The Corporate Bridegroom
‘No.’ Her relief was short-lived as he climbed in beside her. ‘I’m going wherever you’re going, Miss Claibourne. When I said I was going to spend some time shadowing you, I wasn’t referring to some stage-managed occasion, set up for the purpose. I meant now.’
‘Now?’ she repeated stupidly. ‘You mean now, this minute?’ She laughed—an unconvincing ha-ha-ha sort of laugh—hoping that he was joking. He didn’t join in. Her mistake; the man didn’t joke. ‘Forgive me. I understood you had a bank to run. I assumed you were a busy man, that you’d want to pick and choose.’ She hoped she looked sincere when she said, ‘You might prefer not to get involved in everything I do,’ because she really meant it. She didn’t want to be involved in everything she did.
‘I’m here. You’re here. Let’s not make a performance over this. Let’s just get on with it.’
He thought she was trying to hide something, and it was very tempting to say yes and let him see for himself, but really it wouldn’t be a good start. ‘Trust me, you really don’t want to shadow me today.’
‘Trust me when I say that I really do, Miss Claibourne. If I don’t stay with you all the time, how will I ever learn?’
And she’d thought the taxi driver had been sarcastic.
‘You don’t understand. I’m not—’
‘You’re not working today?’ He glanced at her shopping bags in a manner that suggested he wouldn’t need a month to discover everything there was to know about her. His look suggested that he’d had her all weighed up from the moment half a carton of latte had taken the shine off his shoes.
‘Yes, but—’
‘Hadn’t you better tell the driver where you want to go?’
‘I really think it might be wiser if I faxed you a list of what I’ll be doing for the rest of the month,’ she replied firmly, ignoring his suggestion.
‘I’m sure it will make interesting reading. But I particularly want to see what you’re doing today.’
She doubted that. She really doubted that. A little shiver of fear erupted as a giggle. ‘It’s very commendable of you to take this so seriously.’
‘I take everything seriously. I’m certainly not the kind of man who believes he has nothing left to learn. Even from you,’ he added.
‘That’s very generous of you.’ Her smile disguised a level of sarcasm that she rarely stooped to. Could it be catching?
‘You are working today?’ he repeated. ‘You do draw a full-time salary?’
He made it sound as if she was somehow cheating. Taking the money but not putting in the work.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I draw a full-time salary.’ And today she was going to earn every penny, she thought, as she leaned forward to give the cab driver their destination.
India had been surprised that the Farradays had bought her delaying tactic, and it suddenly occurred to Romana that perhaps things weren’t quite as simple as had first appeared. Why else would three busy men give up so much time to shadow three young women who could teach them nothing?
Niall Macaulay had already admitted that they wouldn’t be running the store, but putting in their own management team. Did they need to prove the Claibourne women incompetent before they could hope to dislodge them from the boardroom?
But they weren’t incompetent. So everything was just dandy…
‘Miss Claibourne?’
‘What? Oh… You want to see how I earn it?’ she asked.
‘You made a big pitch back there about how hard you all work. How nobody else could do the job.’
‘I didn’t say nobody. But I don’t believe an investment banker could easily step into my shoes.’ Not this investment banker, anyway. Public relations required warmth. An ability to smile even when you didn’t feel much like it.
‘Well, you’ve got a month to convince me. Perhaps you shouldn’t waste the time.’
She glanced at him, startled by the grimness of his tone. The man certainly knew how to bear a grudge. ‘You’re quite sure about this? You wouldn’t like to reconsider?’ she asked, offering him a final chance to escape an experience she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy. She’d be happy to make an exception in his case, but she didn’t want him crying foul afterwards.
‘On the contrary. I’d be interested to see what you do for the fat salary you draw on top of your share of the profits. It’s not a problem, is it?’
It was the word ‘fat’ that sealed his fate. ‘Absolutely not,’ she said, fastening her seatbelt. ‘Be my guest.’ And she dug out her cellphone and pressed a fast-dial number. ‘Molly, I’m on my way. Make sure there’s a spare C&F sweatshirt available.’ She eyed the man next to her. ‘Forty-four chest?’ He made no comment on her estimate, merely regarded her suspiciously through narrowed eyes. ‘That’ll do. Better make it extra long. And I’ll need an extra chair in my box tonight for another guest. Niall Macaulay.’ She spelt it out. ‘Include him in everything this week, will you? And you’ll have to double up all arrangements for the rest of the month. I’ll explain when I see you.’
