Seduced By The Boss
‘You sound like Mum,’ Grace muttered.
‘Good,’ Bella retorted. Usually Grace was the one who sounded like their mother and Bella was the one hanging her head in shame.
She made Grace eat every scrap and drink two more glasses of water before she resumed her interrogation. ‘Right. Now tell me—what happened?’
‘I can’t marry Howard.’
It was the last thing Bella had been expecting. Her older sister had been engaged for the last four years. OK, so Howard was a bit on the boring side, and his parents were nightmares—Bella had dubbed them Mr Toad and Mrs Concrete Hair with good reason—but if Grace loved him then Bella was prepared to be as sweet as she could to them. ‘What? Why not? Don’t you love him any more?’ And then a nasty thought struck her. ‘Is there someone else?’
‘Of course there isn’t anyone else.’ Grace shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t do that to him.’
‘Not deliberately, no, but you can’t help who you fall in love with,’ Bella said. She’d fallen for Mr Wrong enough times, and Kirk had shattered her trust for good. She’d never trust another man with her heart again, no matter how attractive he was. It had taken her six months to rebuild her life—and she was still angry with herself for being so naïve and trusting. Why hadn’t she been able to see that he was stringing her along?
‘I love Howard, but I’m not in love with him,’ Grace said. ‘There’s a difference.’
‘I know.’ Bella squeezed her hand. ‘And it’s a big difference. A deal-breaking difference.’
‘He’s never made me feel breathless and dizzy, as if he’d swept me off my feet.’
Not surprising: Howard was cautious and sensible. Which wasn’t a bad thing, Bella thought, but the occasional bit of spontaneity wouldn’t have hurt. And it might have made her sister’s world complete—which clearly hadn’t happened. On paper, Grace and Howard were the perfect match—both sensible and cautious—but there was a little thing called chemistry. Without that, life would be miserable. ‘You can’t spend the rest of your life with someone who doesn’t make your world light up.’
Grace bit her lip. ‘I think you’re about the only person who’d understand that. Mum’s going to be so disappointed in me.’
‘No, she’s not, and neither is Dad—they both want you to be happy, and if marrying Howard wouldn’t make you happy then you definitely shouldn’t marry him,’ Bella said firmly.
‘I’m not sure if he was in love with me, either,’ Grace said.
‘Of course he was—you’re gorgeous and you’re clever and you’re nice. What’s not to love?’ Bella demanded, cross on her sister’s behalf.
‘I think we both loved each other,’ Grace said softly, ‘but not enough. I mean, we’ve been engaged for ever—who stays engaged for four years in this day and age?’
‘A couple who’s saving up the deposit for a house?’ Bella suggested.
‘Apart from the fact that we already have enough money for that between us, you know what I mean—if we’d really wanted to be together, we’d have got married years ago rather than waiting. We don’t even live together,’ Grace pointed out.
‘Mainly because Cynthia of the Eagle Eyes and Concrete Hair wouldn’t let her little boy shack up with someone,’ Bella said. ‘Is that why you got drunk tonight?’
‘No. That was the cartoon you drew for me,’ Grace said. ‘Fifty Shades of Beige.’
Bella winced. ‘Sorry. I meant it as a joke, to make you laugh and relax a bit. I knew you weren’t looking forward to the golden wedding party.’
‘But it was so accurate, Bel,’ Grace said. ‘I was the only woman there not dressed in beige.’
Bella couldn’t help laughing. ‘Ouch. I didn’t think it’d be quite that bad.’
‘Oh, it was,’ Grace said feelingly. ‘I really didn’t belong there. I drank three glasses of champagne straight down to give me courage and I didn’t even feel them, Bel.’
Which was really un-Grace-like. She always stopped after one glass. Sensible, reliable Grace who looked after everyone else and was usually the one mopping up, not the one throwing up.
‘I was just numb. And that’s when I realised,’ Grace said, ‘that I was walking into a life I didn’t actually want. In fifty years’ time, I don’t want to be sensible Grace Sutton, whose heart has never once skipped a beat, and whose mother-in-law directed the whole of her marriage.’
‘If anyone could live until well past the age of a hundred, marbles intact and with an iron fist, it’d be Mrs Concrete Hair,’ Bella said feelingly. ‘You’ve done the right thing, Gracie. It’s much better to call a halt now than to wait until after you married Howard and then have all the mess of a divorce to go through.’
