Читать книгу: «Under the Boss's Mistletoe»
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
About the Author
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
EPILOGUE
Copyright
Under the
Boss’s Mistletoe
Jessica Hart
Jessica Hart was born in West Africa, and has suffered from itchy feet ever since—travelling and working around the world in a wide variety of interesting but very lowly jobs, all of which have provided inspiration on which to draw when it comes to the settings and plots of her stories. Now she lives a rather more settled existence in York, where she has been able to pursue her interest in history, although she still yearns sometimes for wider horizons. If you’d like to know more about Jessica, visit her website www.jessicahart.co.uk
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PROLOGUE
‘I WANT a word with you!’
Cassie almost fell down the steps in her hurry to catch Jake before he zoomed off like the coward he was. The stumble did nothing to improve her temper as she stormed over to where he had just got onto his motorbike.
He had been about to put on his helmet, but he paused at the sound of her voice. In his battered leathers, he looked as dark and mean as the machine he sat astride. There was a dangerous edge to Jake Trevelyan that Cassie normally found deeply unnerving, but today she was too angry to be intimidated.
‘You broke Rupert’s nose!’ she said furiously.
Jake observed her approach through narrowed eyes. The estate manager’s ungainly daughter had a wild mane of curls, a round, quirky face and a mouth that showed promise of an interesting woman to come. Right now, though, she was still only seventeen, and reminded him of an exuberant puppy about to fall over its paws.
Not such a friendly puppy today, he observed. The normally dreamy brown eyes were flashing with temper. It wasn’t too hard to guess what had her all riled up; she must have just been to see her precious Rupert.
‘Not quite such a pretty boy today, is he?’ he grinned.
Cassie’s fists clenched. ‘I’d like to break your nose,’ she said and Jake laughed mockingly.
‘Have a go,’ he offered.
‘And give you the excuse to beat me up as well? I don’t think so.’
‘I didn’t beat Rupert up,’ said Jake dismissively. ‘Is that what he told you?’
‘I’ve just seen him. He looks awful.’
Cassie heard the crack in her voice and pressed her lips together in a fierce, straight line before she could humiliate herself utterly by bursting into tears.
She had been so happy, she had had to keep pinching herself. For as long as she could remember she had dreamed of Rupert, and now he was hers—or he had been. It was only three days since the ball, and he was in a vicious temper, which he’d taken out on her. It was all spoilt now.
And it was all Jake Trevelyan’s fault.
‘He’s going to bring assault charges against you,’ she told Jake, hoping to shock him, but he only looked contemptuous.
‘So Sir Ian has just been telling me.’
Cassie had never understood why Sir Ian had so much time for a thug like Jake, especially now that he had beaten up his own nephew!
The Trevelyans were notorious in Portrevick for their shady dealings, and the only member of the family who had ever appeared to hold down a job at all was Jake’s mother, who had cleaned for Sir Ian until her untimely death a couple of years ago. Jake himself had long had a reputation as a troublemaker. He was four years older than Cassie, and she couldn’t remember a time when his dark, surly presence hadn’t made him the kind of boy you crossed the road to avoid.
It was a pity she hadn’t remembered that at the Allantide Ball.
Now Cassie glared at him, astonished by her own bravery. ‘But then, I suppose the thought of prison wouldn’t bother you,’ she said. ‘It’s something of a family tradition, isn’t it?’
Something unpleasant flared in Jake’s eyes, and she took an involuntary step backwards, wondering a little too late whether she might have gone too far. There was a suppressed anger about him that should have warned her not to provoke him. She wouldn’t put it past him to take out all that simmering resentment on her the way he so clearly had on Rupert, but in the end he only looked at her with dislike.
‘What do you want, Miss Not-So-Goody Two Shoes?’
Cassie took a deep breath. ‘I want to know why you hit Rupert.’
‘Why does it matter?’
‘Rupert said it was over me.’ She bit her lip. ‘He wouldn’t tell me exactly what.’
Jake laughed shortly. ‘No, I bet he wouldn’t!’
‘Was it…was it because of what happened at the Allantide Ball?’
‘When you offered yourself to me on a plate?’ he said, and her face flamed.
‘I was just talking,’ she protested, although she knew she had been doing more than that.
‘You don’t wear a dress like that just to talk,’ said Jake.