‘Tonight?’ He was regarding her through narrowed eyes. ‘What’s happening tonight?’
‘A charity gala. Today is the start of a week of JOY, which is why your arrival is so untimely.’
‘JOY?’ Niall Macaulay looked slightly bemused. ‘Should I know what that is?’
‘A word for delight, pleasure, merriment?’ she offered. ‘It’s also the name of the Claibourne & Farraday charity support event that we started a couple of years ago. It’s a great public relations opportunity,’ she added pointedly.
‘Oh, yes. I remember reading about it in the annual report.’
What else? ‘We do it every year and raise a lot of cash for under-privileged children.’
‘And get a lot of free publicity at the same time.’
At last! ‘It’s not exactly free. You wouldn’t believe the cost of balloons these days. And sweatshirts. But it’s good value for money, especially for the children. Of course we do have a very good public relations department.’ She smiled at him, but only because that seemed to annoy him most. ‘You didn’t think this was a nine-to-five job, did you? I don’t keep bank hours, I’m afraid.’ Then, ‘I’m sorry, will your wife be expecting you home?’ She was catching onto this sarcastic lark. She was rather afraid she might get to enjoy it.
‘I’m not married, Miss Claibourne,’ he replied. ‘I haven’t been for some time.’
Romana wasn’t in the least bit surprised.
CHAPTER TWO
NIALL took out his mobile phone and called his secretary, reorganising his schedule for the rest of the day, dealing with queries that wouldn’t wait. At least the evening presented no problems. His date with a report on the steel industry would keep.
Romana was making calls too. One after another. Talking to an endless stream of people involved in the gala, checking last-minute details about flowers and programmes and seating.
It was possible she was attempting to impress him. Or maybe she was simply avoiding conversation. For that, at least, he should be grateful.
Staring out at the passing streets as the driver edged slowly through the city in the heavy midday traffic, he had plenty of time to regret the impulse that had prompted him to follow Romana Claibourne out of the office.
Heaven alone knew that he didn’t want to spend a minute in her company that wasn’t absolutely necessary. He had precious little time for ditzy blondes at the best of times. He had none at all for those who played at being ‘company director’ in the little time they could spare from shopping. He glanced at the designer label carrier bags, scattered about her long, narrow feet.
Encased in designer shoes with a price ticket to reflect the label, he had no doubt.
His lip curled at such conspicuous extravagance even while the man in him recognised the beauty of the feet, the slender ankles and the legs to which they were attached. There was a lot of leg to admire—Romana Claibourne clearly didn’t believe in hiding her best features.
She was pushing back her wild, thick mane of curls when she realised that he was staring at her. Every instinct warned him to turn away as she paused, querying his look. Instead, he did what he knew would most irritate her. He raised one brow…bored, unimpressed…and turned back to the more interesting view of passing traffic.
A charity gala, no matter how good the cause, wasn’t his idea of work. It wasn’t even his idea of fun. Such events were right at the bottom of his ‘must-do’ list. He’d far rather send a cheque and pass on the manufactured glamour.
But he could scarcely complain. She’d given him every opportunity to escape, offered to sort out the shadowing in a civilised manner; he’d simply assumed she was trying to get rid of him in order to get on with whatever that overnight bag had been packed for.
It was too late now to wish he’d simply asked her what she was doing for the rest of day. There was just something about the girl, the way she looked at him with those big blue eyes as if she was used to twisting men around her little finger and having them sit up and beg for more. He’d wanted her to know that he was made of sterner stuff.
The taxi finally came to a halt just upstream of Tower Bridge, where the burgundy and gold livery of Claibourne & Farraday was much in evidence on balloons and sweatshirts and a huge crowd was being whipped up into a state of wild excitement for the television cameras.
‘We’re here, Mr Macaulay.’
‘Niall, please,’ he said. Not out of any desire for informality, but because a whole month of being addressed as “Mr Macaulay” in a manner just short of insolent was not going to improve his temper.
And he could see for himself that they’d arrived.
