Out of Hours...Her Ruthless Boss: Ruthless Boss, Hired Wife / Unworldly Secretary, Untamed Greek / Her Ruthless Italian Boss. Кейт Хьюит
now for both of them to notice, ‘that you’d blackmail me?’
‘Here you are, sir.’ The flight attendant returned with two flutes of fizzy champagne, smiling sycophantically at Cormac, who returned it with a quick, playful grin that blazed along Lizzie’s nerve-endings even though it wasn’t directed at her.
She’d never been affected by this man before. Hadn’t remotely expected it. Didn’t like it.
The attendant left and Cormac pushed his drink to the side. He eyed her thoughtfully, as if she were a puzzle to be completed, a problem to be sorted. ‘Blackmail is a dirty word,’ he said after a moment. ‘Not one I prefer to use.’
‘A rose by any other name…’ Lizzie quoted, and he chuckled.
‘Is it blackmail, Chandler, to buy you clothes? To take you to a luxurious villa in the Caribbean, all expenses paid?’ He leaned forward. ‘Or would people—the press—consider it a bribe? An accepted bribe.’
She stilled, her eyes widening in dawning realisation. ‘You’re saying no one would believe me if I told them you were blackmailing me?’
‘I think they’d be more likely to believe that you were a spurned lover. Imagine the press, sweetheart. The tremendously bad press.’
‘Don’t call me sweetheart,’ Lizzie snapped, and he shrugged.
She looked away, tried to quell the roiling nausea that his words had caused.
Suddenly she saw it all in a different, dreadful light. Against Cormac’s calm confidence, she would be a hopeless, helpless wreck. Even if she managed to stammer a defence, no one would believe her. No one would even want to.
The press would be merciless, relishing the scandal. She would be judged, condemned as some sort of cheap gold-digger. Her career would be ruined.
So would Cormac’s.
She turned back to him. ‘Even if telling the truth ruined me, it would ruin you, too. Everyone would know you’d asked me to pretend—you’ve already told the Hassells you’re married!’ Her eyes narrowed and she gathered the courage to hiss, ‘Somehow I think you have a lot more to lose than I do.’
He steepled his fingers under his chin, eyebrows raised. ‘Do I?’
‘You seem to want this commission rather a lot. Why is that?’
He shrugged, even as Lizzie saw a flicker of something—desolation? determination?—in his eyes before it was gone. ‘It’s important to me. A challenge.’ He gazed at her calmly, his eyes now hard and bright, and yet something in that brief flicker had snagged Lizzie’s curiosity. Her sympathy. She knew he wasn’t telling the truth—the whole truth.
But what was the truth? She had no way of discovering it, no way of knowing.
‘Still,’ she pressed, ‘you’re taking a huge risk just for one commission. Your entire career could go up in flames! Even if I agree, someone else might discover the truth…’ She shook her head slowly as she considered the implications. ‘And even if this weekend was a success, there would be other times. You’d be working on the design for this resort for a year at least. How would you explain the fact that you’re not married any more?’
He shrugged. ‘A divorce? A separation? Perhaps I’d simply say you were at home, waiting for me.’ He smiled, although there was an intense, icy light in his eyes that made Lizzie want to shiver.
‘The press would get wind of it…’
‘The Hassells are never in the British press,’ Cormac dismissed. ‘And I’m the only British architect on this weekend. Nobody from England even knows I’m going.’
‘But they’ll find out when you receive the commission,’ Lizzie argued, and Cormac leaned forward.
‘Does that mean you’re agreeing?’ he murmured with sleepy languor.
Lizzie stiffened. ‘Do I really have much choice?’ It hadn’t taken long to realise just how cornered she truly was. Cormac had coldly, calculatingly built the evidence against her. He’d waited until they were on the plane before telling her—there was no escape without shaming them both.
‘You could tell Hassell when we land,’ Cormac offered. ‘I expect he’d believe you. All those family values…’ He waved a hand in contemptuous dismissal. ‘They must count for something when it comes to a damsel in distress.’
‘Yes, and then what? He’ll send us both back on the very next plane, and no doubt tell the press what you’ve done. Your career would be ruined, and so would mine. And you know how rabid tabloid journalists can be. They’d be sniffing around me…around…’ She stopped abruptly and looked away.
‘Around your sister?’ Cormac finished, and Lizzie jerked back to face him.
‘What do you know about my sister?’
‘You’ve been taking care of her for ten years or so, since your parents died,’ Cormac replied calmly. ‘She’s what? Eighteen? Impressionable, probably. I imagine that so much publicity could go to her head quite quickly.’ He smiled.
Lizzie swallowed, tasted bile. She could just about face her own career—her own life—being ruined. But not Dani’s. Nothing could happen to Dani.
She hadn’t spent the last ten years saving and sacrificing to have Dani’s chances at a better life shot to hell…and all because of Cormac.
Cormac. This was all his fault…and there was nothing she could do about it.
‘How do you know so much?’ she demanded in a furious, frightened whisper, and he shrugged.
‘Most of it is on your CV.’
‘So is my name!’ She felt like scratching that arrogant, indulgent smile right off his mouth.
‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘but that information isn’t important to me.’
‘It should be, if you want to pretend to be my husband!’ She’d raised her voice and in one quick, quiet movement Cormac grabbed her wrist, encased her hand in his like a vice. He pressed her fingers against her own mouth in a movement that was almost tender, except for the look in his eyes.
His eyes were cold. Freezing, dangerous. Dead.
‘Careful, Chandler,’ he whispered. ‘You don’t really want to give the game away now, do you?’
‘Yes, I do,’ she choked. She wrenched her hand out of his grasp. ‘You’re such a—’
‘Now, now,’ he murmured, smiling, although his eyes were still cold, still frighteningly flat. Lizzie choked back her words, her fear.
A flight attendant passed, glancing at them curiously.
She probably thought this was a lovers’ spat, Lizzie thought. A little tiff. If it weren’t quite so horrible, it would have been funny.
Except Lizzie did not feel like laughing.
‘Why?’ she asked, and it came out in a wretched whisper. ‘Why are you doing this? It’s only one commission. And it’s such a risk—you could be ruining both of our lives.’
Her head drooped and she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, willed the tears and despair back.
Cormac was silent. ‘If you make it through this weekend,’ he finally told her, his voice soft, ‘I’ll pay you double your normal salary for the rest of the year. I’ll make sure you never receive a word of bad press—even if it all comes out.’
Lizzie looked up bleakly. ‘How can you make sure of that?’
‘I can. Trust me, Chandler. I don’t take foolish risks.’
‘This seems pretty foolish to me,’ she retorted, and he smiled.
‘Yes,