His Shy Cinderella

‘Yes, Mr Bond. I’ll keep it top secret,’ Gina drawled.

Brandon groaned. ‘Bond’s PAs used to sigh with longing, flutter their eyelashes and do exactly what he asked.’

‘Bond didn’t have a PA. He flirted with everyone else’s PAs. And you can’t flirt with someone who changed your nappy,’ Gina retorted.

Brandon knew when he was beaten. ‘I’ll make the coffee. Skinny latte with half a spoonful of sweetener, right?’

She grinned. ‘That’s my boy.’

‘You’re supposed to respect your boss,’ he grumbled, only half teasing.

‘I do respect you, sweetie. But I also think you’re about to do something stupid. And your mum—’

‘Would never forgive you for letting me go right ahead,’ Brandon finished. He’d heard that line from her quite a few times over the years. The worst thing was that she was usually right.

He made the coffee, then buried himself in paperwork.

Gina came in an hour later. ‘One dossier, as requested,’ she said, and put the buff-coloured folder on his desk.

She’d also printed a label for the folder, with the words Top Sekrit! typed in red ink and in a font that resembled a toddler’s scrawled handwriting.

‘You’ve made your point,’ he said. She thought he was behaving like a three-year-old.

‘Good. I hope you’re listening.’

Given that Gina was one of the few people in the company who’d actually batted his corner when he’d first taken over from his father, he couldn’t be angry with her. He knew she had his best interests at heart.

‘There aren’t going to be any tears at the end of this,’ he said gently. ‘I promise.’

‘Good. Because I worry about you almost as much as your mum does.’

‘I know. And I appreciate it.’ He reached over to squeeze her hand, hoping he wasn’t about to get the lecture regarding it being time he stopped playing the field and settled down. Because that didn’t figure in his plans, either. How could he ever settle down and have a family, knowing he’d taken that opportunity away from his brother? He didn’t deserve that kind of future. Which meant his focus was strictly on the business. ‘Thanks, Gina.’

‘I’ve emailed it to you as well,’ she said. ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’

‘I won’t.’

The top of the file contained a photograph. Angel McKenzie looked like every other generic businesswoman, dressed in a well-cut dark suit teamed with a plain white shirt buttoned up to the neck, and her dark hair cut in a neat bob.

But her eyes were arresting.

Violet blue.

Brandon shook himself. An irrelevant detail. He wasn’t intending to date her.

Her CV was impressive. A first-class degree in engineering from a top university, followed by an MA in automotive design from another top institution. And she hadn’t gone in straight at the top of her family business, unlike himself: it looked as if she’d done a stint in every single department before becoming her father’s second-in-command, and then Max McKenzie had stepped aside two years ago to let her take charge. Again, impressive: it meant she knew her business inside out.

But there was nothing in the dossier about her personal life. He had the distinct impression that she put the business first and spent all her time on it. Given the state of those balance sheets, he would’ve done the same.

But there was one small thing that he could use. Angel McKenzie went to the gym every morning before work. Even more helpfully, the gym she used belonged to the leisure club of a hotel near to her factory. All he had to do was book a room at the hotel, and he could use the leisure club and then accidentally-on-purpose bump into her.

Once they were face to face, she’d have to talk to him.

And it would all be done and dusted within a week.

* * *

At seven the next morning, Brandon walked into the leisure club’s reception area and paused at the window. The badge on the woman’s neat black polo shirt identified her as Lorraine, Senior Trainer.

‘Good morning,’ he said with a smile. ‘I wonder if you can help me.’

She smiled back. ‘Of course, sir. Are you a guest at the hotel?’

‘I am.’ He showed her his room key.

‘And you’d like to use the facilities?’

‘Sort of,’ he said. ‘I’m meeting Angel McKenzie here.’

‘It’s Thursday, so she’ll be in the pool,’ Lorraine told him. ‘Would you like a towel?’

‘Yes, please.’ And he was glad he’d thought to bring swimming trunks as well as a T-shirt and sweatpants.

She handed him a thick cream-coloured towel. ‘I just need you to sign in here, please.’ She gestured to the book on the windowsill with its neatly ruled columns: name, room number, time in, time out. ‘The changing rooms are through there on the left,’ she said, indicating the door. ‘The lockers take a pound coin, which will be returned to you when you open the locker. As a guest, you also have use of the sauna, steam room and spa pool. Just let us know if you need anything.’ She gave him another smile.

‘Thanks.’ He signed in, went to change into his swimming gear, and followed the instructions on the wall to shower before using the pool.

The pool room itself was a little warm for his liking. Nobody was sitting in the spa pool, but there were three people using the small swimming pool: a middle-aged man and woman who were clearly there together, and a woman who was swimming length after length in a neat front crawl.

Angel McKenzie.

Brandon slid into the water in the lane next to hers and swam half a dozen lengths, enjoying the feel of slicing through the water.

Then he changed his course just enough that he accidentally bumped into her, knocking her very slightly off balance so she was forced to stand up in the pool.

He, too, halted and stood up. ‘I’m so sorry.’

She looked at him. The first thing he noticed was how vivid her eyes were; the photograph had barely done her justice.

The second thing he noticed was that she was wearing earplugs, so she wouldn’t have heard his apology.

‘Sorry,’ he said again, exaggerating the movement of his mouth.

She shrugged. ‘It’s OK.’

Clearly she planned to go straight back to swimming. Which wasn’t what he wanted. ‘No, it’s not. Can I buy you a coffee?’

She took out one of the earplugs. ‘I’m afraid I missed what you said.’