Crazy About Her Impossible Boss Page 7

  When Angus had no response, she looked up to find him staring at her poodle sweater. Not a sweater made of poodles but black, knit, fitted, with a silver poodle motif on the front.

  That plus skinny jeans and knee-high boots was miles from her usual uniform of pencil skirts and fancy tops, sleek hair that took far too long to do in the mornings and high heels that made the balls of her feet ache by the end of the day. The pains of looking professional. Indomitable. Indispensable.

  But when Jameson had blithely agreed to postpone it hadn’t occurred to her to repack until it had been too late, leaving her with a choice of outfits she’d now spend the weekend regretting. Especially if Angus kept looking at her the way he was now.

  When Angus still hadn’t blinked, she glanced down to realise he wasn’t, in fact, looking at her poodle sweater —his gaze had snagged on the small, gold ladybird charm resting warm against the dip in her collarbone.

  The one Angus had gifted her the first Christmas they’d begun working together.

  Not long before, she’d told him the story of how Sonny’s first sighting of a ladybird—the delight, the wonder, the utter joy—had been a turning point for her after her husband had left. How that day she’d known she could do it. Be a single mum. Raise a happy, kind, curious boy.

  It was the gift that had started it all.

  It hadn’t occurred to her to leave it behind this weekend. To replace it with something less...his.

  Feeling like Alice about to fall through the rabbit hole, she shook herself back to the present.

  Then clicked her fingers in front of Angus’s face to snag his full attention. “Angus. Eyes up.”

  He blinked, his jaw clenching for half a second before his expression cooled. His hands slid into the pockets of his suit pants, all ease and nonchalance.

  “Where were you this morning?” he asked. His voice came out low, with the intimacy demanded of being shuttered behind the fronds of an over-sized house plant.

  “Checking in,” she said. “Settling in. As one would normally do when on holiday. Which I am. I checked the itinerary and figured you wouldn’t need me for this morning’s market stalls.” She glanced in the direction of the bistro. “Seems I was right.”

  Not rising to the bait, Angus instead asked, “Where’s what’s-his-name?”

  And her gaze slid right back to his. Still not settled on the least embarrassing way to tell him that what’s-his-name had stayed home, she said, “You know what his name is.”

  The jaw clench was back. So maybe he wasn’t as cool and nonchalant as he was making out.

  But maybe it had nothing to do with her situation. Angus wasn’t overly fond of crowds. Or people in general. Situations such as these were when he needed her most.

  And, if the fact that that made her feel all warm and fuzzy wasn’t a sign that she needed to be hit over the head with a frying pan, she didn’t know what was.

  This was her moment to let him know he could relax, that she was at his beck and call for the weekend. But some small part of her, possibly the part that had been rattling around in her chest the past few days, stopped her.

  “Don’t worry about Jameson, okay? He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

  At that, Angus’s jaw clenched so hard he looked as if he might break a tooth. Meaning it wasn’t the crowds that had made him so tense. Lucinda slowed her breathing and tried not to spin stories in her head.

  “How did this morning go?” she asked, moving carefully into work mode.

  “Good. How’s your room?” he asked, his voice a little rough.

  “Lovely. Yours?”

  “Adequate.”

  “Just adequate? Who booked it? Velma?” Lucinda’s mouth twitched at the thought of Velma muttering away at having do work for anyone but Fitz, thus booking a broom closet when he’d be expecting a suite. “Look at you, making friends all over the place this week.”

  “Mmm. Look, can we find somewhere private? Quiet? I need to unload everything I saw this morning. And there’s a lot to unload.”

  Angus ran a hand up the back of his head and shifted from foot to foot, bringing him deeper into her personal space. There wasn’t all that much room behind the plant, as it turned out.

  Lucinda pressed her back against the wall. “Can’t get much more private than this.”

  “And yet, it’s not what I had in mind.” His eyes snagged on hers, all hazel and gorgeous, before sliding off to the side, allowing her the chance to breathe out.

  “Okay. I’m fairly sure the French doors in my room lead to a small balcony, table and chairs.” She remembered a moment too late he was expecting her to have her lover hiding in there. “But no. Not there. It’s...um...too cold to work outdoors.”

  “Lucinda,” Angus said, his voice deep, low, raw. “I know this is awkward. But I didn’t come here to cramp your style.”

  “Whatever,” she said, holding out a hand, only to find it hovering mighty close to his chest. Close enough she could feel the shift in the air as he breathed. “If it can help Louis, then it’s fine.”

  It wasn’t even close to fine.

  Angus nodded. She could see the question in his eyes. But she found herself in a rare moment of having no clue what it meant or what to do with it. She only hoped he couldn’t see the prevarication in hers.

  “Good,” he said, deciding to take her words at face value. “Because, while I had hoped that coming here might reiterate that our rebranding was right on track, after this morning I’m more confused than ever.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, his voice dropping, the sound scraping against her insides like sandpaper. “It’s just... I’ve got this itch between my shoulder blades. Like we’re close, but one wrong step and it will implode faster than we can clean it up.”