Cassie’s cheeks were as scarlet as the dress she had bought as part of a desperate strategy to convince Rupert that she had grown up.
Her parents had been aghast when they had seen it, and Cassie herself had been half-horrified, halfthrilled by how it had made her look. The colour was lovely—a deep, rich red—but it was made of cheap Lycra that had clung embarrassingly to every curve. Cut daringly short, it had such a low neckline that Cassie had had to keep tugging at it to stop herself spilling out. She cringed to think how fat and tarty she must have looked next to all those cool, skinny blondes dressed in black.
On the other hand, it had worked.
Rupert had definitely noticed her when she’d arrived, and that had given her the confidence to put Plan B into action. ‘You need to make him jealous,’ her best friend Tina had said. ‘Make him realise that you’re not just his for the taking—even if you are.’
Emboldened by Rupert’s reaction, Cassie had smiled coolly and sashayed up to Jake instead. To this day, she didn’t know where she had found the nerve to do it; he had been on his own for once, and watching the proceedings with a cynical air.
The Allantide Ball was a local tradition revived by Sir Ian, who had been obsessed by Cornish folklore. Less a formal ball than a big party, it was held in the Hall every year on 31 st October, when the rest of the country was celebrating Hallowe’en, and everyone in Portrevick went, the one occasion when social divisions were put aside.
In theory, if not in practice.
Jake’s expression had not been encouraging, but Cassie had flirted with him anyway. Or she had thought she was flirting. In retrospect, her heavyhanded attempts to bat her lashes and look sultry must have been laughable, but at the time she had been quite pleased with herself.
‘OK, maybe I was flirting,’ she conceded. ‘That was no reason to…to…’
‘To kiss you?’ said Jake. ‘But how else were you to make Rupert jealous? That was the whole point of the exercise, wasn’t it?’
Taking Cassie’s expression as an answer, he settled back into the saddle and regarded her with a mocking smile that made her want to slap him. ‘It was a good strategy,’ he congratulated her. ‘Rupert Branscombe Fox is the kind of jerk who’s only interested in what someone else has got. I’ll bet even as a small boy he only ever wanted to play with someone else’s toys. It was very astute of you to notice that.’
‘I didn’t.’
She had just wanted Rupert to notice her. Was that so bad? And he had. It had worked perfectly.
She just hadn’t counted on Jake taking her flirtation so seriously. He had taken her by the hand and pulled her outside. Catching a glimpse of Rupert watching her, Cassie had been delighted at first. She’d been expecting a kiss, but not the kiss that she got.
It had begun with cool assurance—and, really, that would have been fine—but then something had changed. The coolness had become warmth, and then it had become heat, and then, worst of all, there had been a terrifying sweetness to it. Cassie had felt as if she were standing in a river with the sand rushing away beneath her feet, sucking her down into something wild and uncontrollable. She’d been terrified and exhilarated at the same time, and when Jake had let her go at last she had been shaking.
It wasn’t even as if she liked Jake. He was the exact opposite of Rupert, who was the embodiment of a dream. Secretly, Cassie thought of them as Beauty and the Beast. Not that Jake was ugly, exactly, but he had dark, beaky features, a bitter mouth and angry eyes, while Rupert was all golden charm, like a prince in a fairy tale.
‘Much good it’ll do you,’ Jake was saying, reading her expression without difficulty. ‘You’re wasting your time. Rupert’s never going to bother with a nice girl like you.’
‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong,’ said Cassie, stung. ‘Maybe I did want to make him notice me, but it worked, didn’t it?’
‘You’re not asking me to believe that you’re Rupert’s latest girlfriend?’
Cassie lifted her chin. ‘Believe what you want,’ she said. ‘It happens to be true.’
But Jake only laughed. ‘Having sex with Rupert doesn’t make you his girlfriend, as you’ll soon find out,’ he said. He reached for his helmet again. ‘You need to grow up, Cassie. You’ve wandered around with your head in the clouds ever since you were a little kid, and it looks like you’re still living in a fantasy world. It’s time you woke up to reality!’
‘You’re just jealous of Rupert!’ Cassie accused him, her voice shaking with fury.
‘Because of you?’ Jake raised his dark brows contemptuously. ‘I don’t think so!’
‘Because he’s handsome and charming and rich and Sir Ian’s nephew, while you’re just…just…’ Too angry and humiliated to be cautious, she was practically toe to toe with him by now. ‘Just an animal.’
