Crazy About Her Impossible Boss Page 11

  A tempestuous expression came over Angus’s face as he imagined the men who might have slighted her. He grew bigger, like a bear about to attack. But he never came close to the brink.

  The man pained himself to be civilised, never burdened others with his emotions. But his emotions were big. Deep. Raw. If he ever let them free, boy that would be something to see.

  “Luc, come on.”

  “I mean it. Look at Joe. I put that down to the fact the man was as deep as a puddle. Cute—sure. Swaggering—you bet. But vapid. I should have seen that coming. I’ve dated since. Chosen better. And still I’m single. Then Dr What’s—Jameson. He had all the hallmarks of the kind of man who’d stick. Yet here I am.”

  “Stuck with me instead.”

  Lucinda coughed out a laugh, even while her belly flip-flopped at the multi-layered truth behind those words.

  “What’s wrong with me?” she asked, letting her face fall into her hands with a comic whimper, even while she didn’t feel much like laughing.

  “Not a single thing.”

  Lucinda stilled. Not only at Angus’s words, but the ragged tone in which they’d been said. Little spot fires burst into life all over her body, making her face burn, and she wondered how hard it might be to live the rest of her life with her face in her hands.

  Too hard, she thought, taking a deep breath before lifting her face. Lifting her eyes to his.

  Angus’s mouth lifted gently at one corner. Then he said, “You, Lucinda May Starling, are good and clever and brave and adventurous and charming and honest and lovely, and for a man to have had the chance to be with you and not do everything in his power to make it work makes him a schmuck.”

  Lucinda wished she’d been recording all that on her phone. It could keep her warm through many a future winter. “Even Dr Whatsit? He once saved several boys who got lost hiking by rappelling down a cliff to pluck them off a ledge.”

  “Not even Dr Whatsit. You hold yourself to a higher standard than most. That’s not something to feel ashamed about. It’s admirable. You do it because you know your worth. And you do it for Sonny.”

  “I do it for Sonny.”

  “He sounded just like you right now,” Angus said, his hand dropping to rest on her knee.

  “Hmm?” she said, having forgotten what it was they were talking about as every cell focussed on his hand.

  “Sonny.”

  “Oh. Right. We do sound a little alike.”

  “I meant the fact that he’s a total bossy-boots who has no qualms about telling his betters exactly what to do.”

  Lucinda narrowed her eyes. “If the kid knows best, why hide his light behind a bushel?”

  “Why indeed?” he said, his voice low in the shadows. “For the world would be a far darker place without the Starlings in it.”

  Lucinda swallowed as Angus’s words washed over her like a balm.

  He never baulked at showing his appreciation—with thanks, with praise, with the thoughtful gifts he’d given her over the years in their nutty contest to one-up one another.

  But this felt different.

  This whole week had felt different. From the moment she’d told him she wasn’t “his girl”. As if by looking him in the eye and saying out loud to his face that the flirtation that added sparkle to their work-laden days wasn’t serious—the game-playing and the gift-giving—she’d peeled back one extra layer, pressing one step closer to the heart of him.

  And that step closer made her yearn so badly to go one step more. And another and the next. Until she alone was allowed to see all the way to his broken, beating, beautiful core.

  “Rest assured, Angus,” she said, her voice soft, light as a cloud, “we Starlings count ourselves ever so lucky to have a Wolfe in our midst too.”

  His smile kicked up at one side, his gaze locked on to hers for a few long beats before it dropped slowly, achingly slowly, to her mouth.

  What was he thinking when he looked at her that way? Did he have a single clue what that look did to her? Could he hear the revving of her heart? Was it even possible he was imagining stripping her layers back?

  She heard the double entendre inside her head and her imagination ran with it. She pictured him shifting his hand, just an inch, until his little finger tucked beneath her skirt. Then a second finger. And a third.

  She squirmed, shifting so that the back of her knees rubbed against the pants of his suit. Nerves now on high alert, the friction sent a shiver through her from tip to toe.

  “Need me to move?” he asked.

  She shook her head. The only thing that could fix how she felt in that moment was for him not to exist.

  “Then what now?”

  “Shall we talk about work?”

  Angus shook his head. “Worked enough today.”

  “Okay. Then shall we talk about why you feel like you’re struggling with Remède?”

  A grimace came over Angus’s face before his expression cleared, as if the grimace had never been. “I think you’ll find that’s work.”

  Lucinda shifted and turned, her knees brushing higher against Angus’s thighs. But, now she had something concrete to focus on, she was sticking with it. “I don’t believe you.”

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “I’ve never seen you like this. Erratic. Doubting. It’s as if your very foundations have been given a good shake. This isn’t just about work. So what’s wrong?”

  Angus breathed in deeply, breathed out hard, his face a study in broody suspense. Then he said, “You know that Louis is more to me than a client.”

  “Of course. He’s the one who convinced you to leave your marketing job and go out on your own.”

  “He was also the first person who looked at me and didn’t see a punk kid.”

  “Angus,” she chided. “I don’t believe that.”

