A flush heated her cheeks. ‘That was what I believe is known as “a career mistake”.’ Of monumental proportions. ‘I’d got engaged, and at the time it seemed like the right course of action. The Forsythe sisters were very understanding.’
‘I get that. Most women would get carried away by the lifestyle of fiancée to a Hollywood movie star compared to working in an all-hours pressured job. I saw the press coverage of those swish parties—you’re clearly a natural partygoer.’
‘No!’
The world might believe that of her, but she felt affront scrape her chest at the idea that Ethan should join that bandwagon of opinion.
‘I loathed those parties. I’m so used to fronting events or serving tables that being a guest was hard. All that glitter and glam and there was nothing for me to do except—’ She broke off.
Except play the part of Hugh Farlane’s besotted girlfriend.
How could she have fallen for it? For him? At first she hadn’t been int
erested in a man with his playboy heartbreaker reputation. Certainly she had wanted zilch to do with his fame, the limelight, his money. But slowly he’d chipped away at her resistance, and then he’d confessed that he needed her, that she was the one woman who could heal him, and his honeyed voice had called to something in her very soul.
After all, she’d failed to heal her family on so very many levels—with heart-rending consequences.
So when he had gone down on bended knee, when he had poured out his desire to turn his life around, her heart had melted and she’d known she would do whatever it took to help Hugh. And if that meant she’d have to embrace a lifestyle she disliked, play the part of the glamorous girlfriend and smile at the paps, then she would do that. After all, playing a part was second nature to her—and Hugh had needed her.
Yuck! Talk about deluded...
‘Except what?’ A hint of unexpected compassion softened his eyes as he picked up a pencil and rolled it between his fingers. ‘Except be Hugh Farlane’s girlfriend? Guess it must have been hard to lose your identity...’
For a second her brain scrambled, mesmerised by the movement and the broad capability of his hand, and shocked by his understanding. For a second the impulse to confide in him returned. To tell him just how hard it had been, and how much worse it had made Hugh’s subsequent betrayal.
Swallowing it down, she met his gaze. ‘If possible I’d like to keep Hugh out of this. I get that I’m asking a lot, but I promise you can trust me. I will do a brilliant job and I will not leave you in the lurch. Give me a chance to convince you.’
This job was perfect for her—exactly up her street—and her fierce desire to achieve this role had nothing to do with the man offering it. At all. All she wanted was to put the last few weeks behind her, to consign the whole Hugh debacle to oblivion and move on.
The pencil thunked down on the table with finality and she felt panic glimmer. She’d blown it.
Silence stretched and yawned as his blue-grey eyes bored into her. Then he blinked, and a slight hint of ruefulness tipped up his lips. ‘Okay. I’ll give you the job. Trial period until the grand opening. Then we’ll take it from there.’
Triumph-tinged relief doused her and tipped her own lips up into a smile. ‘You won’t regret it. Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me yet, Ruby. I’m a hard task master and I’ll be with you every step of the way.’
‘You will?’ Just peachy—the idea sent a flotilla of butterflies aswirl in her tummy.
‘Yes. This project is important to me, so you and I will be spending the next few weeks in close conference.’
Close conference. The businesslike words misfired in her brain to take on a stupid intimacy.
‘Starting now. I’m headed down to the castle this afternoon. I’ll meet you there, or if you prefer I can give you a lift.’
Common sense overrode her instinct to refuse the offer of transport. The only other alternative was a train journey, where the chances of recognition would be high.
‘A lift would be great.’ The words were not exactly true—the whole idea of time in an enclosed space with Ethan sent a strange trickle of anticipation through her veins. ‘Thank you...’
* * *
Ethan gave his companion a quick sideways glance and then returned his gaze to the stretch of road ahead. Dressed now in a pair of dark trousers, a white shirt and a soft brown jacket cinched at the waist with a wide belt, she still looked the epitome of professional. Yet his fingers still itched to pull the pins out of her severe bun and then run through the resultant tumble of glossy black hair. Even as her cinnamon scent tantalised...
This awareness sucked.
An awareness he suspected was mutual—he’d caught the way her eyes rested on him, the quickly lowered lashes. So why had he hired her? This level of awareness was an issue—he didn’t understand it, and the niggle of suspicion that it was more than just physical was already causing his temples to pound.
Employing someone from his past was nuts—he should have known that. The woman next to him triggered memories of times he would rather forget—of the Ethan Caversham of a decade ago, driven to the streets to try and escape the harsh reality of his life, the bitter knowledge that his mother had wanted shot of him made worse by the knowledge that he could hardly blame her.