The Seduction Scheme

The sudden sight of the very slim, very tall, very young blonde throwing her arms around Benedict’s neck was a traumatic shock to her system. If she’d had a pair of scissors handy she might just have hacked off her hair at that moment and left him to make what he would of that symbolism.

Sir Stuart Arden, looking every inch the powerful pillar of the community, stood back with an expression of approval on his face.

‘I thought I’d surprise you with Sabrina,’ he said as his son emerged from the thorough embrace.

‘Gift-wrapped, I see.’ Benedict’s expression didn’t give away anything, but Rachel was pretty sure he didn’t object to this form of greeting—what man would?

‘Do you like it, darling?’

Rachel observed the crimson fingertips and the lime-green and lilac striped sheath dress with distaste. She was the sort of girl who called everyone ‘darling’ indiscriminately. Only in Benedict’s case she probably meant it. Her proprietorial air with him spoke of a close relationship. The thought of how close made Rachel feel nauseous.

‘I hope they charged you by the yard,’ he observed, eyeing the length of leg revealed.

‘Try and think metric, darling. I was telling your father, I’ve hardly seen you since you got back from that horrid farm.’ She pouted attractively up at him.

Rachel, who had seen exactly where his masculine gaze was resting, would have bet money that that hateful laugh had been practised for hours to get that perfect sexy intonation.

‘Considering the amount of time you’ve spent behind a desk, Benedict, I was quite surprised.’

Rachel was immediately conscious, despite the casual tone, of the tension in the air between father and son. Aware that his absence yesterday had been on her account, she hoped this wasn’t responsible for the friction.

‘Have you, or any clients, got any complaints about my work?’ Benedict already knew the answer. His father was no sentimentalist.

He had never made any secret of the fact that he wanted one of his sons to carry on the family tradition of heading the prestigious law firm which had been founded by their great-grandfather, but it had been shrewd judgement rather than nepotism that explained Benedict’s presence.

He was here because he was the best of his year’s crop of law graduates and this firm always wanted the best. He’d refused offers from rival law chambers and his father knew it, although he never referred to the fact.

‘You’d know if I had,’ Stuart Arden confirmed. ‘I was talking to your father last night, Sabrina; he was telling me you’ve graduated with flying colours from your cordon bleu course.’

‘I was going to practise my skills on Benedict.’ She glanced upwards through her heavily mascaraed lashes at him.

I just bet you were, Rachel thought with a fresh spurt of self-disgust. What am I doing? I don’t want any part in this tacky scenario. I’m not going to compete for a man’s attentions like this; it’s so demeaning.

‘Only he stood me up,’ Sabrina continued with a sigh. She tapped his hand playfully. ‘I was devastated. Did Daddy tell you he’s going to set me up in my own little catering firm?’

‘Well, if we can put any work your way…’

That was how it worked, Rachel thought, when you knew the right people—so simple. This was Benedict’s world, not hers; the gap between them had never been more apparent. Her hands were clammy as she struck the keyboard and tried to pretend she wasn’t listening to every word. To the Sir Stuarts and Sabrinas of this world secretaries were just part of the furniture. They probably hadn’t even noticed she was there. However, the next words blew a big hole in this theory.

‘You’re not Maggie.’

‘Pardon?’ She didn’t immediately realise that this remark was addressed to her. ‘No, I’m not.’ The great man stood waiting expectantly and she knew she was looking more and more foolish with each passing second, but her vocal cords had seized up.

‘I thought you arranged the temporary transfer, Father.’ Benedict came unexpectedly to her rescue.

‘Did I? I do a lot of things around this place.’

‘And with your failing faculties you can’t be expected to recall them all,’ Benedict observed in an understanding manner.

‘You’re such a tease,’ Sabrina remonstrated. ‘I wish half the so-called young men I know had half Sir Stuart’s energy and dynamism.’

Rachel had never understood why intelligent men who had given up reading fairy tales years ago fell for such blatant flattery. It works every time, she thought, watching the distinguished-looking peer try to hide his pleasure. He puffed out his not insubstantial chest.