  The first time Lucinda ever set eyes on Angus had been only a few months after his infamous meeting with Monsieur Fournier. She’d been sitting in Reception on the top floor, waiting to be interviewed by the head of HR, one Fitzgerald Beckett. The business was so new, the place had smelled of fresh paint.

  She’d been surrounded by smart-looking people, most of them younger than her and far more savvy, many of them tapping away on their phones as if they were already running the world. The only reason she’d been given a shot at an interview at all was because Sonny and Fitz had the same dentist. Fitz had mentioned to his dentist they were hiring the same week she’d joked that she needed a better job to pay her dental bill.

  Fitz had made an entrance as Fitz was wont to do—welcoming them all and warning them the process was about to be brutal and only the toughest among them dared stay. Angus had slipped quietly into the room, leaning unobtrusively against a wall near the door.

  He’d been no “punk kid” even back then. He’d seemed nerveless, riveting, hungry, his laser focus taking them in one by one, as if weeding them out before any of them had uttered a word.

  “You might have been a little incorrigible back then, but only because you had ambitions. You were hungry. But you were never a ‘punk kid’. I know. I was married to one.”

  Angus’s gaze landed back on hers. “Then you were one of the only ones to see that. Not that you’d have ever had the chance to come to that conclusion without Louis Fournier’s interference. If not for him, I’d have likely been a marketing cowboy at some slick, soulless firm. And I’d be going home at the end of the day feeling...empty. Whereas now...” He sighed. “This isn’t a game to me. Or a puzzle to figure out. We change people’s lives. I am so very grateful to be able to do what we do, Luc. Right, deep down inside.”

  Lucinda smiled and nodded, struggling not to burst into tears. For she felt moved. Moved that this man could admit such things to her.

  To think of all the things that had to align to get her to that moment
. To get them both to that moment. Joe and Sonny. Fitz and his dentist. Angus and Louis. Without every piece of that puzzle she’d not be sitting on the floor behind a humongous plant, her legs draped over Angus’s while his finger traced gentle circles over her knee.

  “Have you heard of a thing called kintsukuroi?” she asked.

  Angus shook his head.

  “It’s a Japanese art of repairing broken bowls, plates, vases, whereby they use lacquer mixed with powdered gold so that when the pottery is fixed the repairs are obvious, like veins of gold. The breakage is seen as part of the history of an object, rather than something to hide.”

  Angus watched her, saying nothing.

  “That’s what Louis saw in you, Angus,” she said, her voice husky. “Not just your potential, but the breaks along the way, and the determination to get back up, to repair.”

  Angus sat forward and lifted his hand from her knee to rub both hands over his face before letting out a primal growl. “A man like that should not have to step over the crumbled remains of his once great company on his way to forced retirement.”

  Lucinda reached out, peeled his hand from his face and held it in both of hers, battling to hold in her feelings as she sat witness to a rare tumult of emotions Angus could no longer hold in.

  “And that’s why,” she said, “He came to you.”

  Angus’s gaze cleared. Slowly. Until he was more like the man she was used to. But the shadow of his shaken confidence remained.

  “You don’t need to do that, you know,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Be my cheerleader. I’m a big boy. I can take a hit.”

  “Yeah, you are,” she said. “Such a big boy.”

  A slow smile spread across his face, even as his eyes narrowed. Even though he’d known more success than most men saw in a lifetime, that hunger still remained. It was a part of him. And when he switched it on it always made Lucinda burn.

  Then his gaze began to roam. Over her hair, snagging on the swathe that never stayed put. Over her cheeks, her jaw, pausing once more on her mouth, before travelling down the twist of a spaghetti strap, over the criss-cross at her décolletage, her bare shoulders.

  Lucinda’s heart picked up pace and the hairs at the back of her neck prickled. She’d seen the same predatory gleam light his eyes as clients had signed contracts. Well, not exactly the same look. For there was heat here, ferocious and deep, that would send most clients running for the hills.

  He shouldn’t be looking at her that way.

  And she shouldn’t be relishing the fact that he was.

  “Were you really going to introduce Dr Whatsit to Sonny after this weekend?”

  The change of subject nearly gave her whiplash. “Yes. But what does that have to do with—?”

  “I didn’t only sign up to the conference for Remède. I couldn’t stand the thought of you being here, with him.”

  Oh, help. “Angus...”

  She didn’t even realise she still had hold of his hand until he used it to pull her closer, wrapping his other hand over hers. Enveloping her in his warmth. His strength. His fingers sliding over hers, making her belly quiver. Her heart squeeze. Her lips part.

  “When you told me you were hoping to introduce him to Sonny, I saw red.”

  Lucinda blinked.

  What the...? Was he really looking at her like that, her hands in his, telling her his only concern was for her son?

  Anger, mortification and heartache —deep, haunting heartache—rose in a maelstrom inside her. Her voice rose with it, getting louder and higher with each word as she nearly shouted, “Are you flipping kidding me?”

  “Luc, you know my background. I can’t say strongly enough what a game changer that will be for the kid.”

  Lucinda yanked her hands away from his so fast he nearly fell on top of her. Scrambling to her feet was no mean feat, with the tangling of limbs, the shortness of her dress and the fact she felt so close to tears she could taste them.