‘Really?’ Grace didn’t look convinced. She looked guilty and miserable and worried.
‘Really,’ Bella said firmly, ‘and Mum and Dad will back you, too.’
‘I just feel that I’ve let everyone down—all the work that’s gone into arranging the wedding.’ Grace swallowed. ‘Not to mention the money.’
‘But you haven’t let anyone down,’ Bella said. ‘Well, except you should have told me all this a lot sooner, because I’m your sister and of course I’m going to support you. I hate to think that you’ve been miserable all these months when I could’ve listened to you and made you feel better. You’re doing the right thing, Gracie. And cancelling the wedding won’t be that hard.’ This was slightly surreal; it felt almost as if she and Grace had swapped places and it was her turn to be the sensible, super-organised one instead of the one who needed rescuing. ‘Just give me a list of the names and contact details of the people you’ve invited and your suppliers, and I’ll ring them all and explain the wedding’s off.’
‘I can’t make you do that!’ Grace protested.
‘You’re not making me do it. I’m offering. That’s what sisters are for.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Have you told Howard?’ Was that why her no-longer-future brother-in-law had been so conspicuously absent?
‘No. I’m going to do that tomorrow.’
A nasty thought struck Bella. ‘Does he actually know you’ve left the party?’
Grace nodded and winced. ‘I told him I had a migraine and was going home.’
‘And he didn’t even offer to take you home? That’s atrocious!’
‘How could he leave? It’s his parents’ golden wedding anniversary party.’
‘OK, so he probably had to stay there with the Gruesome Twosome,’ Bella allowed, ‘but he still should’ve made sure you were all right first and at least arranged a taxi to take you home.’
‘I’m sure he would’ve done, but I told him you were coming to collect me,’ Grace explained.
‘Hmm,’ Bella said, though she wasn’t mollified. What on earth was wrong with the man? Howard had been Grace’s fiancé for four years and he hadn’t even made sure that she got home safely when she’d told him she felt ill—whereas Hugh Moncrieff, a man Bella had met only a few minutes ago, had not only come to the rescue, he’d offered to help them indoors. So her new boss had a good heart as well as a gorgeous face.
Not that she should be thinking about that right now. Or ever, for that matter. Even if she wasn’t officially off men, her boss was completely off limits. She needed this job, to get her finances back on an even keel. ‘So what are you going to tell Howard tomorrow?’ she asked.
‘The truth—that I can’t marry him.’ Grace closed her eyes for a moment. ‘And that means I’ll lose my job and my home, too, Bel. No way can I go back to work at Sutton’s, not when I’ve just split up with the boss’s son—and in the circumstances I can hardly ask them to give me a reference to work anywhere else. Plus I’ve already given my landlord notice on my flat. I know he’s already found my replacement and signed a contract, so I can’t ask him just to ignore my notice and renew my lease.’ She blew out a breath. ‘I’ve really burned my bridges, Bel—and who knows how long it’ll take me to find another flat?’
‘You don’t have to. Come and stay with me,’ Bella said immediately.
Grace hugged her. ‘I love you, sweetheart, and thank you for the offer, but your flat’s barely big enough for one person. You don’t have room for me to stay. I’ll ask round my friends—one of them will put me up until I can find somewhere—and I’ll sign on with a temp agency. If I explain the situation, I’m sure they’ll understand about the problem with references and help me to find a way round it.’
This sounded more like her level-headed older sister, Bella thought. Planning. Being sensible. The oats were clearly soaking up what remained of the champagne. ‘It’ll all work out, Gracie. You know what Mum always says: when one door closes, another opens.’
‘I know,’ Grace said.
‘I was going to take you out for sushi and champagne tomorrow, to celebrate my job—because I wouldn’t have got it without you—but we can take a rain check on that, because I’m guessing you won’t want to see champagne again for months.’
‘Definitely not.’ Grace winced. ‘And you might’ve lost the job, because of me.’
‘Of course I haven’t. I’ll talk my boss round,’ Bella said, sounding slightly more confident than she actually felt. ‘Go and have a shower, clean your teeth, get in your PJs, and then we’re going to snuggle under a throw on your sofa and watch a re-run of Friends.’