It was what they were going to be doing that bothered him. Then, as he stepped out of the taxi and saw the C&F banner draped over the length of a very tall crane and a huge sign inviting participants to ‘Jump for JOY’, it became blindingly obvious.
He discovered that charity galas were not, after all, at the bottom of his list.
Charity bungee-jumping was right off the page.
‘It’s not always like this,’ Romana said, as she turned from paying the cab driver. ‘Some days are quite dull.’ She tucked the receipt into her wallet, then looked up and flashed a quick smile at him. ‘Although not many—not if I can help it.’
‘You’re going to jump?’ he asked. Silly question. Of course she was going to jump. She was being paid to have fun and she was enjoying every stupid, reckless minute of it.
‘Do you wish you’d gone back to your office when you had a chance, shadow-man?’ The challenge was light enough, but it was unmistakable. It said, Where I go, you follow.
‘Not at all,’ he replied. ‘I’m finding the experience highly informative, but you appear to have misinterpreted the word “shadow”. You could have saved yourself the bother of organising a sweatshirt for me. I’m not playing follow-my-leader, Romana. I’m simply observing.’
She glanced up at him. ‘Scared, huh?’
He let that go. He had nothing to prove. There had been a time when he’d been as reckless as a man could be. But life had a way of mocking you. The gentlest of pastimes could be more dangerous than jumping into thin air.
‘Have you ever done this before?’ he asked.
‘Me? Good grief, no. I’m scared of heights.’ For a moment he believed her, then, when she had him hooked, she grinned. ‘How else do you think I managed to drum up so much sponsorship?’
‘You could have pinned your victims down and threatened to pour coffee over them unless they signed on the dotted line?’ he offered. She was bright and bubbly, and no doubt very good at this kind of mindless nonsense, but she wasn’t his idea of a company director.
She acknowledged his bull’s-eye with the slightest nod. ‘I’ll bear that in mind for next year. Thanks for the tip.’
‘There won’t be a next year.’
‘Well, no, not a bungee-jump, but…’ She suddenly realised that he wasn’t referring to the bungee-jump, but the imminent eviction of the Claibournes from the boardroom. ‘But I’ll come up with something equally exciting,’ she continued firmly. ‘If you’d like to show your own enthusiasm it’s not too late to phone your office and drum up some sponsorship yourself. It’s for a great cause, and I’m sure there are any number of people who’d pay good money to see you jump a hundred feet from a crane with an elastic band tied to your feet.’ Her smile was gratingly sweet as she offered him her phone. ‘It’s being broadcast on the internet,’ she added, ‘so they’ll be able to watch the whole thing live and get their money’s worth.’ Then, because she couldn’t resist it, ‘I’ll sponsor you myself.’
He’d just bet she would, but he shook his head. ‘I’ll stick to the arrangement we made. You do whatever you usually do. I’ll observe.’ No hardship on the eye, at least. Just on the brain. ‘You are jumping?’
‘One of the Claibournes had to make the opening jump and since India and Flora suddenly discovered pressing appointments elsewhere…’ She shrugged. ‘It’s a pity, though. If I’d known you’d be here I could have billed us both as the opening jump. We’ve already got the front page of Celebrity magazine for next week, but with you arriving out of the blue we could have sold pictures to the financial pages, too.’
‘How much have you raised in sponsorship?’
‘Personally?’ She glanced up at the crane. ‘Is it worth risking my neck for fifty-three thousand pounds do you think?’
‘Fifty-three thousand pounds?’ He was impressed, but he wasn’t about to show it. ‘That many people want to see you scared to death?’
‘Scared to death?’ Her eyes widened, making them appear impossibly large.
‘Isn’t that the point? You make a big thing out of being terrified of heights so your sponsors pay out to hear you scream.’
There was a pause before she said, ‘I must make sure to give them value for money. Thanks for reminding me,’ she said as her attention was claimed by a young woman bearing a sweatshirt.
‘Who’s the dishy bloke?’
‘Dishy?’ Romana didn’t have to follow her assistant’s avid gaze. Molly could only be talking about Niall. ‘He’s not dishy.’ He was mind-numbingly gorgeous. The kind of man that would have a girl dropping coffee and everything else if he so much as smiled. Maybe that was why he didn’t smile. It was too dangerous.
‘Crumbs, Romana, get your eyes tested. You don’t often get tall, dark and the look of the devil all in one package.’
