Highly Unsuitable: Mr and Mischief / The Darkest of Secrets / The Undoing of de Luca

‘Only in your opinion.’ She placed a hand on his chest, her palm flattening against the crisp fabric of his shirt, her fingers instinctively seeking the heat of him underneath the cloth. She felt his heart thudding steadily under her palm. She’d meant it to be a light, even impersonal touch, no more than a playful poke in the sternum, yet as if driven by a deeper, baser need, she found it couldn’t be that; her hand acted of its own accord, fingers stretching, seeking, while every thought flew from her head.

‘You don’t need to worry about Helen—or me,’ she finally said, fishing for the words that seemed to have pooled deep in her consciousness. She looked up to meet his gaze, saw the gold flecks in his eyes. They weren’t brown at all. They weren’t boring either. She swallowed. ‘You don’t need to keep an eye on me, Jason. I’m all grown up now.’

‘As I’m coming to realise,’ Jason said, his voice so low Emily felt it vibrate through her. His chest tensed under her hand. They remained silent, unmoving, and Emily felt as if everything had slowed down, distilled into this one moment, which was crazy because it wasn’t a moment at all. They were just talking. And she was touching his chest.

‘Well.’ She cleared her throat and somehow managed to remove her hand from his chest; it flopped to her side like a dead thing, useless, awkward, and she suddenly didn’t know what to do with it. She was acting ridiculously, Emily thought. Almost as bad as when she’d asked him—

Her mind skittered away from that memory. Seven years ago. Old hat, ancient history. Yet it felt close now—far too close—so even now she was half-inclined to tilt her head up and—‘I should get to work,’ she said, a little too loudly, and she made her mouth curve into something close to a smile as she turned from him and opened her office door.

Jason watched her go, not moving. It wasn’t until she was at her desk that Emily heard him walk down the hall, his steps quick and assured as always, as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

She collapsed into her chair. What was wrong with her? Why was she acting so strangely around Jason—Jason, who had always been so predictable, so safe, so ordinary?

Even as she asked herself the question, Emily knew the answer. She was acting so oddly around Jason—feeling so odd—because no matter how she tried to convince herself otherwise, some vestige of girlish longing from that dance long ago remained inside of her, needing only to see Jason properly again to unfurl and blossom once more.

Some part of her still wanted Jason. Wanted him to kiss her, even. Wanted him the way a woman wanted a man, if only to prove to the girl she’d once been that she was desirable. Desired … by Jason.

Which was ridiculous, because the last person she should be thinking of that way was Jason Kingsley. He’d surely be appalled if he knew the nature of her thoughts. She was appalled, because of all people to be even the littlest bit attracted to—well, Jason Kingsley was low down on her list. Sometimes she wondered if he even liked her all, beyond the most basic affection. He’d certainly always been quick to point out her faults. And as for his faults … well, boring was the least of them. Stodgy and stern and horribly practical.

She had no business feeling oddly about him at all. So she wouldn’t. It was, Emily decided, a simple matter of mind over body. Whatever latent, leftover feeling she might have secretly nurtured for Jason would be stamped out by self-control right now.

She had more important things to do, better things to think about—

‘Emily?’

Emily jerked her head up from where she’d been blindly gazing at a mindless doodle on a spare bit of stationery. It looked suspiciously like a J. She crossed it out viciously and then smiled at the woman who stood in her doorway, her skirt six inches shorter than Emily’s, her nails curved talons, ruthlessly manicured. Gillian Bateson, the Head of Public Relations.

‘Gillian, hello. Good to see you. Can I help with something?’

‘I don’t suppose Stephanie told you about the charity fund-raiser?’ Gillian said in that rather lofty tone that Emily had never liked.

‘I’m afraid not,’ she replied equably enough. She knew the basics: every year Jason hosted an exclusive fund-raiser for a water-based charity, usually in one of London’s best hotels. It was an intimate, expensive event that Gillian organised, apparently with help from HR.

‘It’s a very big do,’ Gillian said, seating herself down across from Emily. ‘Last year we raised three million pounds for wells in the Sudan.’

‘That must have made for a lot of wells,’ Emily said politely. She just managed to keep the mischief from her voice. Gillian had always been rather full of her own importance.

‘It’s a very important event,’ Gillian confirmed, rolling her eyes dramatically. ‘Of course, I’m in charge of it since it’s essentially PR, but Stephanie always wanted to know what was going on—I suppose I’ll have to fill you in, as well?’ She made it sound as if that would be a terribly tiresome thing to do, and Emily smiled in understanding.

‘If you’d be so kind, Gillian.’ She had to remind herself that Gillian had been divorced three times and had lost custody of her only daughter. All the nail varnish and hairspray surely hid a deep heartache. Or so she tried to believe.

‘Well …’ Yet another eye roll. If she kept at it, Emily thought wryly, she’d have her eyes permanently aimed at the back of her head. ‘We’re raising money for a desalination plant in Namibia. The fund-raiser is meant to have a black and white theme, and since Jason’s flat is decorated in black and white we’re going to have it there—’

‘The fund-raiser is at Jason’s flat?’ Emily could not keep the surprise from her voice as she digested this information, unsure how she felt about it. Or Gillian calling him by his first name in that intimate way.

Gillian arched her ruthlessly plucked eyebrows, a smug smile curving that over-lipsticked mouth. ‘You have been there?’

