In the Rich Man's World

‘Attempting to get to know you better,’ Amelia corrected. ‘You don’t exactly give much away. It’s like pulling teeth without an anaesthetic, trying to extract information from you. Everything I manage to glean you counter with an “off the record” reminder.’

‘Oh, come on, Amelia.’ Vaughan gave her a look that showed her he was anything but moved. ‘If you can’t fashion a story after all the meetings you’ve been in, then you’re not the journalist I thought you were. You don’t have to name names all the time.’

‘It’s not them I’m interested in, though,’ Amelia retorted. ‘I meant what I said last night. It’s a portrayal of you that I want to do, not a bloody business piece.’ She took a deep breath, shook her head as the waiter handed her a menu.

The truth of the matter was she was struggling with contrary emotions. As much as she wanted to get to know him better, as much as she needed more information to write the piece she really wanted to write, she was terrified of being alone with him again—had been secretly relieved at the chance to spend a day licking her wounds and hopefully fashioning her brain into some sort of order before the next onslaught of emotional torture Vaughan so easily generated. She’d needed the space to get her head together, to ring a girlfriend and beg for sensibility before she surely caved in. A business lunch she could just about have dealt with, but an hour or two up close and personal with Vaughan Mason was way too much for her shredded emotions right now.

‘Come on—have something,’ Vaughan pushed, retrieving the menu and placing it in front of her. ‘You can’t come all this way and not eat.’

But the thought of chasing spaghetti around her plate in her present state, with Vaughan calmly watching on, wasn’t particularly palatable.

‘I’d far rather have a sandwich sent up to my hotel room,’ Amelia resisted, hoisting her bag up onto her shoulder. ‘I know you’re busy, Vaughan, and, as I said this morning, you really don’t have to babysit me—this was a business lunch that should have been rescheduled, not a date you’ve somehow managed to break and need to make up for. A phone call would have sufficed.’

‘We could share a cheese platter,’ Vaughan responded, completely dismissing her entire statement, obviously happy with his choice and clicking his fingers to summon the waiter, not even bothering to check if it was okay with Amelia.

‘I could have a raving lactose intolerance,’ Amelia bristled. ‘I could blow up like a soccerball at the mere sight of cheese!’

‘Do you?’

‘No, but that isn’t the point.’

Despite his bland expression, she knew he was laughing at her.

‘Would you care for some wine?’ Vaughan checked. ‘Or does that bring you out in hives?’

‘Water will be fine.’

‘So, what have you written about me so far?’

Amelia nearly knocked over her glass at his way too direct question.

‘Am I allowed to look?’

‘No!’ Perish the thought.

Amelia gave a visible shudder. The thought of anyone reading her work at this stage filled her with horror, but it had nothing to do with what she’d written—was more the complete lack of it. Though she damn well wasn’t going to tell anyone that she’d barely got past the first paragraph, that her mind was constantly wandering. This whole morning, when she should have been working, had been spent reluctantly recalling the sheer heady bliss of being held by him, and, as intimate as she wanted her piece to be, she certainly wasn’t about to share that with her readers.

‘That bad, huh?’

‘Worse,’ Amelia said with a teasing smile. ‘Actually, I haven’t touched on your appalling arrogance yet. I’m saving that for this afternoon’s session.’

‘Maybe you should have some wine after all. It might help soften the edges a bit.’

‘Come on, Vaughan,’ Amelia moaned. ‘You have to give me something here. What’s this about a charity auction on Thursday?’

‘I’m the auctioneer,’ Vaughan sighed, and Amelia finally started to laugh.

‘This I have to see!’

Vaughan rolled his eyes. ‘Please let’s not talk about it. And even if I have to strap you to the bed, there’s no way you’re coming to watch.’

Ouch!

As innocent as it had been, in their present rather fragile state any mention of bed had them both inwardly cringing. And, though she couldn’t be sure, Amelia could have sworn she saw the first hint of a blush darken his cheeks at the small faux pas.

‘But I’ve been invited.’ Amelia grinned, enjoying his moment of discomfort. ‘I wouldn’t dream of missing it! So what’s it in aid of? The children’s hospital?’

