looked at Aimee. “Hey,” she said.

The guy nodded back, but didn’t say anything. If anything, he looked like he wanted to disappear right through the floor of the car.

“Just thought you might want to get the name right in your report.”

The guy’s jaw dropped.

When he turned away from the car, Simon’s grin was infectious, but as he led them across the street to a black BMW, she gulped back her laughter.

And stared. Simon’s car was beautiful. A dream car. And it flashed its lights in welcome when Simon pointed his key fob toward it. Before climbing inside, Aimee couldn’t help sliding her hand over the shiny metal door and inhaling the new leather smell. She could curl up in heaven right on the spotless back seat. Someday, she would own a car like this.

“Did you just introduce me to the private detective?” she asked Simon, after she memorized the feel of the soft leather seat.

“Yes.” Simon turned his head to look behind him as he backed up in the parking space.

“Are you crazy?” Lucy asked. “You just introduced Aimee to the guy being paid to catch you in a scandal!”

“Of course,” Aimee said. Lucy turned around in her seat, her eyes questioning. “Because Simon handed him the story, the guy won’t need to investigate further, and Simon ensured that his version sticks.”

Simon’s eyes met hers in the rearview mirror, and for once, there was a smile in them.

Lucy started giggling. “Did you see his face? I thought he was going to pass out right in front of us.” As soon as Simon pulled into traffic on the next street over, however, her laughter stopped, and she gripped the armrest.

“Red light!” she said. Simon slammed on the brakes.

“I knew that,” he said.

A few blocks later, they dropped a white-knuckled Lucy at her flat and Aimee switched to the front seat. The buildings blurred past the window as Simon shifted gears and dodged in and out of traffic. Aimee played with the individual temperature controls and burned up her butt with the seat heater, but she wasn’t about to turn it off. Boy did this beat the bus! Up ahead, a light turned red and Simon slammed on the brakes to stop in time.

“You’re not clutching the armrest like you’re prepared to die at any moment,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because everyone else does?”

Aimee shrugged.

He turned his head to stare at her in surprise, missing his chance to dart in front of the second lane of traffic when the light turned green. She pointed at the light, and he put the car back in gear and returned to the race. They passed the street where her hotel was located.

“What, no comment about how speeding doesn’t seem like me?” He cut in front of a taxi before accelerating through a yellow-red light.

“This is totally you.”

“This isn’t me at all!” he said, sounding incredulous that she would state the obvious.

“Uh, hello? Who’s driving right now?”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m a stuffy banker who’s followed the rules his entire life.” He glanced in the rearview mirror before passing a slow-moving sedan. “This isn’t who I am.” He switched lanes again and pulled to a stop at the red light.

Oh, this was getting interesting. “I beg to differ.” She shifted in her seat so she faced him. His jaw was clean-shaven this morning and he looked so gorgeous that she almost lost her train of thought. Stuffy banker? Her scorched ass. As he dodged in and out of London traffic, he reminded her of James Bond–the kind of man you wanted saving you when things got really intense. “First of all, I think you enjoy the rush.” He wrinkled his mouth in disagreement. “And, I don’t think you actually like following the rules, even though you’ve been forced into a situation where you have to do that.”

“That’s ridiculous. You sound like you are describing my brother. Not me.”

She counted on her fingers, even though he couldn’t follow. “One, you let me stay even though you didn’t know me, and I could have murdered you in your sleep.” He laughed. “And I could still murder you in your sleep.” She turned her head to give him the evil eye. “Two. You didn’t even blink that a puppy was tearing up and down your antique filled home. Three. You figured out a way to keep me here, even though it could risk your chances with the royal family. Four. You have spy novels next to your bed. Not exactly the reading material of a stuffy banker. And, I can’t remember what number I’m on, but you seem at ease driving like this.”

“You don’t think I’m stuffy?” he asked, but his tone betrayed a serious interest in her answer. Someone honked behind them. He cursed and put the car in gear. Another block and they arrived at the police station, where he parallel parked in one expert move. He turned to look at her. “Well?”

“No, I don’t think you’re stuffy.”

He smiled. “So what else do you think of me?”

“I think I’m saying, ‘I’ll see you later.’”

He turned off the car and pulled the key out of the ignition.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m coming inside with you.”

“No you’re not!” she said, but she said it to his back as he got out of the car. He circled around and opened her door. If he came inside with her, he’d learn how naive she’d been. She stayed in her seat. “You’re not coming with me.” He continued to hold the door for her, not saying anything. A gust of icy wind whipped through the open door and blew her hair in her face. “Don’t you have to go to work today?”

“Yes. And the longer we stand here, the longer I put off all the work I need to get done.”

“Errrgh.” She slid out of the seat, and a rush of frigid air slapped her pre heated butt right through her jeans. She took off for the doors of the station.

The car door popped shut behind her, and he caught up with her in two seconds.

“I can handle this on my own,” she said.

“I know you can.”

“Then why not let me?”

He put his hand on her arm to stop her before they entered the building His eyes were searching. “I’ve never met anyone so determined not to accept help when it’s offered. Although you may not have realized, I do have some sway. And you aren’t going to shrivel up and die if you admit that someone else might be able to do something you can’t. It’s not weakness to accept help.” His eyes narrowed against the wind, but he didn’t break his gaze.