Actually, she hadn’t. And no doubt Gillian knew it. She’d been there, obviously. Emily did not want to ask herself why. She smiled, shaking her head regretfully. ‘No, I’m afraid I haven’t had the honour, but I’m sure it’s stunning. And Mr Kingsley is certainly generous to lend the use of his flat for the fund-raiser.’

‘Yes, he is, isn’t he?’ Gillian swung one foot, her spiked heel dangling. ‘I don’t know why he hasn’t married,’ she mused.

‘I’m sure he hasn’t found someone sensible enough for him,’ Emily said, her voice sharpening for the first time, and Gillian gave her a knowing glance.

‘You think he needs someone sensible? He’s hardly gone for the sensible types before.’

Emily shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the nature of the conversation, or the sharp stab of something that felt almost like jealousy at the thought of Jason going for anyone.

Still, Emily was forced to acknowledge that Gillian was right. Jason had never taken out sensible types, but then he’d never been seen with the same woman twice. All they’d been were dates, just as he’d said. Arm candy. So just what kind of woman would he want to be the mother of his all-important heir? What woman would fall in line with his no-love qualification? Plenty of women, Emily supposed, including sweetly biddable Helen Smith or worldly Gillian Bateson.

And why, oh, why, was she thinking like this?

‘In any case,’ Gillian said with another cat-like smile, ‘I’m sure he’s getting ready to settle down. He’s quite a catch.’

‘I suppose.’ What awful expressions, Emily thought. A catch, like you had to run after somebody and wrestle them to the ground before convincing him to marry you. And settling down was even worse. It sounded so … disappointing. She could just imagine what kind of woman Jason would choose: someone coolly composed and perhaps just a little bit horsey; someone who would arrange flowers and place settings with contemptuous ease and give him an heir and a spare right off the bat. She’d have no sense of humour at all. A woman like that would be perfect for Jason. She would be so very sensible and stodgy, just as he was.

Except he hadn’t seemed so stodgy last night.

‘Well, that’s probably all you need to know,’ Gillian said, unfolding herself from the chair. ‘The head of every department gets an invite, but that’s all.’ So that was why she’d never been to one of Jason’s fund-raisers before, Emily thought a bit sourly. Gillian strode towards the door. ‘I’ll take care of all the arrangements. You can just show up.’ Emily had a feeling Gillian was keeping her out of the loop on purpose, especially since the fund-raiser would be at Jason’s flat. No doubt Gillian had her eye on him as husband number four.

And that unpleasant feeling still spiking through her was not jealousy. Emily gave Gillian her sunniest smile. ‘Thank you so much, Gillian, that’s lovely.’ She breathed a sigh of relief when Gillian finally stalked out of the room, leaving behind a waft of cloying perfume.

Emily let out a tiny sigh. Why was she irritated by Jason’s offer to host the party? Or was it simply the possessive way Gillian had talked about Jason—as well as the thought of him finding a wife?

None of it had anything to do with her, and it shouldn’t affect her mood at all. It wouldn’t, because she wouldn’t let it. Determinedly, Emily turned back to her desk and she spent the rest of the morning taking telephone calls and sending emails, purposefully busy, before she headed down to the reception area to meet Helen for lunch as promised.

‘How are things going?’ she asked cheerfully as she approached the circular marble desk that was the focal point of the building’s lobby. Jane was busy on a call, but Helen sat there looking pale and a bit woebegone. ‘Got the hang of it?’ Emily asked, smiling, and Helen darted an anxious look at Jane.

‘I disconnected three calls,’ she confessed in a whisper. ‘And I got the lists wrong—’

‘The lists?’

‘The ones about who likes their calls and who doesn’t,’ Helen explained. She sounded frantic. ‘I mixed it all up, and gave the calls to people who don’t want them and not to those who do—’

‘Oh, well, no one was too bothered, were they?’ Emily said, quick to reassure Helen. ‘I told you, we’re quite a friendly bunch here.’

‘Mr Hatley came down right to the desk,’ Helen said in a low voice. ‘Shouted at me that he didn’t want the bloody calls.’ She blinked up at Emily, who felt her heart give a little twist at Helen’s obvious misery.

‘I should have warned you about John,’ she said. ‘He’s an old bear, but his bark is much worse than his bite. Or growl, I suppose. Come on.’ She reached for Helen’s coat, which hung on a nearby hook, and handed it to her. ‘There’s a pasta place around the corner that does a wonderful lasagne. Let’s forget our troubles for a bit.’

Helen rose gratefully from her seat and Emily waved to Jane, who gave her a rather despairing shake of her head and a pointed look at Helen before Emily sailed through the building’s front doors. It appeared it was going to take more than a morning for Helen to figure out the phones, but she’d get there in the end. Emily would make sure of it.

In any case, everything looked better from a cosy table in a restaurant, as they tucked into huge bowls of pasta and crusty garlic bread.

‘How are you finding London?’ Emily asked as she twirled some linguine around her fork. ‘Is Richard showing you around a bit?’

‘A bit,’ Helen allowed. She sounded cautious, perhaps even unhappy. Emily could hardly pretend to be surprised.

‘He’s busy, I suppose?’ she said in sympathy; she could just imagine Richard getting on with his flood retention basins and hydraulic mechanisms and who knew what else, leaving Helen quite on her own.