And that was when Jake really did lose the temper he had been hanging onto by a thread all day. His hands shot out and yanked Cassie towards him so hard that she fell against him. Luckily his bike was still on its stand, or they would both have fallen over.
‘So you think I’m jealous of Rupert, do you?’ he snarled, shoving his hands into the mass of curls. ‘Well, maybe I am.’
He brought his mouth down on hers in a hard, punishing kiss that had her squirming in protest, her palms jammed against his leather jacket, until abruptly the pressure softened.
His lips didn’t leave hers, but he shifted slightly so that he could draw her more comfortably against him as he sat astride the bike. The fierce grip on her hair had loosened, and now her curls were twined around his fingers as the kiss grew seductively insistent.
Cassie’s heart was pounding with that same mixture of fear and excitement, and she could feel herself losing her footing again. A surge of unfamiliar feeling was rapidly uncoiling inside her, so fast in fact that it was scaring her; her fingers curled instinctively into his leather jacket to anchor herself.
And then—the bit that would make her cringe for years afterwards—somehow she actually found herself leaning into him to kiss him back.
That was the point at which Jake let her go so abruptly that she stumbled back against the handlebars.
‘How dare you?’ Cassie managed, drawing a shaking hand across her mouth as she tried to leap away from the bike, only to find that her cardigan was caught up in the handlebars. Desperately, she tried to disentangle herself. ‘I never want to see you again!’
‘Don’t worry, you won’t have to.’ Infuriatingly casual, Jake leant forward to pull the sleeve free; she practically fell back in her haste to put some distance between them. ‘I’m leaving today. You stick to your fantasy life, Cassie,’ he told her as she huddled into her cardigan, hugging her arms together. ‘I’m getting out of here.’
And with that, he calmly fastened his helmet, kicked the bike off its stand and into gear and roared off down the long drive—leaving Cassie staring after him, her heart tumbling with shock and humiliation and the memory of a deep, dark, dangerous excitement.
CHAPTER ONE
Ten years later
‘JAKE Trevelyan?’ Cassie repeated blankly. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I wrote his name down. Where is it?’ Joss hunted through the mess on her desk and produced a scrap of paper. ‘Here—Jake Trevelyan,’ she read. ‘Somebody in Portrevick—isn’t that where you grew up?—recommended us.’
Puzzled, Cassie dropped into the chair at her own desk. It felt very strange, hearing Jake’s name after all this time. She could still picture him with terrifying clarity, sitting astride that mean-looking machine, an angry young man with hard hands and a bitter smile. The memory of that kiss still had the power to make her toes curl inside her shoes.
‘He’s getting married?’
‘Why else would he get in touch with a wedding planner?’
‘I just can’t imagine it.’ The Jake Trevelyan Cassie had known wasn’t the type to settle down.
‘Luckily for us, he obviously can.’ Joss turned back to her computer. ‘He sounded keen, anyway, so I said you’d go round this afternoon.’
‘Me?’ Cassie looked at her boss in dismay. ‘You always meet the clients first.’
‘I can’t today. I’ve got a meeting with the accountant, which I’m not looking forward to at all. Besides, he knows you.’
‘Yes, but he hates me!’ She told Joss about that last encounter outside Portrevick Hall. ‘And what’s his fiancée going to think? I wouldn’t want to plan my wedding with someone who’d kissed my bride-groom.’
‘Teenage kisses don’t count.’ Joss waved them aside. ‘It was ten years ago. Chances are, he won’t even remember.’
Cassie wasn’t sure if that would make her feel better or worse. She would just as soon Jake didn’t remember the gawky teenager who had thrown herself at him at the Allantide Ball, but what girl wanted to know that she was utterly forgettable?
‘Anyway, if he didn’t like you, why ring up and ask to speak to you?’ Joss asked reasonably. ‘We can’t afford to let a possible client slip through our fingers, Cassie. You know how tight things are at the moment. This is our best chance of new work in weeks, and if it means being embarrassed then I’m afraid you’re going to have to be embarrassed,’ she warned. ‘Otherwise, I’m really not sure how much longer I’m going to be able to keep you on.’
Which was how Cassie came to stand outside a gleaming office-building that afternoon. Its windows reflected a bright September sky, and she had to crane her neck to look up to the top. Jake Trevelyan had done well for himself if he worked somewhere like this, she thought, impressed in spite of herself.