That summed him up perfectly, and she felt a little tremor somewhere in her midriff that had nothing at all to do with jumping into space. ‘Should a married woman be having such thoughts about a man who is not her husband?’
‘I’m married, Romana. Not dead.’
‘Well, you can put your eyes back in their sockets. He might be good to look at but I promise you he’s not nice to know. The man is dour. With a capital D. A real cold fish. His name is Niall Macaulay and he’s one of the Farraday clan—’
‘I didn’t know there were any real live Farradays.’
‘Unfortunately they’re as real and as live as you can get. This one is a dominant male of the species and he’s going to be shadowing my role with the company for the next month.’ And marking her out of ten for technique. She didn’t think he’d be interested in artistic merit.
‘You mean he’s the one being squeezed into your box at the gala tonight? You lucky cow! Do you think he’d like some coffee?’ she asked hopefully.
‘He needs something,’ she said, with feeling. ‘A charm implant would be a definite improvement. But I’d advise against offering him coffee if you value your life.’ She looked up at the crane and shivered. ‘One of us has to be at the gala this evening.’
‘You’ll be fine. Just don’t forget to smile for the cameras. It’ll probably be the cover picture, so when you put on that sweatshirt make sure the C&F logo is front and centre. I’d stay and help, but I have to meet the caterers at the theatre.’
Smile for the camera? Smile?
A teeth-baring grimace was all she could manage as she stared in the mirror and retouched her lipstick for the television camera which would follow her every move once she emerged from the caravan. She’d have bitten it all off long before she reached the jump platform. Not good. She put the lipstick in her pocket, along with her handbag mirror, for a last-minute touch-up. If she could keep her hand sufficiently steady.
She caught herself fluffing her hair. Again. Holding her arms firmly at her sides, she fixed a smile to her lips and emerged from the caravan to be met by the television director.
‘Great,’ she said absently as he ran through what would happen. But her mind was somewhere else. On Niall Macaulay, who was standing a few yards away. It was hard to tell if he was regretting his decision to join her. His expression gave nothing away. ‘Sure you won’t join me, Niall? A Farraday jumping would be the icing on the cake. And it would really prove your commitment.’
The director spun to look at him. ‘Hey, this is great. If you could just change as quickly as you can, Mr Farraday—’
‘The name is Macaulay.’ The director looked confused. ‘Niall Farraday Macaulay. And there are more than enough people around here desperate to fling themselves into space for a good cause. I don’t want to be selfish and hold things up.’ Romana gave him a look that suggested he wasn’t fooling her with his lack of selfishness. ‘I’ll sponsor Miss Claibourne instead.’
Romana was temporarily speechless. It was the second time he’d done that to her today, and she didn’t like it.
‘Niall Farraday Macaulay?’ she asked him as she went to weigh in. ‘You really are called that?’
‘It’s a family tradition. A reminder that our time will come.’
‘Not if I can help it,’ she said. Then turned away to take the card to be handed to the jump team. She took it in fingers that were losing any sense of feeling. Only her mouth was working, running away with her, joking to the camera about getting vertigo standing on a high kerb…
It avoided having to think about what was ahead.
She wasn’t thinking at all, or she might have distracted the photographer from Celebrity magazine when he wanted to take a picture of the two of them together. Yet, even numb with terror, the PR side of her brain was saying Go for it! This would get people talking, create a buzz…and wasn’t it vital to demonstrate her ability to take advantage of a photo opportunity?
‘Claibourne & Farraday working in partnership for deprived children everywhere,’ she prompted, offering a hand to Niall. Her jumping and him watching. Nothing new there.
He sketched a smile, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. He probably did, she realised, and felt instantly guilty; there might be some perfectly good reason for his lack of good humour. And for not taking part in the jump.
A solid grasp of the principles of gravity and plain good sense, perhaps?
‘Get really close, warm and caring…’ the photographer encouraged. Niall was surprisingly co-operative, putting his arm around her shoulders before she could reconsider. It felt almost shockingly good to be tucked up against him. ‘Lovely…big smile…’
Startled by the direction her thoughts were taking, she glanced up at him. The breeze from the river was whipping up his perfectly cut hair and feathering it across his forehead, and as he smiled to order it was plain that, physically, the man had everything. Style, good looks and a set of teeth any film star would pay a fortune for.