  Lucinda swallowed.

  Angus noticed. His gaze on her throat, he said, “It was the strangest thing. When the conference appeared on the hotel website, it felt like I had to be here. Like I’d regret it if I didn’t come. It felt like fate.”

  “First you asked Velma to book you into a conference, then you admitted you’re not perfect. And now you’re talking about fate? Who are you and what have you done with my Angus?”

  Angus’s eyes lifted back to hers.

  What? Wait! No. My boss. She’d meant to say my boss.

  Too late now. The air around them seemed to shift and shimmer as the words vibrated between them like a plucked wire. It put his “my girl” quip from the other day in the shade.

  Feeling as if the small space behind the plant was about to run out of air, Lucinda said, “Anyway, let’s go. We can do this. We’ll find a room somewhere. I’ve got my notebook and pencils. You can give it to me there. Your ideas, I mean. Thoughts from this morning.”

  Stop talking now and get the heck out of here!

  When Angus made no move to follow, Lucinda gave him a little shove, the feel of him—all hard, warm planes beneath his suit shirt—searing her palms. “Move.”

  He stepped away a smidge. Holding her breath, she slipped past the warmth of his body, ignoring as best she could the tingle of goose bumps popping up like burn blisters all over her body.

  We’ll find a room—and you can give it to me there? her subconscious mocked.

  If only she’d had her actual weekend date with her, the one with whom she’d been hoping to summon up a spark, that line could have gone down a treat!

  * * *

  Angus decided to stay for a moment, hand against the wall, eyes closed as he packed away myriad conflicting thoughts, revelations and sensations that had bombarded him as he’d found himself sharing four square feet of space behind a plant with Lucinda.

  What the hell had just happened?

  From the moment he’d seen his ladybird charm nestled in the V of her top, the air
around them had crackled with electricity, with history, with possibility.

  And now, despite his protestations to the contrary, seeing her in that playful little sweater, jeans that fit way too well for comfort, her hair held back by a ribbon that looked as if it would fall open with the slightest tug, in rare flat shoes that brought the top of her head just to his chin, the perfect height to tuck her in tight, his reasons for being there at all felt decidedly muddied.

  Was he there to work, making the most of a rare grass-roots insight into the beauty business to shore up the Remède rebrand?

  Was he there to protect Sonny? To make sure Lucinda didn’t jump the gun on bringing him into any new relationship?

  Was he there to protect his business? To do what had to be done to secure the life he’d worked hard to build?

  Or had the “superhero complex” Fitz insisted he harboured sent him there to look out for Lucinda? To make sure this man of hers was good enough? Though any man would be hard pressed to live up to that claim.

  He knew why Lucinda was there, of course. In her lovely room with French doors and a balcony. She was there for Jameson—a big boy who could take care of himself.

  As a primal growl built up at the base of his throat, Angus shook his head, his brain taking longer than he liked to stop banging against the side of his skull.

  “Angus?” Lucinda’s voice called from the other side of the plant.

  “Mmm...?” he said. “I’ve lost...something. Just a second.”

  Lost something? Lost his mind, more like.

  “I’ll find us a room, shall I? So we can get your thoughts down before the next session?”

  “Yep. Do that.”

  She was right. Whatever the reasons for coming, from this moment on it had to be about Remède. All he had to do was focus.

  But all he could focus on was how, if he breathed through his nose, he could almost still gather the scent of her—apple and cinnamon and soft female skin.

  Like Christmas. All that egg nog...all that bloody cheer. And don’t even mention the mistletoe...

  Angus groaned and ran a hand over his face.

  Enough. All right? Enough.

  It wasn’t the first time they’d had such a moment. And chances were it wouldn’t be the last. The important thing was they were always able to move through it. To work together despite it. Hell, maybe that constant tension was one of the reasons they got so much done.

  But it could never...be anything.

  They needed one another too much to mess with what they had.

  She needed his constancy with Sonny, something he knew would crumble if anything ever happened between them. He’d been there, in Sonny’s shoes. And when she realised she deserved more than he was able to give it would fall apart all too fast.

  And he needed her to play her part in the business he and Charlie and Fitz had worked their downtrodden, working class asses off to build.

  Feeling better—or at the very least as if he had a clearer vision of what came next—Angus gave his head one last shake before leaving the safety of the plant, hoping he’d never set eyes on the thing again.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ANGUS SAT IN the back of the generous yet only half-full auditorium as a speaker talked animatedly about the “curly girl movement”, losing him when the lingo headed down the lines of “squish to condish” and “scrunch out the crunch”.

  He turned to his right, ready with a joke for Lucinda, only to still when he remembered she wasn’t there. She’d gone to another talk, one about the science of cruelty-free cosmetics, something he’d have been far more interested in than “deep conditioning”.

  It made him wonder if she’d ordered him to sit in on this one as some kind of punishment for making her come at all.

  The woman three seats up blushed and gave him an encouraging smile.

  He gave one back—though less encouraging—before grabbing his suit jacket from the back of the empty seat beside him and shuffling along the empty row to his left.

