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She made no attempt to take them. ‘Thorough.’
‘He means business,’ Raff agreed, letting the papers fall down onto the desk with an audible thump. It felt as if he had put down a heavy burden. ‘Now do you understand?’
She still wasn’t giving an inch. ‘Couldn’t you just talk to him?’
Raff laughed. ‘No one just talks to Charles Rafferty. We all tug our forelock and scuttle away to do his bidding. Or run away. Both Polly and I took that route.’
He sighed and picked the papers up again, shuffling them. ‘I owe you an apology. It doesn’t matter even if you do know where Polly is...’ she opened her mouth to interject and he held up his hand ‘...but I’m sure you don’t. She’s covered her traces well and I don’t blame her.’
The only person he could blame right now was himself. They were so estranged she couldn’t, wouldn’t confide in him.
Concern was etched onto Clara’s face. ‘Is she okay?’
Raff shook his head. ‘I doubt it. It turns out that great profits and great PR aren’t enough. My grandfather showed his gratitude for an another excellent year’s trading by telling Polly he was never going to make her CEO, and he is going to sign the company over to me.’
‘Ouch.’
Clara sank back into her seat, a sign the battle was over. Thank goodness. Raff had been through enough emotional wars in the last few days. He leant against her desk, grateful for the support. ‘That was just the start of it.’ Raff ran a hand through his hair. Damn, he was tired. What a ridiculous mess. ‘We owe him a lot, Polly and me. It’s hard to stand up to him. But this was so wrong I had to say something.’ His mouth twisted as he pictured the scene. ‘I managed to stay calm but he got completely worked up and ended up collapsing in the most dramatic fashion.’
Raff was aware that he was making light of the situation, but the moment his grandfather had clutched his chest and collapsed was branded in his mind. ‘I thought we’d lost him.’
Clara reached a tentative hand across the desk, then pulled it back, seemingly unsure how to react. ‘Is he okay?’
‘Angina. Apparently he’s kept that a secret along with his plans. He’s to be kept quiet and not allowed to get worked up, which is a little like telling a baby not to cry. And he is taking full advantage of the situation.’ Despite himself Raff grinned. He had to admire his grandfather’s sheer bloody-mindedness.
‘As soon as I walked through the hospital-room door today he handed me this list.’ He held up his hands. ‘I know I should have told him the truth right then but seeing as the last time I upset him he collapsed, I didn’t. I admit I panicked—next thing I knew I was telling him I had a girlfriend already, it was pretty serious and I was agreeing to bring her along to meet him on Sunday. Two days isn’t a long time to find a convincing fake girlfriend, you know.’
Clara leant back in her chair and regarded him solemnly but Raff could swear those cat’s eyes of hers were sparkling. ‘You seem to be in somewhat of a predicament.’
‘I am.’ He nodded, trying his best to look downcast as hope shot through him. He needed someone cool, someone professional, someone who understood the rules. She would be perfect, if he could just make her see it.
‘I don’t understand why you lied in the first place. A few dates isn’t going to kill you, is it?’ She was looking stern again.
Raff sighed. It was so hard to explain without sounding like an arrogant idiot. ‘I have no intention of sticking around and raising expectations would be unfair.’
‘Presumptuous.’
‘Hardly.’ He laughed but there was little humour in it. ‘These women aren’t the sort to get carried away, at least not where their futures are concerned. The Rafferty name and fortune is old enough and big enough to put me on several “most eligible bachelor” lists. Why do you think I stay out of the country?’
‘Is marriage and a family really so terrible?’ For a moment Raff thought he saw sadness shimmering in her face but one blink and it was gone, replaced by her usual cool professionalism.
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘But not for me, not yet. There’s a lot I need to do before I’m ready for that kind of commitment.’
If he ever was. He’d seen firsthand just what marriage could do. He still didn’t know what was worse: his grandmother staying put out of martyred duty or his mother fleeing as soon as things got tough. Either way it had been hard for Polly and him.
Not that any of his school friends had fared much better. Outside gravy adverts, he still wasn’t entirely sure that happy families existed.
‘Look, I appreciate that I approached this all wrong but I could really use your help.’
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t feel right.’
‘Clara, please.’ He wasn’t too proud to beg. ‘You would be perfect: you own your own business, know Polly. My grandfather will adore you.’
‘Me!’ Was that panic on her face? But there was something else too. She was trying to hide it but she was intrigued.
Raff pressed the point home. ‘Look, I’ll pay you by the day, even if I only need you for a couple of hours, and I’ll owe you. There must be something I can do for you. Don’t you need an eligible date at all? Wedding, christening, bar mitzvah?’
‘My diary’s empty.’ But her lush mouth was tilted up into a smile. ‘Socially at least.’
‘Even better,’ he said promptly. ‘I’m promising you fine dining, glamorous parties and a clothes allowance. Think of me as a particularly masculine fairy godfather whisking you away to the ball.’
‘I can’t just drop everything.’ But, oh, she looked tempted. ‘I have a business, a daughter. What’s she supposed to do whilst I’m out gallivanting with you?’