Better than she had, that was for sure, thought Cassie, remembering Avalon’s chaotic office above the Chinese takeaway. Not that she minded. She had only been working for Joss a few months and she loved it. Wedding planning was far and away the best job she had ever had—Cassie had had a few, it had to be admitted—and she would do whatever it took to hang on to it. She couldn’t bear to admit to her family of super-achievers that she was out of work.
Again.
‘Oh, darling!’ her mother would sigh with disappointment, while her father would frown and remind her that she should have gone to university like her elder sister and her two brothers, all of whom had high-flying careers.
No, she had to keep this job, Cassie resolved, and if that meant facing Jake Trevelyan again then that was what she would do.
Squaring her shoulders, she tugged her jacket into place and headed up the marble steps.
Worms were squirming in the pit of her stomach but she did her best to ignore them. It was stupid to be nervous about seeing Jake again. She wasn’t a dreamy seventeen-year-old any longer. She was twenty-seven, and holding down a demanding job. People might not think that being a wedding planner was much of a career, but it required tact, diplomacy and formidable organizational-skills. If she could organise a wedding—well, help Joss organise one—she could deal with Jake Trevelyan.
A glimpse of herself in the mirrored windows reassured her. Luckily, she had dressed smartly to visit a luxurious hotel which one of their clients had chosen as a venue that morning. The teal-green jacket and narrow skirt gave her a sharp, professional image, Cassie decided, eyeing her reflection. Together with the slim briefcase, it made for an impressive look.
Misleading, but impressive. She hardly recognised herself, so with any luck Jake Trevelyan wouldn’t recognise her either.
Her only regret was the shoes. It wasn’t that they didn’t look fabulous—the teal suede with a black stripe was perfect with the suit—but she wasn’t used to walking on quite such high heels, and the lobby floor had an alarmingly, glossy sheen to it. It was a relief to get across to the reception desk without mishap.
‘I’m looking for a company called Primordia,’ she said, glancing down at the address Joss had scribbled down. ‘Can you tell me which floor it’s on?’
The receptionist lifted immaculate brows. ‘This is Primordia,’ she said.
‘What, the whole building?’ Cassie’s jaw sagged as she stared around the soaring lobby, taking in the impressive artwork on the walls and the ranks of gleaming lifts with their lights going up, up, up…
‘Apparently he’s boss of some outfit called Primordia,’ Joss had said casually when she’d tossed the address across the desk.
This didn’t look like an ‘outfit’ to Cassie. It looked like a solid, blue-chip company exuding wealth and prestige. Suddenly her suit didn’t seem quite so smart.
‘Um, I’m looking for someone called Jake Trevelyan,’ she told the receptionist. ‘I’m not sure which department he’s in.’
The receptionist’s brows climbed higher. ‘Mr Trevelyan, our Chief Executive? Is he expecting you?’
Chief Executive? Cassie swallowed. ‘I think so.’
The receptionist turned away to murmur into the phone while Cassie stood, fingering the buttons on her jacket nervously. Jake Trevelyan, bad boy of Portrevick, Chief Executive of all this?
Blimey.
An intimidatingly quiet lift took her up to the Chief Executive’s suite. It was like stepping into a different world. Everything was new and of cuttingedge design, and blanketed with the hush that only serious money can buy.
It was a very long way from Portrevick.
Cassie was still half-convinced that there must be some mistake, but no. There was an elegant PA, who was obviously expecting her, and who escorted her into an impressively swish office.
‘Mr Trevelyan won’t be a minute,’ she said.
Mr Trevelyan! Cassie thought of the surly tearaway she had known and tried not to goggle. She hoped Jake—sorry, Mr Trevelyan—didn’t remember her flirting with him in that tacky dress or telling him that she never wanted to see him again. It wasn’t exactly the best basis on which to build a winning client-relationship.
On the other hand, he was the one who had asked to see her. Surely he wouldn’t have done that if he had any memory of those disastrous kisses? Joss must be right; he had probably forgotten them completely. And, even if he hadn’t, he was unlikely to mention that he had kissed her in front of his fiancée, wasn’t he? He would be just as anxious as her to pretend that that had never happened.
