And all Adam’s research had indicated that Ian Mainwaring should provide Charlotte with exactly that. Ian was worth a hundred of him—would look after Charlotte, give her love, a family... Everything Adam had promised her and failed to provide.
Memory echoed in his ears: her tears, her pleading. Her voice. ‘You’ve broken my heart, Adam. I trusted you and now you’ve broken my heart.’
Aware of Olivia’s direct glance, Adam commanded his expression to be neutral. ‘Bottom line is I am not trying to make Charlotte jealous. That’s the truth.’ The words sounded too serious; her gaze caused him a thread of discomfort at the sensitive subject at hand. ‘Scout’s honour,’ he added, turning his lips up in a smile as he glanced at his watch. ‘And now that’s settled we’d better get a shake on. We need to be at Somerset House at five o’clock for the show.’
As anticipated, the information deflected her from any further questions. ‘Five o’clock? But I haven’t got a proper dress or...’
‘Just buy whatever you need. The hotel has a boutique, or if you want to hit the shops I can get someone to go with you.’ For an insane moment he nearly offered himself up on the shopping altar. Almost. He didn’t shop. Full stop. He had no intention of starting now.
‘I’m a personal shopper. I’m quite capable of shopping by myself.’
‘Nope. You’ll take one of Nate’s men with you.’
Hurt lanced her eyes, along with a healthy dollop of anger. ‘What do you think I’m going to do? A runner?’
‘No. I’m worried a reporter will make you uncomfortable, and I’m worried Candice may try and get to you. That’s why I want someone with you.’
‘Oh.’ Her lips curved up into a wide smile. ‘That told me. In that case, bring him on.’
* * *
Olivia surveyed her reflection. It didn’t matter what she looked like. It didn’t. Because she wasn’t bothered by what Adam thought. She definitely did not want a repeat of that hot, predatory gaze that turned her insides squishy and sent heat shooting south. Definitely not.
There was some other explanation for the ripple of anticipation in her stomach. Perhaps it was horror that the purchase of the stunningly gorgeous, shimmering creation she wore had been chalked up to Adam.
But there was nothing else she could have done; she’d been standing at the till of an exclusive London boutique that she’d always wanted to visit and Jonny, aka her minder, had handed over a rectangle of plastic: the Masterson Hotels company credit card.
Outrage had clenched her rigid even as mortification had coloured her face. Olivia had tried to protest. But all her objections had fallen on deaf ears and stony ground. Jonny had been obdurate; he’d been given an order direct from Adam and as far as he was concerned it was more than his job was worth not to follow it to the letter.
So Olivia had capitulated, salving her conscience with the determination to repay Adam at the earliest given opportunity.
An almost savage swipe of glossy pink lipstick and she was done. And she still couldn’t help but imagine Adam’s face when he saw her.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
She’d chosen the dress for its suitability and nothing else. Her reflection stared back at her—the perfect trophy girlfriend that any respectable businessman could be proud of. The spitting image of her mother, chosen for her looks. Adam himself had admitted it, and the article had been clear. Only the beautiful should apply.
And she qualified.
The dress screamed elegance and discreetly whispered class. The simple column cut skimmed her curves and the shimmering silver fabric swooped to just touch the floor, allowing her red-painted toenails to be glimpsed in the folds. The lacy top of the dress scooped around her neck and the short sleeves showed off the toned slenderness of her arms. Her hair was held back at the neck, leaving a side fringe to fall across her forehead, and she’d opted for the fresh-faced look with her make-up.
It was perfect, and worth every one of Adam’s pennies.
Yet her soul felt tainted, further polluted by the fact that she actually wanted Adam’s approval—wanted those brown eyes to darken and smoulder when he looked at her.
Olivia clenched her nails into her palms. This was plain wrong—for a variety of reasons that all bunched together around her chest, squeezing her tight with panic.
The knock on the door set her heart pounding. She had to get a grip. Had to gain control and squash all these feelings pancake-flat.
‘Coming,’ she called, and walked to the door, pulling it open. Her throat dried as she drank in Adam’s appearance; if he’d looked gorgeous the night before, he looked positively sinful now. The dark suit was simple and fitted perfectly around the breadth of his shoulders. White shirt and silver tie, and that woodsy scent that made her dizzy.