BEN LOOKED UP from his phone, where pieces of fruit whizzed across the screen, alerted by the faint sound of heels on the store floor. Curiosity and a sense of intrigue touched him as he watched her walk towards him—emotions that sparked into appreciation.
She’d got it spot-on. The outfit was perfect for dinner—a judicious mix of professional and fashionable. More than that, though, was the way she wore the clothes—as if they were made for her.
His only quibble would be that she should have left her glorious red hair loose; instead it was up, though she’d softened the style a little by looping it into a twist.
‘Excellent choice.’ He cleared his throat to try and excuse the strangled tones.
She did a quick twirl and, dammit, he nearly swallowed his tongue.
‘So do I pass the first test?’
‘Yes.’
Get with it. This woman was a prospective as well as a current employee. Not—repeat for emphasis, not—a date.
‘Thank you.’ There was a heartbeat of silence. ‘Mind you, I do realise I was spoilt for choice. Perhaps a harder test would have been to take me to a random charity shop and see what I could pull together there.’
The words were breathless, wide brown eyes were still locked with his, and now awareness glittered in her gaze as she stepped close. He caught a tantalising hint of her grapefruit-tinged scent, and just like that he completely lost the thread of the conversation.
Silence lengthened, stretched and echoed round the dim interior of the store, until his brain finally kicked in with a staccato burst.
‘Yes,’ he said in the hope that that would encompass a correct response. ‘Now we’d better go.’
‘Yes,’ she echoed.
It still took them a moment to actually move, but once they’d started both of them accelerated towards the door.
Back in the car he relaxed slightly. He had to douse this whole attraction thing and remember what was important here: to get a feel for how his workforce thought, to make sure he was still grounded; to assess whether Sarah Fletcher had what it took to be a Sahara Sales assistant. That was what this dinner was about.
Fifteen minutes later they pulled up in front of Tatiana’s, located in one of London’s most renowned hotels.
A doorman opened the door and they climbed out, and he sensed Sarah step a little closer to him, though she didn’t falter as they made their way through the glass revolving door and towards the restaurant.
‘Mr Gardiner. Welcome.’ The maître d’ glanced at Sarah and to his credit didn’t give even the slightest indication that he had expected a supermodel. ‘And your guest, of course. Please come this way.’
He led them through the opulent room and up a couple of stairs to a central table, and handed them two leather-bound menus.
‘Mario will be over shortly to take your order.’
‘Thank you.’
Sarah smiled up at the maître d’ before he glided away and Ben was struck afresh at the classical slant of her face: a face that would age with beauty and class.
‘This is incredible.’ Her smile was tentative. ‘Though if I’d known I’d be sitting on a mustard-yellow armchair, I might have picked a slightly different outfit.’
‘I’m glad you like it.’
‘I do! Those chandeliers alone are awe-inspiring. I mean, where did they get them from? And how can something so immense also be so delicate? Each one is so pretty and yet magnificent.’
‘They redecorated a year ago; it was pretty luxurious before, but now it’s...’ He glanced round at the powder-blue walls, lined with Greek-style moulding and objets d’art.
‘Imposingly rich, yet somehow it feels a bit like a private dining room rather than a restaurant. Maybe it’s because they’ve spaced the tables really well.’ She looked down at the menu and exuded a sigh. ‘I may need a little time.’
She wasn’t kidding, and yet he didn’t mind the wait as she read the menu carefully, clearly weighing her choices. In truth he welcomed the opportunity to study her. Light from the chandeliers tinted her hair with auburn, and her face was creased into an endearing frown of concentration.
An elusive idea niggled at the back of his brain, but he couldn’t quite grasp it. The latest Sahara slogan rang in his mind. The ordinary is extraordinary. His new range was for people who lived in the real world, and yet he himself no longer did. So—dammit—had he got it wrong?
He stole another glance at Sarah as she looked up from the menu. ‘Right. I think I’ve decided. Though it wasn’t easy. I’m not sure I even know what some of these things are, but I think I’ll go for the stone bass—unless you think that’s a mistake? It comes with rock oyster sauce and pickled mushrooms.’