Brides, Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters
was out when he arrived back at Friday lunchtime, still buzzed with elation from keeping the client, so he went to unpack his bags upstairs, return a few phone calls and take a shower before coming back down.
Walking into the kitchen, he spotted her standing by the sink with her back to him, washing a mug. He stopped to watch her for a moment, smiling as he realised she was singing softly to herself, her slim hips swaying in time to the rhythm of the song. She had a beautiful voice, lyrical and sweet, and a strange, intense warmth wound through him as he stood there listening to her. It had been a long time since anyone had sung in this house and there was something so pure and uplifting about it a shiver ran down his spine, inexplicably chased by a deep pull of longing.
Though not for Cara, surely? But for a time when his life had fewer sharp edges. A simpler time. A happier one.
Shaking himself out of this unsettling observation, he moved quickly into the room so she wouldn’t think he’d been standing there spying on her.
‘Hi, Cara.’
She jumped and gasped, spinning round to face him, her hand pressed to her chest. She looked fresh and well rested, but there was a wary expression in her eyes.
‘Max! I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘I was upstairs, taking a shower and returning some urgent calls. I got back about an hour ago.’
She nodded, her professional face quickly restored. ‘How was Manchester?’
‘Good. We got them back on board. How have things been here?’
‘That’s great! Things have been fine here. It’s certainly been very quiet without you.’
By ‘quiet’ he suspected she actually meant less fraught with angry outbursts.
There was an uncomfortable silence while she fussed about with the tea towel, hooking it carefully over the handle of the cooker door and smoothing it until it lay perfectly straight.
Tearing his eyes away from the rather disconcerting sight of her stroking her hands slowly up and down the offending article, he walked over to where the kettle sat on the work surface and flicked it on to boil. He was unsettled to find that things still felt awkward between them when they were face to face—not that he should be surprised that they were. Their last non-work conversation had been a pretty heavy one, after all.
Evidently he needed to make more of an effort to be friendly now if he was going to be in with a chance of persuading her to stay after the month’s trial was up.
The thought of going back to being alone in this house certainly wasn’t a comforting one any more. If he was honest, it had been heartening to know that Cara would be here when he got back. Now that the black hole of Jemima’s room had been destroyed and he’d fully opened the door to Cara, the loneliness he’d previously managed to keep at bay had walked right in.
Turning to face her again, he leant back against the counter and crossed his arms.
‘I wanted to talk to you about the quality of the work you’ve been producing.’
Her face seemed to pale and he realised he could have phrased that better. He’d never been good at letting his colleagues know when he was pleased with their work—or Jemima when he was proud of something she’d achieved, he realised with a stab of pain—but after Cara had given it to him straight about how it affected her, he was determined to get better at it.
‘What I mean is—I’m really impressed with the way you’ve handled the work here this week while I’ve been away,’ he amended.
‘Oh! Good. Thank you.’ The pride in her wobbly smile made his breath catch.
He nodded and gave a little cough to release the peculiar tension in his throat, turning back to the counter to grab a mug for his drink and give them both a moment to regroup. There was a brightly coloured card propped up next to the mug tree and he picked it up as a distraction while he waited for the kettle to finish boiling and glanced at what was written inside.
‘You didn’t tell me it was your birthday,’ he said, turning to face her again, feeling an unsettling mixture of surprise and dismay at her not mentioning something as important as that to him.
Colour rushed to her cheeks. ‘Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to leave that lying around.’ She walked over and took the card from his hand, leaning against the worktop next to him and enveloping him in her familiar floral scent. She tapped the corner of the card gently against her palm and he watched, hypnotised by the action. ‘It was on Wednesday. As you were away I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.’ She looked up at him from under her lashes. ‘Don’t worry—I didn’t have a wild house party here while you were away, only a couple of friends over for dinner and we made sure to tidy up afterwards.’
Fighting a strange disquiet, he flapped a dismissive hand at her. ‘Cara, it’s okay for you to keep some of your things in the communal areas and have friends over for your birthday, for God’s sake. I don’t expect the place to be pristine the whole time.’
‘Still. I meant to put this up in my room with the others.’
Despite their pact to be more open with each other, it was evidently going to take a lot more time and effort to get her to relax around him.
Maybe he should present her with some kind of peace offering. In fact, thinking about it, her birthday could provide the perfect excuse.
He’d seen her reading an article about a new play in a magazine one lunchtime last week, and when he picked it up later he noticed she’d put a ring around the box office number, as if to remind herself to book tickets.
After dispatching her back to the office with a list of clients to chase up about invoices, he called the theatre, only to find the play had sold out weeks ago. Not prepared to be defeated that easily, he placed a call to his friend James, who was a long-time benefactor of the theatre.
‘Hey, man, how are things?’ his friend asked as soon as he picked up.
‘Great. Business is booming. How about you?’
‘Life’s good. Penny’s pregnant again,’ James said with pleasure in his voice.
Max ignored the twinge of pain in his chest. ‘That’s great. Congratulations.’
‘Thanks. Let’s just hope this one’s going to give us less trouble arriving into the world.’
‘You’re certainly owed an easy birth after the last time.’
‘You could say that. Anyway, what can I do for you, my friend?’
‘I wanted to get hold of tickets for that new play at the Apollo Theatre for tonight’s performance. It’s my PA’s birthday and I wanted to treat her, but it’s sold out. Can you help me with that?’
‘Your PA, huh?’ There was a twist of wryness in James’s voice that shot a prickle straight up his spine.
‘Yeah. My PA,’ he repeated with added terseness born of discomfort.
His friend chuckled. ‘No problem. I’ll call and get them to put some tickets aside for you for the VIP box. I saw it last week—it’s great—but it starts early, at five, so you’ll need to get a move on.’ There was a loaded pause. ‘It’s good to hear you’re getting out again.’
Max bristled again. ‘I go out.’
‘But not with women. Not since Jemima passed away.’
He sighed, beginning to wish he hadn’t called now. ‘It’s not a date. She’s my PA.’
James chuckled again. ‘Well, she’s lucky to have you for an employer. These tickets are like gold dust.’
‘Thanks, I owe you one,’ Max said, fighting hard to keep the growl out of his voice. To his annoyance, he felt rattled by what his friend was insinuating. It wasn’t stepping over the line to do something like