Breaking the Boss's Rules

Imogen shook her head. ‘Then you’d best go. Have a safe flight home.’

‘Enjoy the art class.’

It was a monumentally stupid comment, but he was having difficulty unsticking his feet from the sand. Having difficulty doing the thing he needed to do.

‘I hope this doesn’t make you drop out of it.’

‘Don’t worry, Joe. Your conscience can rest. I keep my promises. See you around.’

The bitter taste of cowardice and confusion coated his tastebuds as she swivelled and started to walk away from him.

Without so much as a glance back.

He needed to do the same.

It was the only way forward.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Three days later

‘HOW ARE YOU feeling, hun? Ready to go in there ands freeze his balls?’

Imogen managed a smile at Mel’s words, truly appreciating her best friend’s attempts to cheer her up. Mel had been a rock—had plied her with tea and wine and chocolate and tissues as needed, listened to her rant and pretended not to notice when she cried.

Though who knew why she’d shed a single tear for a man who had made it more than plain that he wanted nothing more to do with her? Humiliation still burned inside her that she hadn’t just let him go and feigned indifference. Honestly—she might as well stencil ‘Doormat—Use Me’ on her forehead.

Yet there had been a moment on that sun-kissed Algarve beach when the grim, haunted expression on Joe’s face had twisted her heart—made her want to help with whatever inner demons tormented him.

Hah! More fool her. Inner demons, her foot—Joe had just been terrified that she would go emotional on him. Become a complication to his footloose and fancy-free existence.

Well, she’d show him. Joe had called a meeting at Langley with Peter and Harry, and Peter had asked her to minute it.

Pride straightened her spine. ‘I am ready to go in and be arctically professional.’

Mel grinned at her. ‘That’s my girl. Well, you look the part.’

‘Thanks to you! This dress is perfect.’

Imogen smoothed the skirt of the sculpted jersey dress with satisfaction. The demure yet tantalising rounded half-zip neckline, the way the Italian fabric clung to her body, dipped to just above the knee, made her feel professional from the sleek chignon atop her head to her perfectly pedicured pale pink toenails that peeped from a pair of killer heels.

‘Show me “The Look”.’

Hand on hip, Imogen focused on projecting icy disdain.

‘Brilliant!’ Mel clapped her hands together. ‘Trust me, bits of him will shrivel! Go get ‘em, Imo.’

Easier said than done. By the time she’d trekked the tube journey to work the thought of seeing Joe was filling her with a swirl of conflicted emotions. Come on, Imo. It was imperative that she crush any lingering stupid hopes, push down the insane lurch of anticipation.

As she approached the boardroom her heart pounded against her ribcage so loudly she’d probably deafen Joe rather than freeze him. Bracing herself, she pushed the boardroom door open and entered. Channelled every bit of her inner ice princess.

The Langley brothers sat on one side of the mahogany table facing Joe, who had his hands flat on the table edge, his gaze directed on Peter.

‘You have got to be joking!’ Peter Langley leapt to his feet, looking about to vault the table and throttle Joe.

‘Peter. Sit down.’ Harry half rose and grabbed Peter’s arm.

Imogen cleared her throat. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said.