‘Gallivanting and drumming up business,’ Raff said slyly. Bullseye. Temptation was giving way to interest. ‘Think of the contacts you’ll make.’
‘Contacts in London,’ she demurred.
‘With your talents it wouldn’t matter if they lived in Antarctica,’ he assured her. ‘You’ll be soothing out the wrinkles in half of London’s lives in no time. And it won’t be for long. I’m hoping to get everything sorted out within a month, six weeks tops. I’m sure your parents won’t mind babysitting.’
‘No.’ She looked down at her computer screen, shielding her expression from him. ‘I don’t know, Raff. I’d have to call in a lot of favours, for work and Summer. I need to think about it.’
‘I’ll pay you double your daily rate and cover all costs. And if we’re successful a bonus. Ten thousand pounds.’
‘That’s the second time this week you’ve offered me ten thousand pounds.’ Clara smiled sweetly at him. ‘Burning a hole in your pocket?’
* * *
Ten thousand pounds. Small change to someone like Raff Rafferty but not to her. Add the daily double rate and this job looked as if it could be pretty lucrative.
A much-needed cash injection. Sure, things were ticking along nicely, turnover was healthy. But so were her outgoings. She chose her staff carefully and paid them well, used the best products, made sure she had people on call at all hours. She had a brilliant reputation but maintaining it cost money. It made it hard to save enough to expand and she was wary of borrowing.
If this extra job lasted six weeks she could make fifteen thousand pounds more than she had budgeted for. Enough for recruitment and advertising in a wider area, another small van. Maybe she could even engage a part-time PA for the office? She handled so many of the emails and calls whilst she was out and about. Keeping the office open and staffed in business hours would be fantastic.
It would be added security. For her and for her daughter.
But it would mean spending those next six weeks with Raff Rafferty. A man who unnerved her, flustered her. Could she handle it?
He was still perched on her desk, affecting nonchalance, but the tense set of his shoulders was a giveaway. He wasn’t as relaxed as he liked to make out. He needed her.
Automatically she tapped at her keyboard, lighting up the dormant screen and clicking onto her emails, the very act beginning to calm her taut nerves. The long list of unread emails in bold might daunt some people but she found them soothing, purposeful and she scanned through the subject lines looking for an answer, a reason to turn him down.
Or an excuse to say yes.
Her inbox was the usual mixture of confirmations, enquiries, queries, staff correspondence and sales, nothing meaty, nothing distracting at all. She was about to close it down when a name caught her eye. Pressure filled her chest, making it hard to breathe, and for one long moment everything, the room, Raff Rafferty, her work disappeared.
An email from Byron.
Clara blinked, unsure whether she was seeing things or if the email was actually there. Her hand hovered over her mouse, unable to click as dizzying possibilities filled her mind. He was coming over, he wanted to see Summer, to be involved.
Her daughter wanted for nothing, except for an interested, loving father. Could that be about to change? This was the first time he had contacted her in ten years—that had to be a good sign, right?
‘Clara, are you okay? If you don’t want to do it that’s fine. I’ll call in a favour or two. I’d have preferred to keep things professional, that’s all.’
‘What?’ With difficulty Clara fought her way past all the possibilities and emotions swirling dizzily around her brain. ‘Sorry, I just need to read this. I’ll be with you in a second.’
She noticed detachedly that her hand was shaking as she clicked on the email, the words were dancing in front of her eyes, making no sense at all. She blinked again, forcing herself to concentrate.
Dear Miss Castleton...
The opening line made her reel back, shocked by its formality, but, grimly determined, she read on.
Both Mr Byron Drewe and Mr Archibald Drewe will be visiting London the first week in May and would like to know if it is convenient for you to meet with them to discuss your daughter’s future. Her presence is not required at the meeting.
Please send me any dates and times that week that would be convenient for you to meet and I will let you know the final arrangements and venue nearer the time. Any expenses you incur will of course be covered. Please provide the relevant receipts.
On behalf Mr Drewe Jr
Her first communication in years—and it was from Byron’s secretary.
Her head was suddenly clear, the dizziness and anticipation replaced with hotly righteous anger. How dared they? How dared they dismiss Summer, summon Clara as if she were a servant? How dared they offer to pay her expenses—as long as she provided receipts like an untrustworthy employee?
Although Byron’s father had always thought she was a gold-digging good-time girl, she had just naively hoped Byron believed in her, believed in their daughter. Despite everything.
Byron had spent so much time stringing her along, promising her they would be a family, but he hadn’t even had the guts to tell his father about the baby. And once his father found out that was the end.
It was a straight choice: Clara and Summer or his family fortune. Turned out it was no choice at all.
Even then he had lied, promised he’d find a way, that he loved her, loved Summer. Her heart twisted painfully. He had just wanted her to leave quietly, to not make a scene.
