Ruthless Revenge: Passionate Possession. Cathy Williams

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       CHAPTER THREE

      ‘PERHAPS WE SHOULD take this conversation somewhere else.’

      ‘Why?’ The suggestion of leaving with him for somewhere else sent little shivers of alarm skittering through her.

      She could scarcely credit that she was sitting here, in this office, facing this man who had haunted her for years. All the things that had happened ever since that first tentative step as a young girl falling hopelessly in love with an unsuitable boy lay between them like a great, big, murky chasm.

      There was just so much he didn’t know.

      But none of that was relevant. What was relevant was that he was going to help them and that was enough.

      ‘Because,’ Javier drawled, rising to his feet and strolling to fetch his jacket from where it lay slung over the back of one of the expensive, compact sofas in the little sitting area of the office, ‘I feel that two old friends should not be discussing something as crass as a business bailout within the confines of an office.’

      Two old friends?

      Sophie scrutinised the harsh angles of his face for any inherent sarcasm and he returned her stare with bland politeness.

      But his bland politeness made her feel unaccountably uneasy.

      He’d never been polite.

      At least, not in the way that English people were polite. Not in the middle-class way of clinking teacups and saying the right things, which was the way she had been brought up.

      He had always spoken his mind and damned the consequences. She had occasionally seen him in action at university, once in the company of two of his lecturers, when they had been discussing economics.

      He had listened to them, which had been the accepted polite way, but had then taken their arguments and ripped them to shreds. The breadth and depth of his knowledge had been so staggering that there had been no comeback.

      He had never been scared of rocking the boat. Sometimes, she wondered whether he had privately relished it, although when she’d once asked him that directly, he had burst out laughing before kissing her senseless—at which point she had forgotten what she had been saying to him. Kissing him had always had that effect on her.

      A surge of memories brought a hectic flush to her cheeks.

      ‘Is this your new way of dressing?’ he asked and Sophie blinked, dispelling disturbing images of when they had been an item.

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘You look like an office worker.’

      ‘That’s exactly what I am,’ she returned lightly, following him to the door, because what else could she do? At this point, he held all the trump cards, and if he wanted to go and have their business chat sitting on bar stools in the middle of Threadneedle Street, then so be it. There was too much at stake for her to start digging her heels in and telling him that she felt more comfortable discussing business in an office.

      She had come this far and there was no turning back now.

      This floor was a sanctum of quiet. It was occupied by CEOs and directors, most of whom were concealed behind opaque glass and thick doors. In the middle there was a huge, open-plan space in which desks were cleverly positioned to allow for maximum space utilisation and minimum scope for chatting aimlessly.

      The open space was largely empty, except for a couple of diligent employees who were too absorbed in whatever they were doing to look up at them as they headed for the directors’ lift.

      ‘But it’s not exactly where you wanted to end up, is it?’ he asked as the lift doors quietly closed, sealing them in together.

      It didn’t matter where she looked, reflections of him bounced back at her.

      She shrugged and reluctantly met his dark eyes.

      ‘You don’t always end up where you think you’re going to,’ she said tersely.

      ‘You had big plans to be a university lecturer.’

      ‘Life got in the way of that.’

      ‘I’m sure your dearly departed husband wouldn’t like to be seen as someone who got in the way of your big plans.’

      ‘I don’t want to talk about Roger.’

      Because the thought of him no longer being around was still too painful for her to bear. That thought struck Javier with dagger-like precision. The man might have been a waste of space when it came to business, and an inveterate gambler who had blown vast sums of money that should have been pumped into saving the company, yet she had loved him and now would have nothing СКАЧАТЬ