Reassured, Cassie pinned on a bright smile as his PA opened a door into an even swisher office than the first. ‘Cassandra Grey,’ the woman announced.
It was a huge room, with glass walls on two sides that offered a spectacular view down the Thames to the Houses of Parliament and the London Eye.
Not that Cassie took in the view. She had eyes only for Jake, who was getting up from behind his desk and buttoning his jacket as he came round to greet her.
Her first thought was that he had grown into a surprisingly attractive man.
Ten years ago he had been a wiry young man, with turbulent eyes and a dangerous edge that had always left her tongue-tied and nervous around him. He was dark still, and there were traces of the difficult boy he had been in his face, but he had grown into the once-beaky features, and the surliness had metamorphosed into a forcefulness that was literally breathtaking. At least, Cassie presumed that was why she was having trouble dragging enough oxygen into her lungs all of a sudden.
He might not actually be taller, but he seemed it—taller, tougher, more solid somehow. And the mouth that had once been twisted into a sneer was now set in a cool, self-contained line.
Cassie was forced to revise her first thought. He wasn’t attractive; he was gorgeous.
Well. Who would have thought it?
His fiancée was a lucky woman.
Keeping her smile firmly in place, she took a step towards him with her hand outstretched. ‘Hel…’ she began, but that was as far as she got. Her ankle tipped over on the unfamiliar heels and the next moment her shoes seemed to be hopelessly entangled. Before Cassie knew what was happening, she found herself pitching forward with a squawk of dismay as her briefcase thudded to the floor.
She would have landed flat on her face next to it if a pair of hard hands hadn’t grabbed her arms. Cassie had no idea how Jake got there in time to catch her, but she ended up sprawling against him and clutching instinctively at his jacket.
Just as she had clutched at his leather jacket ten years ago when he had kissed her.
‘Hello, Cassie,’ he said.
Mortified, Cassie struggled to find her balance. Why, why, why, was she so clumsy?
Her face was squashed against his jacket, and with an odd, detached part of her brain she registered that he smelt wonderful, of expensive shirts, clean, male skin and a faint tang of aftershave. His body was rock-solid, and for a treacherous moment Cassie was tempted to cling to the blissful illusion of steadiness and safety.
Possibly not a good move, if she wanted to impress him with her new-found professionalism. Or very tactful, given that he was a newly engaged man.
With an effort, Cassie pulled herself away from the comfort of that broad chest. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she managed.
Jake set her on her feet but kept hold of her upper arms until he was sure she was steady. ‘Are you all right?’
His hands felt hard and strong through the sleeves of her jacket, and he held her just as he had done that other day.
Cassie couldn’t help staring. It was strangely dislocating to look into his face and see a cool stranger overlaying the angry young man he had been then. This time the resentment in the dark-blue eyes had been replaced by a gleam of amusement, although it was impossible to tell whether he was remembering that kiss, too, or was simply entertained by her unconventional arrival.
Cassie’s cheeks burned. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, stepping out of his grip.
Jake bent to pick up the briefcase and handed it back to her. ‘Shall we sit down?’ he suggested, gesturing towards two luxurious leather sofas. ‘Given those shoes, it might be safer!’
Willing her flaming colour to fade, Cassie subsided onto a sofa and swallowed as she set the briefcase on the low table. ‘I don’t normally throw myself into the client’s arms when we first meet,’ she said with a nervous smile.
The corner of Jake’s mouth quivered in an unnervingly attractive way. ‘It’s always good to make a spectacular entrance. But then, you always did have a certain style,’ he added.
Cassie rather suspected that last comment was sarcastic; she had always been hopelessly clumsy.
She sighed. ‘I was rather hoping you wouldn’t recognise me,’ she confessed.
Jake looked across the table at her. She was perched on the edge of the sofa, looking hot and ruffled, her round, sweet face flushed, and brown eyes bright with mortification.
The wild curls he remembered had been cut into a more manageable style, and she had slimmed down and smartened up. Remarkably so, in fact. When he had looked up to see her in the doorway, she had seemed a vividly pretty stranger, and he had felt a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach.
Then she had tripped and pitched into his arms, and Jake wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved to find out that she hadn’t changed that much after all.
The feel of her was startlingly familiar, which was odd, given that he had only held her twice before. But he had caught her, and all at once it was as if he had been back at that last Allantide Ball. He could still see Cassie as she sashayed up to him in that tight red dress, teetering on heels almost as ridiculous as the ones she was wearing now, and suddenly all grown-up. That was the first time he had noticed her lush mouth, and wondered about the woman she would become.