‘Actually, it’s the cystic fibrosis unit holding it. Apparently they urgently need to purchase some piece of equipment, but the budget has already been allocated for this financial year, so rather than waiting they’ve decided to bite the bullet and raise the money themselves.’

‘And what’s your role in this? Apart from being the auctioneer?’ Amelia grinned again. ‘I assume that was a last-minute addition?’

‘You assume correctly. I donated a holiday—that envelope contained the tickets—ten nights for two in Fiji at a luxury resort…’ He smiled as Amelia let out a blissful sigh.

‘With air tickets?’ she checked, pouting with not so feigned jealousy as Vaughan nodded.

‘You’d think that would have sufficed. But, not happy with that, Sam decided to bully me into standing with a microphone, making a complete idiot of myself.’

‘I can’t believe you’d ever be bullied into something you didn’t want to do.’

Spreading creamy thick cheese onto a pepper cracker, she looked up to see him smiling again.

‘What?’

‘For a lactose intolerant person who’s not particularly hungry you’re doing a good job with that cheese. Don’t stop,’ he added when she put down her cracker. ‘I’m just glad I’m forgiven, that’s all.’

‘You’re not.’ Amelia grinned.

‘And you’ll never be forgiven, young lady, if you even so much as smile at my efforts on Thursday night.’

‘I can’t believe you’re so worked up about it.’ Amelia laughed. ‘Surely you’re used to public speaking? I can’t believe you’d get worked up about some tiny cocktail party for a children’s ward.’

‘I’m not getting worked up,’ Vaughan snapped, then relented with a brief nod. ‘I just can’t really picture myself working an audience, telling them to dig deep for the kids. I’m not the world’s most effusive person.’

Oh, but he was!

Staring across the table, glimpsing again that bland inscrutable face, it was hard to believe the passion that had smoldered last night—how the eyes that were guarded now had burned with fervour, how his demonstrative hands had expressed without words so many simmering feelings, how she had witnessed first hand the hidden depths of this extraordinary man.

‘How did he do it?’

She was deep in thought and his question caught her off guard. Two vertical lines appeared on the bridge of her nose as she realised the conversation had shifted to strictly personal, and that once again the subject was her.

‘How did Taylor Dean get that suspicious, cynical woman to relent?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘I do.’ Vaughan leant over the table, the motion causing his knees to brush hers, and he held his legs there, trapped her at the table with a mere touch. ‘I can’t imagine you of all people falling for a popstar. You’re not exactly…’

‘Stunning?’ Amelia offered, but immediately he shook his head.

‘You have the self-esteem of an ant, Amelia. I was about to say you’re not exactly groupie material. I just can’t picture you falling for a line.’

‘It wasn’t a line.’ Amelia blinked back at him and he saw the pain in her eyes, saw the swirling confusion still there. The pain was obviously still new. ‘At the risk of sounding like an even bigger fool, I actually think he did love me.’ She took a gulp of her water. ‘Hard to imagine, I guess.’

‘No.’ His voice was husky and thoughtful, the flip, slightly patronizing tone gone now, and he stared back at her—stared back and willed her to open up. ‘No, it isn’t actually that hard to imagine someone falling completely head over heels in love with you, Amelia. Can you tell me what happened between you and Taylor?’

He watched her face stiffen, the creamy shoulders tighten. But if it hurt to probe he didn’t care. Insatiable curiosity was burning within, that this wary, suspicious woman could ever have succumbed to the negligible charms of a man like Taylor.

‘Why?’ Amelia begged. But she already knew the answer—knew that he needed to understand why she held back. And maybe by telling him, so might she.

‘I was booked to do an interview. I had an hour slot with him. But there was a PA by his side—not a chance of digging deeper. Every time I asked something that wasn’t on the list, every time I veered off course, his PA broke in—which was annoying, but expected. It happens all the time during interviews. Only suddenly it wasn’t me getting annoyed. All of a sudden it was Taylor who was frowning at the interruptions. It was as if he really wanted to talk to me—really wanted to finally be honest. In the end he asked his PA to leave.’