The Heiress's Secret Baby

* * *

‘I hope I didn’t keep you waiting. I got caught up in something.’

As a matter of fact he was precisely on time—Polly would bet money that Gabe Beaufils had been standing outside the office watching a stopwatch to make sure he walked back in exactly one hour after she had dismissed him.

She would have done the same thing herself. Interesting.

Not that she was going to let him know that. She kept her eyes locked on her computer screen, giving every impression that she too was busy. ‘I hope you had a nice breakfast.’

‘Yes, thank you, most important meal of the day.’ There was a dark hint of laughter in his voice.

‘So they say.’ She looked up and smiled. ‘I’m usually too busy to remember to eat it.’

She had meant the glance and the smile to be brief, dismissive, but there was an intensity in his answering look that ensnared her. How could eyes be so dark, so knowing? Heat burned her cheeks, a shiver of awareness deep inside.

Reluctantly she pulled her gaze away, staring mindlessly at her computer screen, reading the same nonsensical sentence over and over again.

‘You should take care of yourself, Polly.’ His voice was low, caressing. ‘Neglecting your body is not wise.’

‘I don’t neglect my body.’ She wanted to pull the defensive words back as soon as she had uttered them.

‘I exercise and eat well,’ she clarified not entirely truthfully but she didn’t want to admit to her snacking habits to him. Not when he was evidently so healthy. And fit. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to look up again, to sweep her eyes over him from head to toe, lingering on the muscles she knew were lurking under that crisp white shirt. ‘I just don’t make a big deal of it.’

She pushed her chair back and stood. ‘I am going to do a walkabout,’ she said. ‘Would you care to accompany me?’

He stayed still for a moment, that curiously intent look still in his eyes, and then nodded courteously as he pulled the door open and held it for her.

Polly sensed his every movement as he followed her back out into the light, glass-walled foyer, awareness prickling her spine.

Rachel looked up as they walked by, curiosity clear on her face. Polly had no doubt that she was emailing all of her friends with a highly scurrilous account of her boss’s encounter with a half-naked Frenchman. Let her; Polly would fill her PA’s forthcoming days so completely that she wouldn’t even be able to dream about gossiping.

It wasn’t far from her office to one of the discreet doors that led out onto the shop floor. This was what Rafferty’s was all about. No matter how essential the office functions were they existed for one purpose—to keep the iconic store in business. Polly ensured that every finance assistant, every marketing executive spent at least one week a year on the shop floor. Just as her great-grandfather had done. She herself spent most of December on the shop floor serving, restocking and assisting. The buzz and adrenaline rush were addictive.

‘I’ve spoken to Building Services,’ she said as she slid her pass through the door lock, turning with one hand on the handle to face Gabe. ‘I am going to turn Grandfather’s old office into the boardroom. It’s bigger than any of the meeting rooms, far too big for one person—and I think he’ll be pleased with the gesture. He is still President of the Board.’

Polly knew everyone expected her to move into the vast corner suite but couldn’t face the thought of occupying her grandfather’s chair, feeling him second-guessing her all the time, disapproving of every change she made.

‘And me?’ It was said with a self-deprecating and very Gallic shrug but Polly wasn’t fooled. There was a sharpness in his eyes.

‘The old boardroom.’ It was a neat solution. Polly got to keep her office, her grandfather would hopefully feel honoured and Gabe would get a brand-new office in keeping with his position. But not a Rafferty office, not one with history steeped in its walls.

‘Building Services are confident they can create a room for your assistant with no major infrastructure changes and there’s already a perfectly good cloakroom. You can start picking wallpaper and furniture this week and it should be ready end of next week.’

‘And where do I work in the meantime?’ His voice was still mild but Polly was aware of a stillness about him, a quiet confidence in his gaze. She didn’t want to push too far, not yet. Reluctantly she discarded her plan that he sit in her foyer, with Rachel, or that she find him a spare desk in one of the bigger, open-plan offices where the rest of the backroom staff worked.

‘We can fit a second desk in my room,’ she said. ‘Just until you’re settled. But, Gabe? No more sleeping in the office, no more using my assistant to sort out your laundry and...’ she swallowed but kept her gaze and voice firm ‘...you remain fully dressed and act appropriately at all times. Understood?’

Gabe’s mouth quirked. ‘Of course,’ he murmured.

‘Good.’ She pushed the door open.

This was it, this was where the magic happened.

Polly blinked as she stepped out. They had entered the home furnishings department on the top floor and the lights were switched to full, purposely dazzling to best showcase the silks, cushions, throws, ceramics, silverware and all the other luxury items Rafferty’s told their customers were essential for a comfortable home. Beneath them were floors and galleries devoted to technology, books, toys, food and, of course, fashion.

Polly’s heart swelled and she clenched her fists. She was home.

And yet everything had changed. She had changed.

She had hoped that being back would ground her again but it was odd walking through the galleries with Gabe. If her staff greeted her with their usual respect, they greeted him with something warmer.

And how on earth did he know every name after what? Three or four weeks?

‘Bonjour, Emily.’ Polly narrowed her eyes at him as they entered the world-famous haberdashery room. Had his accent thickened as he greeted the attractive redhead who had turned the department into the must-go destination for a new generation of craft lovers?

‘How is your cat? Did the operation go well?’ He had moved nearer to Emily, smiling down at her intimately.

Polly’s head snapped round. No way. He knew the names of every staff member and all about the health of their pets too?

‘Yes, thank you, Mr Beaufils, she’s desperate to go outside but she’s doing really well.’ Emily was smiling back, her voice a little breathy.

‘They can be such a responsibility, non? I ’ave...’

Had he just dropped an aitch? Really? Polly had known him for what, an hour? And she already knew perfectly well that Gabe spoke perfect, almost accentless English. Unless, it seemed, he was talking to petite redheads. She coughed and could have sworn she saw a glimmer of laughter in the depths of his almost-black eyes as he continued.

‘I ’ave been looking after Mademoiselle Rafferty’s cat for the last few weeks. He is a rascal, that one. Such a huge responsibility.’

‘They are,’ Emily said earnestly, her huge eyes fixed on his. ‘But worth it.’

‘Oui, the way they purr. So trusting.’

That was it. Polly felt ill just listening. ‘So greedy,’ she said briskly. ‘And so prone to eviscerating small mammals under the bed. If you’re ready, Gabe, shall we continue? Nice work,’ she said to Emily, unable to keep a sarcastic tone from her voice. ‘Keep it up.’ And without a backwards glance she swept from the department.

* * *

It had been an interesting morning. Gabe was well aware that he had been well and truly sized up, tested and judged. What the verdict was he had no idea.

Nor, truth be told, was he that interested. He had his own weighing up to do.

Tough, but not as tough as she thought. Surprisingly stylish for someone who lived and breathed work; the sharp little suit she was wearing would pass muster in the most exclusive streets in Paris—unusual for an Englishwoman. He liked how she wasn’t afraid of her height, accentuating it with heels, the blonde hair swept up into a knot adding an extra couple of centimetres.

And she wasn’t going to give him an inch. The solution to the offices was masterful. It was going to be fun working with her.

He loved a good game.

Gabe strode through the foyer, smiling at Rachel as she looked up with a blush. Maybe he should have gone a little easier on the flirting. He wouldn’t make that mistake with his own assistant—he would request a guy or, even better, a motherly woman who would keep all unwanted callers away and feed him home-made cake. He made a note to keep an eye on the ‘interests’ section of any applicants’ CVs.

He opened the door to Polly’s office without knocking; after all they were sharing it.