‘I love you, Bel,’ Grace said. ‘You’re the best sister I could ever ask for.’
Even though they were total opposites, Bella thought. And, weirdly, tonight, it felt more as if she was Grace and Grace was her.
‘You came straight to rescue me without asking any questions,’ Grace said.
‘Of course I did! You’ve done it often enough for me,’ Bella said. ‘And you’re the best sister I could ever ask for, too, and I love you to bits—even when I don’t understand you. Now go and get yourself sorted out. I’m going to raid your fridge because I’m starving, and I’m sleeping on your sofa tonight. Tomorrow, you can talk to Howard and we’ll make that list and work through it together. And then things will start to look better. You’ll see.’ She hugged her sister. ‘Nothing fazes a Faraday girl, right?’
‘Right,’ Grace said. ‘Nothing fazes a Faraday girl.’
CHAPTER TWO
ON MONDAY MORNING, Bella left her flat at what felt like the crack of dawn. For the last couple of years, she’d been able to set her own working hours—meaning that she could sleep in until ten a.m. and work until late, which suited her body clock better—but she knew that she needed to make a good impression on her first day at Insurgo. Particularly given what had happened at her first meeting with the boss. She couldn’t afford to put a single foot wrong from now on, not if she wanted to keep her job and get her finances back on track.
And getting up early would take her mind off what had been a truly lousy weekend. Seeing Grace—the person she’d always looked up to as a tower of strength, someone who knew exactly what to do to sort out any given situation—fall apart had shocked Bella deeply. Right now Grace was in the almost same position that Bella had been in six months ago: recovering from a wrecked relationship, worrying about her job and her home and her finances, and feeling as if the sun would never rise again.
OK, so Grace had been the dumper rather than the dumpee, in this case, and she hadn’t lost her best friend and the contents of her bank account as well as her partner; but it was still going to be a huge change in Grace’s life. Even though it had definitely been the right decision.
Privately, Bella thought her sister had had a lucky escape. Howard was a nice enough guy, but he was completely under his mother’s thumb. Marrying him would’ve basically meant having the rest of her life run by Cynthia of the Eagle Eyes and Concrete Hair, the most cold and judgemental woman that Bella had ever met. And finding another job might just mean that Grace’s new employer would appreciate her and give her the promotion she deserved. At Sutton’s, Grace had been totally taken for granted. They’d expected her to work way more than her fair share of hours, under the guise of being ‘almost family’, but they hadn’t actually given her any of the privileges of being ‘almost family’.
Howard had barely raised a single argument when Grace had gone to see him on the Saturday morning and called off the wedding. So he clearly hadn’t loved Grace enough to fight for her. And Bella thought her sister deserved a lot better than a man who was nice enough but didn’t have a backbone and would never stand up for her.
Today was a new chapter in both their lives. And hopefully this one would be better for both of them.
Bella paused outside the Insurgo Records building. The basement was a recording studio and practice rooms that local bands could book as well as being used by the Insurgo artists; the ground floor and mezzanine comprised a seriously upmarket café—the sort that offered coffee made in a way that looked more as if it was some kind of laboratory experiment than a hot drink, but apparently brought out the floral notes in the coffee; and the top two floors were the record label’s actual offices.
‘All righty. Welcome to your new life,’ she told herself, and went inside.
She was the first member of staff to arrive in the office after Tarquin, Hugh’s second-in-command—to her relief, Hugh didn’t seem to be there yet—and Tarquin handed her a design brief, a portable CD player and a pair of headphones. ‘Welcome to Insurgo, Bella,’ he said with a smile. ‘We’re doing a limited edition of coloured vinyl for Lacey’s third single. She’s one of our singer-songwriters. I’ve given you a rundown here of our target market, her career history, and the PR schedule. What I need you to do is have a listen to the album—the song we’re releasing is the fourth track on the CD—and come up with some ideas for the vinyl cover and a promo T-shirt, based on what you hear. Or if you have ideas for other promo items, bring them along. If you’d like to have a second listen in one of the studios rather than working on headphones, just yell and I’ll sort it out. And then maybe we can talk about it, later this afternoon?’