  “Everything okay?” It was Elena Zager, conference organiser, exit gatekeeper.

  “All good. Great speaker. Lots of personality. Your attendees are lapping it up.”

  “Curls are a booming industry right now. Hugely energised, grass roots, engaged social media community. Making big waves. So to speak.”

  Angus wondered briefly if Remède had any products that might be swept up by a grass-roots campaign but knew it wouldn’t be enough.

  Elena motioned to his own head of curls. “Do you oil?”

  Angus blinked. “Wash and wear.”

  “Mmm...”

  Before she began to dole out advice, Angus crossed his arms and leaned against the door, positioning himself as her partner in the line of defence against room-leavers. “How are things going? With the conference.”

  “Brilliantly!” Elena looked around. “Though it would have been nice to have a few more attendees. Our speakers are world class. Those who come rave about the events in the feedback sheets. Time was we’d fill a room like this, but our numbers are slipping, especially as we struggle to drum up fresh faces. Present company excluded, of course.”

  Angus smiled, his eyes roving over the stage set-up, the banners, the promotional signage. It all looked a little tired, no doubt due to funding restrictions that came from diminishing numbers. A vicious cycle he and Lucinda saw time and again when clients came to him, feeling at the end of their rope.

  “Have you ever had professional help, branding-wise?” he asked.

  Elena leaned away. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Logo refresh, colour choice, website SEO audit, advertising buy-ins, social media spreads, creating viral headlines...”

  When her eyes began to glaze over, Angus swallowed the lingo and thought about how Lucinda might put it. “Uh...how do people know about the conference?”

  “My nephew made our website, and this year he started a Facebook page. It’s quite good. We advertise in trade magazines, but that gets more and more cost-prohibitive each year. And we do a mail-out to our list. I think that’s all.”

  Before he even felt the words forming, Angus heard himself say, “If you’d like me to put together some ideas, ways to invigorate interest, I’d be happy to offer up some thoughts.”

  Elena blinked, splotches of colour rising beneath the thick layer of make-up she wore. Damn it. He’d offended her. When he’d only been trying to help.

  This was why he needed Lucinda. She was the one who usually drew the client in, for she was honest and real. You felt it the moment you looked into her eyes.

  But she wasn’t around, so he had no choice but to fend for himself.

  Angus lowered his voice, found what he hoped was a warm smile and said, “Just between you and me, I’m not actually in the beauty industry.”

  “Oh?”

  He leaned in conspiratorially. “Updating business brands, helping companies connect with the people who need them, is what I do for a crust. And I’m quite a big deal in my field, if I do say so myself.”

  “Oh! Well, then, I guess if you have any advice, I’d be amenable to hearing it.”

  Angus gave her a smile. A real smile. Clearly, he’d picked up some of Lucinda’s skills after having watched her in action over the years.

  Elena patted him on the hand before heading back down into the auditorium.

  Angus leaned back against the door, the realisation of what he’d just offered to do slowly sinking in. He didn’t have the time for this. Or the head space. The answer to Remède’s very big, very real problem was the only thing he ought to focus on.

  Especially when it felt so close. As if the answer was right under his nose.

  Where was Lucinda when he needed her?

  With her discount-store pencils and fancy notebooks in hand, she’d have the idea out of hi
s head and into a user-friendly plan in no time at all.

  It was a hell of a thing, the way she did that. Head cocked so her dark hair swung over one shoulder, soft brown eyes narrowed as she pierced him with a laser look. It was as if she could see right inside his head, to his very core.

  A place few people had ever seen.

  Client relationships never went beyond the professional. Other friendships—neighbours, work acquaintances, old uni friends—were peripheral. The women he dated remained at arm’s length. Allowing them any closer would mean giving them the power to move him. Affect him. It would mean risking loss of control.

  Having watched his mother let man after man into her home, into her heart, he’d also had to watch them leave, every one of them taking a piece of her with them until by the end he’d barely been able to recognise the woman who’d promised she’d give him a better life no matter what.

  Of all the life lessons she’d tried to impart, the most lasting was one she’d never said out loud. She’d lived her life wide open and it had changed her. So, he lived his as a closed book. Invulnerable.

  To everyone...except one.

  Pressing himself away from the door, he slipped through. His steps ate up the miles to the small single room Velma had booked to grab a stash of hotel stationery.

  Needing to keep his mind busy, to keep his thoughts from straying, he chose the accoutrements necessary to whip this organisation into the best shape of its life.

  It would be like sorbet for his creative brain, leaving a clean slate on which a moment of clarity might shine, lighting the way to bring the Remède rebranding together.

  * * *

  After the Science of Cruelty-Free Cosmetics session, Lucinda had sent Angus a message to say she’d meet up with him later in the afternoon for a debrief.

  If he took that to mean she was spending time with Jameson, then surely that was on him?

  Instead, she spent an hour wandering the grounds of Hanover House, breathing in the fresh air, literally smelling the roses. Grateful to have some time to herself. Time on her own was at a premium, what with her long work hours and her beautiful boy to take care of.