The minute the photographer finished, Niall let his arm drop. The smile, however, remained. A warning that she had indeed made a mistake by drawing attention to his presence. It was something the columnist at Celebrity would seize on and speculate about at length. And if his photograph appeared on the front cover India would never forgive her.
‘They’re waiting for you,’ he said, the smile turning into the smallest of frowns as she stepped onto the hoist with legs that didn’t appear to belong to her and made a grab for the safety rail as it began to rise. Had he realised how scared she was? Did it matter?
‘What’s the view like?’ The presenter’s voice in her ear prompted her.
Aware that the mini-cam would be picking up the fact that her eyes were tight shut, she managed to blurt out, ‘I’m saving it for a surprise when I get to the top.’
The sound of laughter reached her over the loudspeaker, and as the hoist came to a halt she instinctively opened her eyes as she stepped onto the platform. Big mistake. Behind her, her escape route returned to the ground. In front of her London seemed to shift beneath her feet and she felt the colour drain from her face.
‘I’d like to go home now,’ she said, grabbing the first solid object that came to hand. Everyone laughed.
She joined in, trying not to sound hysterical. But she was out of time. As the hoist came to a halt behind her, with its first load of paying jumpers, she said, ‘Could someone unpeel my fingers from this rail?’
‘I thought this was all in a day’s work for you.’
Niall Macaulay. Riding to her rescue. She knew he’d seen her fear… ‘You dropped this.’ He handed her the card with her name and weight on it. ‘I wouldn’t want you to miss out on the excitement.’
She glanced at the card, frowning at the implication that she had tried to get out of jumping. She would have turned and glared at him for being such a know-all, but she wasn’t prepared to move that much. Besides, this was a live broadcast.
‘Well, thanks. It’s good to see Claibourne & Farraday working together.’ Even in extremis she still remembered to mention the company name.
‘No problem. It’s what a shadow’s for. To pick up the mistakes. Can I offer some help there?’
More sarcasm, but Romana was beyond caring about the feud. Her knuckles were bone-white as she gripped the cold metal.
‘My hero,’ she said, as Niall peeled her fingers one by one from the rail.
The bungee-team, eager to get started, fixed up the bungee. When they’d finished, it was Niall who reached out a hand to help her to her feet. It was oddly comforting, and she kept her eyes fixed on his face. That way she wasn’t so conscious of the drop. There were creases at the corners of his eyes, she noticed, as if smiling hadn’t always been such a strain. ‘It’s quite normal to be scared,’ he said.
‘Scared? Who’s scared?’ She put the fingers of her other hand in her mouth and pulled a face at the camera. Clowning was the only way she was going to get through this.
‘It’s safer than falling out of bed,’ he assured her.
‘You can guarantee that?’ she asked. ‘You’ve tested the theory? How many beds have you fallen out of?’ The grammar wasn’t great, but it raised a laugh from the crowd and stopped Niall Macaulay from smiling. A hundred-percent success.
‘Ready, Romana?’
Belatedly recalling Molly’s reminder to smile, she retrieved her hand from Niall, took out her mirror and lipstick and made a big performance of retouching the colour. ‘Got to look good in the photographs,’ she said, beyond shaking. She wasn’t feeling anything very much at all, just a sort of numb weightlessness, and she bared her teeth in the nearest approximation to a smile she could manage. ‘Now I’m ready.’ She handed the lipstick and mirror to Niall. ‘Any last-minute advice?’
‘Don’t look down?’ He picked her up from behind and for a moment held her hard against his chest. The warmth was welcome, and for the first time since she’d stepped onto the hoist she felt safe. Then he took a step forward.
A gasp of fright escaped her. ‘Are you going to throw me over?’ She’d intended to whisper, but the microphone attached to her sweatshirt picked up every syllable.
‘Not this time,’ he murmured, his response covered by a burst of laughter. Then he placed her carefully on the edge of the platform, with her toes sticking out into clear space. Her toes didn’t like it, and clawed desperately at the inside of her shoes. Only his hand, still on her shoulder, was keeping her from fainting. Actually, that wasn’t such a bad idea…
‘On the count of three,’ he murmured against her ear. ‘And don’t forget to scream.’