The Virgin's Wedding Night

He’d been furious when she’d first overtaken him in the promotion stakes, and she knew she had him to thank for her less than flattering nickname.

But then he’s never heard what I call him under my breath, she thought.

All the same, there were times when she wanted to take hold of him by his pure silk designer tie, and say, Look, we’re on the same side, you pathetic idiot. Stop being a total obstruction.

But it wasn’t just office politics. Harriet knew that she’d offended Jonathan’s male ego long ago, by signally failing to appreciate the charms that had set the young secretaries in a dither since he’d joined the company.

Too pleased with himself by half had been her original thinking, and she’d seen no reason to alter her opinion since. Except, maybe, to add ‘bloody nuisance’ to his list of failings.

And today, unfortunately, she would need every scrap of patience she possessed in order to deal with him.

As she rounded the corner into the square where Flint Audley’s offices were located, she saw that a group of people had gathered outside the small railed garden opposite the building, and were watching something intently.

Curious, Harriet slowed a little, wondering what had attracted their attention. If there’d been some kind of accident, which might require emergency action.

Then, as realisation dawned, her brows snapped together. Good God, she thought. It’s the guy from the restaurant—the alley-cat artist.

Sitting sideways on the low wall, one long leg tucked under him and a board balanced on his lap, he was sketching rapidly.

As Harriet watched, he tore off the sheet of paper he’d been working on, and handed it with a bow to the girl directly in front of him, amid laughter and applause from the others standing around.

Not just vaguely sinister Mediterranean scenes, this time around, but instant portraits, it seemed. Was this the other—different—work that Luigi had mentioned? She was aware of an odd disappointment as the subject of the sketch blushed, giggled, then bent, a little awkwardly, to put some money in the box at his feet.

Well, that certainly confirmed what Luigi had also said about him being hard up, she thought.

Not that she could allow it to make a difference.

The square was a pretty exclusive location, and besides, he probably needed a licence for what he was doing, and she’d bet good money he didn’t have one.

And then, just as if he’d picked up her thought-waves across the width of the road, he looked at her, the dark brows lifting in recognition. Only this time he didn’t look away, subjecting her to a long, searching look that rested on her face, then travelled with lingering arrogance the entire length of her body, as if he was asking some silent question.

There was something in his gaze that caught Harriet completely on the raw, prompting—and deepening—the feelings of self-consciousness she’d experienced at their earlier encounter. Something which she could not understand, and certainly didn’t appreciate.

You’re one step away from down-and-out, my friend, she addressed him silently. So, talented or not, you’re in no real position to issue any kind of challenge, as you’re about to find out.

She turned and swept into the building.

‘Les,’ she said to the security man behind the reception desk. ‘Get that person across the road to move on, will you?’ She forced a smile. ‘He’s making the place look untidy.’

He gave her a surprised look. ‘Not doing any real harm is he, miss?’

‘Apart from causing an obstruction,’ Harriet said crisply. ‘Anyway, I’d prefer not to discuss it.’

She walked to the lift, aware that a cloud of disapproval was following her.

But I can’t afford to care about that now, she told herself, as she rode upwards. So, Luigi’s tame artist can just push off and struggle somewhere else. And good riddance to him.

And, gritting her teeth, she marched out of the lift, off to do battle over something that really mattered.

CHAPTER TWO

‘WELL, you were a great deal of help,’ Tony Morton, Harriet’s immediate boss commented sourly as they left the meeting. ‘What the hell was wrong with you? This expansion on the commercial side is supposed to be your pet project, and yet half the time you seemed to be in a trance.’

He gave her a frowning look. ‘So, what is it? Have you fallen in love?’

Harriet gasped. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, of course not.’

‘Well, something must be going on,’ he said moodily. He threw his arms in the air. ‘My God, when you were talking about that development site in the Midlands, you actually said “beachside” instead of “canalside”. What was that about?’

‘I was probably thinking of the canal’s leisure and holiday opportunities,’ was the only lame excuse Harriet could come up with on the spur of the moment. ‘It was a slip of the tongue,’ she added, cursing under her breath.

A Freudian slip, more like, she admitted silently. It had been hot in the boardroom, and that damned picture from the restaurant had kept coming back into her mind. For a moment there she’d imagined she actually felt the relentless beat of the sun, and the burn of the sand under her bare feet. But that wasn’t all.

For some unfathomable reason, the man Roan’s dark face had suddenly intruded into her consciousness too, the shadowed eyes glinting as if in mockery. Or even, she thought, scorn.

And that was the moment she’d found herself floundering…

Which was, she told herself, totally absurd.

‘Well, you can’t afford any more of these slips.’ Tony shook his head. ‘Now we have a three-month delay while we prepare yet another report. The whole scheme has lost whatever priority status it had. Unbelievable.’

Harriet bit her lip. ‘Tony, I’m really sorry. Naturally, I realised it wasn’t going to be a walkover, but it isn’t a total defeat either.’

‘We were let off the hook, sweetheart,’ he reminded her grimly. ‘I only hope that next time you’ll have got your beans in a row as efficiently as Jonathan marshalled the opposition today.’

Well, she couldn’t argue about that, Harriet thought, mortified. She’d been well and truly ambushed. She’d expected the usual clash of horns, and encountered instead a ‘more in sorrow than in anger’ routine from Jonathan, which accused her elliptically of trying to split the company and establish her own independent business empire.

Caught on the back foot, she’d rallied and offered a vehement denial, but not quickly enough, and she could tell that the seed had been sown in the minds around the table, and that alarm bells were ringing.

And while Flint Audley commanded her total loyalty, she had to admit the chance of escaping from the hothouse politicking of the London office for a while had seemed deeply attractive.

‘It would also be a good thing,’ Tony said, pausing with a frown in the doorway of his office, ‘if you’d resolve this ridiculous feud with Jon Audley. It’s doing no good at all.’

Harriet gasped. ‘You’re blaming me for it?’

‘Not blaming,’ he said. ‘Just noting that he seems to command more support round here than you do at the moment. And today he sounded like the voice of sweet reason, not you.’ He paused. ‘Maybe you should bear that in mind when you’re preparing your analysis of what went wrong earlier. I’d like it on my desk tomorrow.’

Going into her own room, Harriet managed to resist the temptation to slam the door hard.

Tony’s last comments might be unfair, she thought furiously, but there was little she could say in her own defence about the way things had gone. She had not given the job in hand her usual unflinching concentration, and she knew it. What she could not explain to herself was—why?

Because it wasn’t just the commercial project that was slipping away from her, but her entire life. And somehow she had to get it back. All of it.

She took a step towards her desk, then stopped. Oh, to hell with it, she thought impatiently, glancing at her watch. Pointless to imagine I can achieve anything useful for the rest of the afternoon, when my mind’s flying off in all directions like this. Besides, I was in before eight this morning. I’m going home.

It occurred to her that, apart from anything else, she was hungry. A shower and a meal might make her feel more inclined to reprise the events of the meeting, and pinpoint what positive aspects there’d been.

At the moment, she couldn’t think of any, but she would never admit as much. This is just a glitch, she told herself firmly. I’ll bounce back. If only I didn’t have so much else on my plate.