The Seduction Scheme

The client also wanted her, so she’d been transferred too to stand in for Benedict Arden’s PA who was taking annual leave. At the time she’d been quite happy to agree. At the time she hadn’t known who Benedict Arden was.

‘Why aren’t you working as a translator?’

‘I did when Charlie was a baby—manuscripts mostly.’

‘From home?’ She nodded. ‘That must have been quite an isolating experience.’

His perception startled her. ‘When childcare became easier I worked for a law firm near home.’

‘Where’s home?’

‘Shropshire.’

She paused, realising with a sense of shock how adept he was at drawing out information without revealing anything himself. Or maybe not—the memory of that bitter expression in his eyes when he’d implied he would have preferred not to be here flickered into her mind. She wondered whether she’d interpreted his economic words correctly. Was he already disillusioned with his career or did it simply interfere with his taste for the high life?

‘That’s where the aunt brought you up. And would I be way off the mark if I suggested this aunt wasn’t too keen on men?’

‘Experience taught me to be cautious, not indoctrination.’

‘Charlie’s father?’

‘My daughter is not a subject I discuss with strangers.’

‘You’re the subject I’m interested in, but if it makes you feel happier I’ll put that on hold.’

It didn’t make her feel happier but she welcomed the breathing space. She soon learnt, as she worked in close contact with him throughout the day, that, though she might doubt his dedication, his competence was undeniable. He caught on fast and had a knack of homing in on small but significant details that would take most people hours of arduous toil to discover. There had been none of the languid playboy about the man she’d worked with today, and despite herself she found the seeds of admiration germinating.

‘We work well together, don’t you think?’ She slid the last file into its place and didn’t respond even though she was overwhelmingly conscious of his presence. ‘Don’t tell Mags I said that; she’ll think I’m being disloyal. What time shall I pick you up?’

‘Pick me up?’ She couldn’t delay looking up; there was nothing left to fuss about with on her neat desk—where was an errant paper clip when she needed it?

‘For dinner.’

‘It’s a girls’ night in with a pizza take-away, and even if it wasn’t I don’t want to go out with you.’

‘Staying in would suit me.’

‘I’m trying to be polite.’

‘Don’t worry about manners; you should have left half an hour ago. This is your own time—be as rude as you like,’ he said generously.

‘Why are you doing this?’

He seemed to consider the question seriously and she had the fleeting impression that he was almost as puzzled as she was. ‘Hormones?’

It wasn’t the reply she’d expected and she almost laughed out loud. That might be construed as encouragement, however, so she carefully wiped all trace of amusement from her face.

‘Are you just not used to being knocked back? Is that what this is about? Are you one of those men who’s more interested in a difficult chase? You lose interest once you’ve caught your prey?’