‘That sounds fine,’ Bella said, smiling back. She was being thrown in at the deep end, but she’d always thrived on that. And this was her chance to shine and prove they’d made the right decision in hiring her.
‘This is your desk, over here,’ he said, and ushered her over to a desk by the window with a drawing board and a computer. ‘As soon as Shelley—our admin guru—comes in, we’ll get you set up with a password and username. The meeting room’s on the floor above, along with Hugh’s office, the staff kitchen and the toilets. I’m over there in the corner, and I’ll get everyone else to come over and introduce themselves as they come in.’
‘That’s great,’ Bella said, trying to damp down the sudden flood of nervousness. She was good with people. She knew she’d find her place in the pack and quickly work out how to get the best from the people she worked with. She always did. But these first few hours in a new role were always crucial.
‘Is there anything else you need before you start?’ he asked.
Yes, but she couldn’t exactly explain why she needed to see the boss without making things awkward. But she’d just thought of the perfect excuse to go up to the next floor. Hopefully Hugh wasn’t in yet, so she could leave the neatly wrapped parcel in her bag on his desk. Or, if he was at his desk, hopefully he’d be alone and she could snatch two minutes to apologise to him in person while the kettle boiled. She smiled. ‘How about I make us both a coffee?’
‘Excellent idea. Thank you.’ Tarquin smiled back. ‘Mine’s black, no sugar. I’m afraid it’s pretty basic stuff in the staff kitchen—tea, instant coffee and hot chocolate—but help yourself to whatever you want. If you’d rather have something fancier, you do get a staff discount downstairs at the café.’
‘That’s good to know. And instant does me just fine. At this time of the morning, any coffee works,’ Bella said with a smile.
To her relief, she discovered that Hugh’s office was empty. So she wouldn’t have to confront him quite yet, then. There was a pile of post set neatly in the middle of his immaculate desk; she left the package and accompanying card on top of it. Then she boiled the kettle and made herself and Tarquin a mug of coffee before heading downstairs to her desk and making a start on the design briefs. And please, please, let Hugh Moncrieff accept her apology.
Hugh wasn’t in the best of moods when he drove his car into the tiny car park behind the record label offices. His shoes had just about recovered from their ordeal on Friday night, and his dry cleaner had said that there would be no problem with his suit. But he hadn’t been able to get Bella Faraday out of his head.
Worse still had been the slew of texts and emails and answering machine messages over the weekend from his mother, his brothers and their partners, all reminding him that his brother Nigel’s engagement party was coming up and they couldn’t wait to see him. Which meant that Hugh was in for another bout of familial nagging. Why was he still messing about with his record label? When was he going to treat it as the hobby it ought to be and get himself a proper job?
He knew what the subtext meant: he was the baby of the family, so they’d let him have his dream and do his degree in music instead of economics. Now he was thirty, they all thought it was about time he gave up his financially risky business and joined the long-established family stockbroking firm instead. Which was why Bella’s comment about him looking like a stockbroker had really touched a raw nerve on Friday night.
He happened to like his life in London, thank you very much. He loved what he did at Insurgo—finding promising new talent and polishing their rough material just enough to make them commercially viable without taking away the creative spark that had caught his ear in the first place. Insurgo had made a name for itself as an independent label producing quality sound, from rock through to singer-songwriters, with a sprinkling of oddities who wouldn’t fit anywhere else. Hugh was proud of what he did. He didn’t want to give it up and be a stockbroker like his older brothers Julian, Nigel and Alistair.
But the question that drove him really crazy was when his family asked when he intended to find a nice girl and settle down. That wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Jessie had cured him of that particular pipe dream. He knew his family meant well, but couldn’t they see that they were still prodding a bruise?
His business, his heart and his music had all taken a battering. And finding a new, suitable girlfriend wasn’t going to repair any of the damage. Sheer hard work and some quiet support from his best friends had rescued his business, but nowadays his heart was permanently off limits. And the music that had once flowed from his fingers and filled his head had gone for good. He didn’t write songs any more. He just produced them—and he kept a professional distance from his artists.
He ran through a few excuses in his head. None of them worked. Even being in a full body cast wouldn’t get him a free pass. He was just going to have to turn up, smile sweetly at everyone, and metaphorically stick his fingers in his ears and say ‘la-la-la’ every time his career or his love life was mentioned. Which he knew from experience would be about every seven minutes, on average.