That mouth was still the same, Jake thought, remembering its warmth, its innocence, remembering how unprepared he had been for the piercing sweetness that just for a moment had held them in its grip.
Now here she was again, sitting there and watching him with a wary expression in the big brown eyes. Not recognise her?
Jake smiled. ‘Not a chance,’ he said.
Oh dear. That wasn’t what she had wanted to hear at all. Almost reluctantly, Cassie met the darkblue gaze and felt her skin prickle at the amusement she read there. It was obvious that Jake remembered the gawky teenager she had been all too well. Those kisses might have been shattering for her, but for him they must have been just part of her gaucheness and lack of sophistication.
She lifted her chin. ‘It’s a long time ago,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think you’d remember me.’
Jake met her eyes blandly. ‘You’d be surprised what I remember,’ he said, and the memory of the Allantide Ball was suddenly shimmering between them. He didn’t have to say anything. Cassie just knew that he was remembering her hopeless attempts to flirt, and her clumsy, mortifyingly eager response to his kiss, and a tide of heat seemed to sweep up from her toes.
She jerked her eyes away. ‘So,’ she began, but all at once her voice was so high and thin that she had to clear her throat and start again. ‘So…’ Oh God, now she sounded positively gravelly! ‘What took you back to Portrevick?’ She managed to find something approaching a normal pitch at last. As far as she knew, Jake had left the village that awful day he had kissed her on his motorbike and had never been back.
Jake’s expression sobered. ‘Sir Ian’s death,’ he said.
‘Oh yes, I was so sorry when I heard about that,’ said Cassie, latching on to what she hoped would be a safe subject. ‘He was such a lovely man,’ she remembered sadly. ‘Mum and Dad went back for the funeral, but one of our clients was getting married that day so I was on duty.’
The door opened at that point and Jake’s PA came in with a tray of coffee which she set on the table between them. She poured two cups and made a discreet exit. Why could she never be that quiet and efficient? Cassie wondered, admiring the other woman’s style.
Jake passed one of the cups to her, and she accepted it gingerly. It was made of the finest porcelain, and she couldn’t help comparing it to the chipped mugs she and Joss used to drink endless cups of tea in the office.
‘I had to go and see Sir Ian’s solicitor on Friday,’ Jake said, pushing the milk jug towards her. ‘I stayed in the pub at Portrevick, and your name was mentioned in connection with weddings. One of your old friends—Tina?—said that you were in the business.’
‘Did she?’ Cassie made a mental note to ring Tina the moment she left and demand to know why she hadn’t told her that Jake Trevelyan had reappeared. It wasn’t as if Tina didn’t know all about that devastating kiss at the Allantide Ball, although Cassie had never told anyone about the second one.
Jake raised his eyes a little at her tone, and she hastened to make amends. Perhaps she had sounded rather vengeful, there. ‘I mean, yes, that’s right,’ she said, helping herself to milk but managing to slop most of it into the saucer.
Now the cup was going to drip all over everything. With an inward sigh, Cassie hunted around in her bag for a tissue to mop up the mess. ‘I am.’
That sounded a bit too bald, didn’t it? You’re supposed to be selling yourself here, Cassie reminded herself, but she was distracted by the need to dispose of the sodden tissue now. She couldn’t just leave it in the saucer. It looked disgusting, and so unprofessional.
‘In the wedding business, that is,’ she added, losing track of where she had begun. Helplessly, she looked around for a bin, but of course there was nothing so prosaic in Jake’s office.
It was immaculate, she noticed for the first time. Everything was squeaky clean, and the desk was clear except for a telephone and a very small, very expensive-looking computer. Ten years ago, Jake would only have been in an office like this to pinch the electronic equipment, she thought, wondering how on earth the rebel Jake, with his battered leathers and his bike, had made it to this exclusive, perfectly controlled space.
She could see Jake eyeing the tissue askance. Obviously any kind of mess offended him now, which was a shame, given that she was banking her entire future on being able to work closely with him and his fiancée for the next few months. Cassie belonged to the creative school of organising, the one that miraculously produced order out of chaos at the very last minute, although no one, least of all her, ever knew quite how it happened.
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