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‘You…’
Marcus was left in no doubt of what she thought of him. She was still seated, with Marcus and Ruby speaking over the top of her. She was still—waif-like? Her mop of chestnut curls was tousled and wild, her freckled nose was completely free of make-up and that dollop of jelly was still there. And so was her antagonism towards him. Peta stared up at him and he thought ruefully that he might as well be Charles Higgins himself. Was it the suit? he wondered. Or the presence of his assistant? Tokens of power… Whatever, there was no doubting that she was looking at him with contempt, as if such an action as he proposed was just a figment of his imagination.
‘Why not?’ he demanded. He looked from Peta to Ruby and found their expressions matched. Both women were looking at him as if he’d lost his mind.
‘The project is important,’ Ruby murmured, but he thought he detected a trace of a smile behind her normally expressionless eyes.
‘I know. I’m trusting you to keep things on ice until I can take over again.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘A couple of hours.’
‘Let’s keep you clear until tomorrow,’ Ruby suggested and there was no mistaking the laughter now. ‘You might find ankle-fixing and clothes-shopping and lawyer-facing takes a bit longer than you think.’
‘Um… Maybe you can do the ankle fixing and the shopping,’ he said, suddenly uneasy. ‘Then I can take her in to see Charles.’
‘No!’ Astonishingly, Ruby shook her head in definite disagreement. ‘No, Mr Benson, I shouldn’t do that. This is a fine gesture on your part and it’d be unfair of me to take over.’
‘Ruby…’
‘Hey.’ Still seated beneath them, Peta was catching her breath. Catching her dignity. Sort of. ‘There’s no need for any of this. I told you. I don’t need help.’
‘If you need to face Charles then you need help,’ Marcus told her and Ruby nodded.
‘Take his advice, miss,’ she said gently. ‘You’re Australian?’
‘Yes, but…’
‘If I was in Australia, then I’d take your advice on your territory,’ she said. ‘But this is corporate America. There’s no one more at home in this territory than Marcus Benson. You put yourself in his hands and you’re putting yourself in the hands of an expert.’
‘I don’t want to be in anyone’s hands.’
‘You truly think you can get what you want without me?’ Marcus demanded and she faltered.
‘To be honest…’
‘To be honest, what?’
‘To be honest, I don’t think I can get what I want anyway,’ she admitted. ‘I was a fool to come. But I need to try.’
‘So if you’ve come all this way,’ Marcus said, his tone becoming gentler, ‘why not give yourself the best chance you could possibly have? Take my advice.’
‘Put myself in your hands?’
‘That’s right.’
She stared up at him, bemused, and he gazed back down. Astonishingly, her eyes were bright and challenging. Her chin tilted upward, somehow defiant. She might look bereft but she certainly didn’t act bereft. She had spirit, Marcus thought appreciatively. And courage.
It seemed she also had the sense to know when to concede. ‘Okay.’ She swallowed. ‘Okay.’
Ruby beamed. Marcus Benson’s assistant, it seemed, was enjoying this. Enjoying this a lot. ‘You do exactly what Mr Benson says,’ Ruby told her, and Peta gave her a rueful smile.
‘I’m not much good at doing what anyone tells me.’
‘Then be tactful,’ Ruby told her and his assistant even had the temerity to chuckle. ‘Maybe it’ll be good for both of you. Okay. I’m off to save the world—or your deal, Marcus—while you two front the awful Charles. I know which I’d rather. Good luck.’
‘Um…do you employ her?’ Peta asked as Ruby disappeared down the fire-escape with an airy wave. Ruby had come to work this morning looking tired, but now she was practically bouncing down the fire-escape.
‘I acquired Ruby,’ he said, watching her disappear. ‘By accident. Sort of like getting hit by a bus.’
‘You really like her.’ Peta’s face had focused. All at once she seemed really interested. Her distrust backed off a pace.
‘I don’t do like,’ he told her. ‘I’m a businessman.’
‘So if Ruby threatened to quit…’
‘I’d raise heaven and earth to keep her,’ he admitted. ‘Of course I would. As I said, I’m a businessman.’
First the ankle. Which she intended to ignore.
‘My ankle’s just a bit bruised. It’s no problem.’
‘Your ankle’s puffing while we watch.’
‘I’ve done worse than this and lived without a doctor. I’ve come too far and time’s too important to waste any in a doctor’s waiting room.’
‘You won’t have to wait. Put your hands around my neck and I’ll carry you…’
‘You? Carry me? What, are you crazy? I’ll be sorry for myself with a strained ankle; you’ll be a cripple for life.’
‘I can carry you.’
‘No one carries me. Ever.’ She hauled herself up against the stair rail and took two tentative hops.
It clearly hurt. A lot.
‘Peta…’
‘No.’
Enough. ‘Yes,’ he told her. And, although he’d never done such a thing in his life, he stepped forward and hoisted her into his arms.