He collected a double espresso from the café on the ground floor—on a morning like this one, a mug of the instant stuff in the staff kitchen just wasn’t going to cut it—and stomped up to his office, completely bypassing the team. What he needed right now was music. Loud enough to drown out the world and drown out his thoughts. A few minutes with headphones on, and he might be human enough again to face his team without biting their heads off even more than he normally would on a Monday morning.
And then he stopped dead.
On top of the post he’d been expecting to see, there was a neatly wrapped parcel and a thick cream envelope. It wasn’t his birthday, and the parcel didn’t look like a promo item. It was the wrong shape for a CD or vinyl, and in any case most unsigned artists pitching to him tended to email him with a link to a digital file on the internet.
Intrigued, he untied the ribbon and unwrapped the shiny paper from the parcel to discover a box of seriously good chocolates.
Whoever had sent them had excellent taste. But who were they from and why?
He opened the envelope. Inside was a hand-drawn card: a line-drawing of a mournful-looking rabbit with a speech bubble saying ‘Sorry’. Despite his bad mood, he felt the corner of his mouth twitch. Whoever had sent this was saying they knew he wasn’t a happy bunny—and Hugh had a very soft spot for terrible puns.
He opened the card to find out who’d sent it, and a wad of banknotes fell out.
What?
Why on earth would someone be giving him cash?
He scanned the inside swiftly. The writing was beautifully neat and regular, slightly angular and spiky—the sort you’d see on hand-drawn labels in an art gallery or upmarket bookshop.
Dear Mr Moncrieff
Thank you for rescuing us on Friday night and I’m very sorry for the inconvenience we caused you. I hope the enclosed will cover the cost of valeting the taxi, dry-cleaning your suit and replacing your shoes. Please let me know if there’s still a shortfall and I will make it up.
Yours sincerely
Bella Faraday
He blinked. She’d said something on Friday evening about reimbursing him, but he really hadn’t been expecting this. Since the parcel and the card had been hand-delivered, that meant that their new graphic designer must already be at her desk. Most of his team didn’t show their faces in the office until nearly ten, so she was super-early on her first day.
And, although he appreciated the gesture, it really wasn’t necessary. His shoes had survived and the rest of it hadn’t cost that much. He really ought to return the money.
He picked up his phone and dialled his second-in-command’s extension. ‘Can you send Ms Faraday up?’
‘Good morning to you, Tarquin, my friend,’ Tarquin said dryly. ‘How are you? Did you have a nice weekend? What’s new with you?’
Hugh sighed. ‘Don’t give me a hard time, Tarq.’
‘Get out of the wrong side of bed, did we? Tsk. Must be Monday morning.’
Hugh knew he shouldn’t take out his mood on his best friend and business partner. Particularly as Tarquin dealt with all the stuff Hugh didn’t enjoy, and with extremely good grace, so Hugh could concentrate on the overall strategy of the label and actually producing the music. ‘I’m sorry. All right. Good morning, Tarquin. How are you? Did you have a nice weekend?’
‘That’s better. Good, and yes, thank you. I’ll send her up. And be nice, sweet-cheeks—apart from the fact that it’s her first day, not everyone’s as vile as you are on Monday mornings.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Hugh said, but he was smiling as he put the phone down again.
Bella was leaning back in her chair, eyes closed, listening to the music. Lacey, the singer, had a really haunting voice, and the song was underpinned by an acoustic guitar and a cello. The whole thing was gorgeous, and it made Bella think of mountains, deep Scottish lochs, forests and fairies. Maybe she could design something with mist, and perhaps a pine forest, and...
She yelped as she felt the tap on her shoulder; reacting swiftly, she sat bolt upright, opened her eyes and pulled off the headphones.
Tarquin was standing next to her, his face full of remorse. ‘Sorry, Bella. I didn’t mean to give you a heart attack.’
Bella’s heart was galloping away. ‘You did give me a bit of a fright,’ she said. ‘I was listening to the CD—it’s really good.’
‘Yeah, we think so, too.’ He smiled. ‘Lacey’s a bit of a character. She always performs barefoot.’
‘Like a fairy.’ The words were out before Bella could stop them. ‘Sorry. Ignore me. Did you want something?’