Innocent In The Boardroom. Joss Wood
you have something to say then you might as well get it off your chest. I don’t think I can face your constant disapproval. And I’m guessing from those pursed lips that you do disapprove of me?’
‘I... No, of course I don’t...’ Her voice fell away.
‘Of course you do. You have opinions on the type of person I am, and admiration isn’t one of them. That’s something you’ve decided you’ll leave to those adoring fans of mine.’
Hot colour crawled up into her cheeks. Pursed lips. She was a woman with pursed lips and disapproval and starchy suits. He was fun. And she was the schoolmarm who always rained on his parade.
Except it wasn’t fun when there was some poor, deluded hopeful woman at the receiving end, was it?
‘I have a lot of admiration for your business acumen,’ she said stiffly. ‘They say that everything you touch turns to gold. That’s quite an achievement. I think it takes a lot to be a guy who builds all the businesses and it’s something quite different from the guy who services them. You’re the guy who builds the businesses.’
‘Not exactly adoring, though, is it...?’ he mused. ‘When it comes to accolades...?’
He enjoyed the way she blushed. It was something he had never noticed before. Like a wayward horse tugging at its reins, his mind broke its leash and zoomed back to the picture of her in those shorts, long legs going on for ever, full breasts bouncing braless in that small top.
Great body sternly kept under wraps because she had learned lessons from having a mother who was too ready to flaunt hers.
Had she ever flaunted her body for a man?
‘I don’t have to be a member of your fan club to appreciate that you’re talented at what you do.’
She wanted to tell him that this was hardly appropriate conversation, but she suspected that he didn’t give a damn what was appropriate and what wasn’t. He did what he wanted to do because he could.
If she annoyed him too much she would probably find herself next to George on a trip to never-never land.
‘But when it comes to anything that isn’t work-related your admiration levels drop off sharply—am I right?’ Her face was averted and he absently appreciated the fine delicacy of her profile. He had a sudden urge to release her long chestnut-brown hair from its ridiculous clips and pins.
‘I suppose I have different standards to you when it comes to relationships,’ she said eventually, when the silence was threatening to overwhelm her. She wasn’t looking at him, but she could feel his dark eyes boring into the side of her face.
What was this all about? He didn’t give a hoot what she thought about his personal life. Maybe he was irritated because she was being a little more forthcoming than he was used to, but her outspokenness probably amused him.
She was providing him with a different taste sensation—why not try it?
‘And tell me what those standards are...’
Kate swung to look at him and discovered that he was leaning towards her, far too close for comfort.
Dark, dark eyes with ridiculously long eyelashes clashed with hers and the breath caught in her throat. She inched back, furious with herself for feeling uncomfortable in his presence, for letting him get to her, when she had given herself a stern talk about all that nonsense before she had left her house.
‘I...’
‘You’re not going to dry up on me now, are you, Kate? When you’ve come this far?’
And just how had she managed to do that? she wondered. One minute they were striding through an airport and the next minute she had launched into a personal attack on his moral standards. Or as good as!
Trapped by her own idiocy, she frantically tried to think of a clever way to change the conversation, but he was waiting for her to say something. And not a sudden commentary on the weather or the state of the economy. No such luck. Why would he rescue her from her hideous discomfort when he could get a kick from pinning her to the wall and watching her wriggle like a worm on a hook?
‘I don’t approve of men who...use women. Maybe that’s the wrong word,’ she corrected hastily. ‘I mean I don’t approve of men who slide in and out of relationships, trying them on for size and then discarding the ones that don’t quite fit.’
‘And what about women who try men on for size?’
‘That doesn’t happen.’
‘No?’ He raised his eyebrows in a cool question. ‘Ever had a boyfriend, Kate?’
‘Of course I have!’ she said hotly. ‘And I don’t see what that has to do with anything!’
‘Where is he now?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Where is this wonder guy now?’ He peered around him, as if at any moment the man in question would stride out from where he had been hiding behind a computer terminal.
‘We... It finished...’
‘Ah.’ Alessandro sat back and linked his fingers lightly on his lap. ‘So it didn’t work out?’
‘No, it didn’t,’ Kate said uncomfortably.
‘Was it a case of him using you ruthlessly before tossing you aside on the discarded heap?’
‘No!’ she cried, as flustered as a witness sitting in the box, being picked apart by the prosecution.
‘Well, what happened, in that case?’ And now his tone had changed. Very subtly. Because he’d discovered that he was curious about this mystery guy who hadn’t chucked her on his discards pile. ‘And don’t think about launching into a little sermon about it being none of my business. You don’t seem to have too many qualms about speaking your mind, so you can answer one or two questions of your own.’
‘We broke up.’ She shrugged and tore her eyes away from his lean, aggressive face. ‘The timing was wrong,’ she admitted grudgingly. ‘I was very busy. I wasn’t in the right place to fully cultivate the relationship the way it deserved to be cultivated...’
‘Ah...so an amicable parting of ways...?’
Kate could have thought of other ways of describing their inevitable split. Amicable didn’t feature on the list.
‘So here’s the thing,’ he said, voice as smooth as silk and yet razor-sharp. ‘You seem to be under the impression that every relationship that doesn’t end in a walk up the aisle is a relationship that involves one person using the other. But life’s not like that. Yes, it may have been so for your mother, but your mother was a certain type of personality. Your mother—and I’m no expert on this—may have been searching for something, and the only way she could conduct her search was by offering what she had and hoping it got picked by the right kind of guy...’
‘You’re right. You don’t know my mother.’
‘Maybe your mother was fundamentally insecure,’ he carried on relentlessly. ‘But that doesn’t mean that everyone is like her. She’s not the benchmark.’
‘I never said she was.’
‘No?’
‘I should never have said anything,’ she breathed resentfully. ‘It’s awful when you tell someone something and they then proceed to use it against you like in a court of law.’
But didn’t he have a point? She refused to concede that he did, but her conscience nagged in a way it never had before. He had stripped her of her convenient black-and-white approach and she didn’t want that. It was easier to set a course when you weren’t distracted by grey areas and murky questions.
‘It’s not about the outcome,’