  “Why am I so surprised? For such a smart guy, you really are the dumbest man I know. Seriously. Of all the conceited, idiotic, selfish—”

  Then, close enough to have Lucinda flinch, Sonny’s voice split the silence. “I’m gonna check the café! Mum’s always saying she needs a coffee, they’re totally in there!”

  “Sure thing, bud,” Cat’s voice followed. Then, “I’ll wait right here so don’t go where I can’t see you.” Then, to empty air, “Jeez that kid can run.”

  “I’m calling time,” Lucinda said, just above a whisper. “This game has gone on long enough.”

  Angus pulled himself to standing far more gracefully than she had.

  When Sonny’s voice called, “Auntie Cat,” Lucinda grabbed the trunk of the plant and shook it for all she was worth.

  “Wait a second,” said Sonny, before he peered through the leaves, then, “Found them!”

  Lucinda reached through the leaves and roared. Sonny jumped out of his skin before bursting into tears. And Lucinda’s shoulders slumped.

  Seemed she couldn’t do anything right tonight.

  “Lucinda...” Angus said, tracing a hand down her arm.

  “Goodnight, Angus. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “But the awards dinner...”

  “No one will miss me. You’ll do just fine without me. I’ll be there tomorrow, for the keynote at nine.”

  He stood back, an inch at most, and waved his hand for her to go first. She slid past him, brushing against his side, feeling too big a fool to get any kind of kick out of it at all.

  Then she wrapped Sonny up tightly in her arms, holding him close, wiping his tears as she walked Cat and her boy back to their room without once looking back.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WHEN LUCINDA TOOK a right, Angus took a left, heading back towards Reception. Then out of the front door and down the steps, with no idea of where he was going, only that he needed space. And air. And room to breathe.

  He was halfway towards the lake when it started to rain. Big, fat drops that had him soaked in half a minute. Not that it helped cool him down. His internal engine was running at maximum speed, his thoughts spinning too fast to catch, bursts of adrenaline pumping through him.

  For he knew. Big time. He knew that he’d just screwed up the way he knew when a campaign hit that sweet spot where colour, tagline and key image all came into perfect sync.

  But he didn’t feel himself, his emotions slipping about inside him, unable to find purchase, his head too foggy to figure out why.

  He’d only been trying to help. To tell Lucinda she deserved better. The best. She and Sonny. Because her kid was great and she was an amazing mother—loving, honest and fierce. She was also a brilliant administrator. And a loyal friend.

  Fitz had been dead right. If anyone deserved love, Valentine hearts and eternal happiness, it was Luc.

  She’d looked so sad when talking about the band of idiots she’d allowed into her life, he’d have done anything to help her lose the doe eyes. They made him ache. And growl.

  And want to kiss everything better.

  To place one hand against the wall right by her neck, trapping her in place. To run the other down the length of the delicate green strap barely holding her dress in place. The same dress she’d worn to the damn Christmas party a year and a half ago, when she’d appeared on the other side of the crowd looking like temptation in heels.

  He pictured her face tilting up to his, those warm brown eyes melting as he showed her just how heart-stopping he thought she was...

  Angus’s feet squelched to a stop as he balled his hands into fists.

  He had to stop. Stop thinking about her that way.

  But he couldn’t, not since he’d seen her standing in the restaurant wearing that dress. In an instant, tension had coiled around him like a sprin
g. When she’d slid to the floor behind their tree, and wrapped her legs over his, his entire body had felt trapped in a vice. As though he’d implode if he couldn’t touch her, feel her, be with her.

  The rain really began to bucket down, the noise thunderous. He tugged his suit jacket over his head, preparing to head for a nearby copse of conifer trees, before he gave up, held his arms out and let it lash him. Cleanse him. Beat down against his skin until the strange, frenetic heat pulsing through him abated.

  Finally, after a few minutes, he felt as if he could hear himself again.

  When the rain made no sign of slowing, he turned and headed back towards the hotel at a walk, tipping an imaginary hat towards the doorman, who batted not an eyelid at his bedraggled form.

  He’d finished the conference rebrand before dinner. He’d called in help from the graphics team back home, getting in touch with a couple who were always happy for overtime and sending them photos of his ideas. He’d worked hard, and it felt good. Like sorbet for the mind.

  With that clarity it was time to get the real work done. To look back over the Remède rebrand with new-found knowledge of the industry, through the eyes of long-time consumers, lapsed consumers and competitors.

  He just needed one idea. One lightbulb. One—

  Angus came to a sliding halt when he saw Charlie and Fitz walking through Reception. Charlie looked just as soaked as he was, while Fitz was bone-dry and sporting enough matched luggage to be heading off on the Orient Express.

  “Angus!” Fitz spotted him, holding his arms out as if for a hug.

  “What the ever-loving hell are you doing here?”

  Fitz did his best super-hero impression, even flicking out a pretend cape. “We’re here to save you from yourself!”

  Angus growled.

  “Oh, put your claws away, sunshine,” Fitz scoffed. “I was bored, and Charlie was sitting next to me while I was bored, so I convinced him to keep me company on the drive here. We’ve booked into this conference of yours too, to see what all the fuss is about.”