She weighed nothing.
‘Do you ever eat?’ he demanded, stunned, and she gave an indignant wriggle.
‘Eat? Are you kidding? Of course I do. Except when corporate businessmen throw my lunch downstairs. Put me down.’
‘No.’ Maybe she wasn’t too thin, he decided, tightening his grip. Maybe there were curves—just where there should be curves. She smelled good. She felt…good.
Inane. It was a stupid response but he couldn’t help it.
‘Are we catching the lift?’ she demanded and he stared down into her overbright eyes.
‘No. We’ll take the stairs.’
‘You’ll drop me.’
‘I won’t drop you.’
‘I’ll do more damage than a bagel if I hit anyone below.’
‘I won’t drop you.’
‘No one’s ever carried me before,’ she said, and to his astonishment she stopped her indignant wriggle and suddenly relaxed. ‘Good grief.’ Her green eyes twinkled. ‘Okay. Let’s do it. Maybe I’ll even like it.’
‘Maybe.’
‘And if you burst a blood vessel we’re going to an emergency department after all.’
‘So we are,’ he said faintly and held her a little tighter. ‘So we are.’
She had him intrigued. Her reaction when she saw his car intrigued him as well. Robert, his chauffeur, was waiting at street level. He must have been pre-warned by Ruby. He didn’t blink an eyelid when he saw his boss approach with his strange burden and by the time Marcus reached the car the back door was already open.
Peta, however, was less than ready to enter a black limousine with tinted windows.
‘Holy cow. I’m not getting in that thing.’
‘You’re sounding like a country hick,’ Marcus told her and she glared at him.
‘Yeah, well, you sound—or look—like a mafia boss. I know which I’d rather be. Chauffeurs. Limousines. Tinted windows, for heaven’s sake.’
‘I need them tinted. I work in this car.’
‘Right.’ She hesitated, removing her arms from around his neck, and as she did he was aware of a sharp jab of loss. She’d put her arms around him for security but it had felt…good. But she wasn’t thinking about the sensations he was feeling. She was doing some forward projections. ‘No one can see in. How do I know if I get in this car I won’t end up in concrete shoes?’
Enough. ‘Robert, help me put her in the car—with force, if necessary,’ he told his bemused chauffeur. ‘And open the blasted windows! Mafia… Good grief!’
Then there was the medical clinic—a personalised service only available to New York’s mega-rich. Peta was almost hornswoggled.
‘You just roll in here and someone sees you?’ They were waiting for X-rays and the chairs they were sitting in were luxurious leather. Gorgeous!
‘Of course.’
‘There’s no of course about it,’ she snapped. ‘If I’d had this when Hattie…’ She took an angry breath. ‘Could Charles Higgins afford this sort of place?’
‘If the rent he pays is any indication, of course he can.’
‘I’ll kill him,’ she muttered and sat back and glowered the entire time her leg was bandaged.
‘You’re lucky. It’s not broken but it’s still badly bruised,’ she was told by the attendant doctor. ‘Stay off it. The nurses will fit you with crutches.’
Fine. Obviously still angry and with Marcus silent by her side, she hobbled her way to reception. And grew angrier still when Marcus paid.
‘I can pay.’
‘I’m very sure you can’t,’ Marcus told her gently. ‘It was my fault. Let me.’
‘Money,’ she whispered. ‘It solves everything. As long as you can screw the world to get more of it.’
Then there was the little matter of her clothes. With Peta safely resettled in his mafia car, Marcus directed Robert to Fifth Avenue.
‘I just need a wash and I’ll be fine,’ she told him, but he shook his head.
‘No. Charles is never going to admit you into his office looking like this.’
‘But—’
‘But nothing. It’s stupid going back there now to wait for a reception you’re not going to get. Let me help.’
Let him help more. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Was he crazy?
He didn’t get involved—he never got involved—and for him to make this offer…
She had no expectations of him, he thought. He could back away right now. There’d be no repercussions. He’d never hear from this woman again.
But he couldn’t. He stared down at the defiance in her face, and he saw the trace of desperation behind the defiance. There was no way he could walk.
He wanted to help. Come what may. For the very first time in many, many years, Marcus Benson wanted to be involved.
CHAPTER TWO
MARCUS thought he knew women. Marcus was wrong. And so was the shop where he took Peta.
One of the women he’d dated had told him once that the shop stocked fabulous business clothes but Peta hobbled in and looked around in suspicion. The shop assistants reacted the same way.
They smiled at Marcus. They were cautiously and patronisingly polite to the waif he had in tow.
Still, they were here for clothes. Not for pleasantries. Marcus didn’t have time to mess around.
‘Can you fit Peta out in something corporate?’ he asked the assistant and Peta flashed him a look of annoyance.
‘That makes me sound like a Barbie doll. Let’s dress her in Corporate today.’
‘Don’t you want me to help you?’
‘No.’