Clara’s eyes locked onto the photo that sat on her otherwise clutter-free desk and the anger left just as suddenly as it had arrived. Dark hair, dark eyes, just like her father. Clara’s feelings didn’t matter here; Byron’s behaviour didn’t either. Summer was the one who counted and this was the first communication she had had from her daughter’s father in years. He wanted to meet. Maybe he wanted to be involved.
Or maybe not. But she had to try. If only she didn’t have to do it all alone. Of course her parents would come with her if she asked, but she didn’t trust them not to threaten to castrate Byron with the butter knife—or actually do it. Not that he didn’t deserve it but it wasn’t quite the reconciliation she was hoping for.
Her parents were amazing. Supportive and loving and endlessly giving with their time. Clara couldn’t have managed without them. But every now and then she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be part of a couple, to have a co-parent. Someone who was there all the time to laugh with at the funny bits, to burst with pride at all the amazing things only a parent could truly understand. To help when things got a little bumpy.
It wasn’t that she minded being both mother and father to her daughter, she just wished for Summer’s sake that she didn’t have to be.
Clara scrolled back to the top of the email and reread it intently. If it were just going to be Byron, then meeting him alone would have been difficult, probably emotional, but eminently doable. His father’s presence changed everything. He was a hard, harsh man. Clara sagged. She tried so hard to be strong but she really didn’t want to do this alone.
‘Here, drink this.’ A coffee slid across the desk, rich and dark. ‘You look like you’ve had a shock.’
Clara reached out for the white mug, absurdly touched by the gesture. ‘Thanks,’ she said, blinking rapidly. No, don’t you dare cry, she told herself fiercely.
‘I make a good listener, you know.’ He was back leaning against her desk, cradling a mug of his own, concern in his eyes. ‘Besides, you know a lot of my family secrets.’
Clara opened her mouth, a polite rebuff on the tip of her tongue, but closed it as a thought hit her.
Maybe she didn’t have to be alone after all?
The memory of his earlier offer hung there tempting, intoxicating. He owed her a favour. Anything she wanted. What if she didn’t have to face Byron and his father alone?
‘I’ll do it.’ The words were sudden, abrupt, loud in the quiet office. ‘If you guarantee me double time in office hours, treble at evenings and weekends, the bonus at the end of the six weeks and...’ she swallowed but forced herself to look up, to meet his eyes ‘...and you will accompany me to one meeting. Agreed?’
It was Raff’s turn to pause, the blue eyes regarding her quizzically, probing beneath her armour. ‘Agreed,’ he said finally.
Clara exhaled the breath she didn’t even know she was holding. ‘It’s a deal.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’ll see you on Sunday.’
His hand reached out to take hers, folding over it in a gesture that was far more like a caress than a handshake. ‘Tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at noon.’
‘But...’ Clara tried to withdraw her hand but it was held fast in his cool grip ‘...I thought you needed a date to meet your grandfather on Sunday.’
He smiled, the devilry back in his eyes. ‘I do, but we need to get to know each other first. You and I are going on a date.’
CHAPTER FOUR (#uaec53e5e-3c04-5952-a526-5f610f85a3a6)
IT WAS BECOMING an annoying habit, somehow agreeing to the outrageous when she meant to refuse.
She’d felt sorry for him, fool that she was. She’d been lured in by a weary expression, candour and charm. A moment of personal weakness.
And yet there was a certain excitement about getting dressed up, about going somewhere other than The Swan. About going out with an undeniably attractive man.
Even if it wasn’t a real date.
It was probably a good thing she had said yes. It was so long since she had been on any kind of date she was bound to be a little rusty, a little awkward. This was an opportunity to practise without any pesky expectations hanging over her.
And that was all this fizz in her veins was. It certainly had nothing to do with Raff Rafferty. It was about a pretty dress, a chance to wear her hair down, to put on a lipstick a little darker, a little redder than she wore for work. A chance for heels.
No, Clara decided, eying herself critically in the mirror, she didn’t look too shabby. The vintage-style green tea dress was flattering and demure teamed with black patent Mary Janes and her hair was behaving for once, falling in a soft wave onto her shoulders.
She glanced at her watch. Five minutes. She wanted to be downstairs, sitting at her desk, working when he arrived. She might be all dressed up but this was work. Letting him upstairs, into her private space, was a step far too far.
And there could be no blurred lines.
She took a long look around the small, cosy sitting room. It wasn’t the grandest of homes, the fanciest. But it was hers, hers and Summer’s. Her sanctuary.
She’d bought it, paid for it, chosen the wallpaper, decorated it. Okay, there was a patch where it wasn’t perfectly lined up but it was hers.
Raff would dominate the room, suck all the air out of the space.
Make it unsafe.
The urge to sink onto the overstuffed velvet sofa was almost overwhelming. To play hooky from work, from responsibilities, from this devil’s pact. She could curl up with a large bar of chocolate and a Cary Grant film, block out the world for a few blissful hours. She pulled her phone out of her bag—one call and this whole crazy arrangement would be over before it had even begun.
Just one click. So easy.
Her finger moved to the contact list icon and hovered there.
Brrriiiing! The doorbell’s loud chime echoed through the room, making her jump.
