Happily Ever After...: His Reluctant Cinderella / His Very Convenient Bride / A Deal to Mend Their Marriage. Sophie Pembroke
a girlfriend already, it was pretty serious and I was agreeing to bring her along to meet him on Sunday. Two days isn’t a long time to find a convincing fake girlfriend, you know.’
Clara leant back in her chair and regarded him solemnly but Raff could swear those cat’s eyes of hers were sparkling. ‘You seem to be in somewhat of a predicament.’
‘I am.’ He nodded, trying his best to look downcast as hope shot through him. He needed someone cool, someone professional, someone who understood the rules. She would be perfect, if he could just make her see it.
‘I don’t understand why you lied in the first place. A few dates isn’t going to kill you, is it?’ She was looking stern again.
Raff sighed. It was so hard to explain without sounding like an arrogant idiot. ‘I have no intention of sticking around and raising expectations would be unfair.’
‘Presumptuous.’
‘Hardly.’ He laughed but there was little humour in it. ‘These women aren’t the sort to get carried away, at least not where their futures are concerned. The Rafferty name and fortune is old enough and big enough to put me on several “most eligible bachelor” lists. Why do you think I stay out of the country?’
‘Is marriage and a family really so terrible?’ For a moment Raff thought he saw sadness shimmering in her face but one blink and it was gone, replaced by her usual cool professionalism.
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘But not for me, not yet. There’s a lot I need to do before I’m ready for that kind of commitment.’
If he ever was. He’d seen firsthand just what marriage could do. He still didn’t know what was worse: his grandmother staying put out of martyred duty or his mother fleeing as soon as things got tough. Either way it had been hard for Polly and him.
Not that any of his school friends had fared much better. Outside gravy adverts, he still wasn’t entirely sure that happy families existed.
‘Look, I appreciate that I approached this all wrong but I could really use your help.’
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t feel right.’
‘Clara, please.’ He wasn’t too proud to beg. ‘You would be perfect: you own your own business, know Polly. My grandfather will adore you.’
‘Me!’ Was that panic on her face? But there was something else too. She was trying to hide it but she was intrigued.
Raff pressed the point home. ‘Look, I’ll pay you by the day, even if I only need you for a couple of hours, and I’ll owe you. There must be something I can do for you. Don’t you need an eligible date at all? Wedding, christening, bar mitzvah?’
‘My diary’s empty.’ But her lush mouth was tilted up into a smile. ‘Socially at least.’
‘Even better,’ he said promptly. ‘I’m promising you fine dining, glamorous parties and a clothes allowance. Think of me as a particularly masculine fairy godfather whisking you away to the ball.’
‘I can’t just drop everything.’ But, oh, she looked tempted. ‘I have a business, a daughter. What’s she supposed to do whilst I’m out gallivanting with you?’
‘Gallivanting and drumming up business,’ Raff said slyly. Bullseye. Temptation was giving way to interest. ‘Think of the contacts you’ll make.’
‘Contacts in London,’ she demurred.
‘With your talents it wouldn’t matter if they lived in Antarctica,’ he assured her. ‘You’ll be soothing out the wrinkles in half of London’s lives in no time. And it won’t be for long. I’m hoping to get everything sorted out within a month, six weeks tops. I’m sure your parents won’t mind babysitting.’
‘No.’ She looked down at her computer screen, shielding her expression from him. ‘I don’t know, Raff. I’d have to call in a lot of favours, for work and Summer. I need to think about it.’
‘I’ll pay you double your daily rate and cover all costs. And if we’re successful a bonus. Ten thousand pounds.’
‘That’s the second time this week you’ve offered me ten thousand pounds.’ Clara smiled sweetly at him. ‘Burning a hole in your pocket?’
* * *
Ten thousand pounds. Small change to someone like Raff Rafferty but not to her. Add the daily double rate and this job looked as if it could be pretty lucrative.
A much-needed cash injection. Sure, things were ticking along nicely, turnover was healthy. But so were her outgoings. She chose her staff carefully and paid them well, used the best products, made sure she had people on call at all hours. She had a brilliant reputation but maintaining it cost money. It made it hard to save enough to expand and she was wary of borrowing.
If this extra job lasted six weeks she could make fifteen thousand pounds more than she had budgeted for. Enough for recruitment and advertising in a wider area, another small van. Maybe she could even engage a part-time PA for the office? She handled so many of the emails and calls whilst she was out and about. Keeping the office open and staffed in business hours would be fantastic.
It would be added security. For her and for her daughter.
But it would mean spending those next six weeks with Raff Rafferty. A man who unnerved her, flustered her. Could she handle it?
He was still perched on her desk, affecting nonchalance, but the tense set of his shoulders was a giveaway. He wasn’t as relaxed as he liked to make out. He needed her.
Automatically she tapped at her keyboard, lighting up the dormant screen and clicking onto her emails, the very act beginning to calm her taut nerves. The long list of unread emails in bold might daunt some people but she found them soothing, purposeful and she scanned through the subject lines looking for an answer, a reason to turn him down.
Or an excuse to say yes.
Her inbox was the usual mixture of confirmations, enquiries, queries, staff correspondence and sales, nothing meaty, nothing distracting at all. She was about to close it down when a name caught her eye. Pressure filled her chest, making it hard to breathe, and for one long moment everything, the room, Raff Rafferty, her work disappeared.
An email from Byron.
Clara blinked, unsure whether she was seeing things or if the email was actually there. Her hand hovered over her mouse, unable to click as dizzying possibilities filled her mind. He was coming over, he wanted to see Summer, to be involved.
Her daughter wanted for nothing, except for an interested, loving father. Could that be about to change? This was the first time he had contacted her in ten years—that had to be a good sign, right?
‘Clara, are you okay? If you don’t want to do it that’s fine. I’ll call in a favour or two. I’d have preferred to keep things professional, that’s all.’
‘What?’ With difficulty Clara fought her way past all the possibilities and emotions swirling dizzily around her brain. ‘Sorry, I just need to read this. I’ll be with you in a second.’
She noticed detachedly that her hand was shaking as she clicked on the email, the words were dancing in front of her eyes, making no sense at all. She blinked again, forcing herself to concentrate.
Dear Miss Castleton...
The opening line made her reel back, shocked by its formality, but, grimly determined, she read on.
Both Mr Byron Drewe and Mr Archibald Drewe will be visiting London the first week in May and would like to know if it is convenient for you to meet with them to discuss your daughter’s future. Her presence is not required at the meeting.
Please send me any dates and times that week that would be convenient for you to meet and I will let you know the final arrangements and venue nearer the time. Any expenses you