her brow. ‘I love the idea, but can you tell me more? Is it a particular charity you want to raise money for? The more information I have the more successful I can make the event.’
‘The money raised will go to a charity that helps troubled teens. Gets them off the streets, helps them back on their feet if they’ve been in juvie.’
It took a few moments for the true meaning of his words to make an impact, and then it took all her will-power not to launch herself across the table and wrap her arms around him. Only the knowledge that they were in a public place and the suspicion that Ethan would loathe the display kept her in her seat. But the idea that Ethan Caversham, renowned tough guy and entrepreneur, had a different side to him made her tummy go gooey. He’d experienced life on the streets, been a troubled teen himself and now he wanted to help others.
‘I think that is an amazing idea. Brilliant. We will make this the best fundraiser ever.’ Her mind was already fizzing with ideas. ‘How about we go back to my suite for coffee and a brainstorm?’
* * *
Ethan bit back a groan and tried to get a grip. Better late than never, after all. Somehow he’d utterly lost his grasp of events—the conversation had spiralled out of control and now he could see more than a flicker of approval in Ruby’s eyes. An approval he didn’t want.
Time to try and relocate even a shard of perspective.
Ruby was his employee—one who could help make this fundraiser work. Therefore he should be pleased at her enthusiasm and accept her approval on a professional level, not a personal one.
So... ‘Coffee and a brainstorm sound good.’
‘Perfect.’ A blink of hesitation and then she reached out and covered his hand with her own. ‘I will make this rock. I remember how it felt to be a teenager on the streets. It was like being shrouded in invisibility. Even the people who dropped a ten pence piece in front of me did it without even a glance.’
A small shiver ran through her body, and her eyes were wide in a face that had been leached of colour.
‘The idea of subsisting on people’s charity made me feel small and helpless and angry and very alone.’
The image of Ruby huddled on the streets smote his chest.
‘It is an endemic problem. I know there are hostels and soup kitchens and the like, and that is incredible, but I want to do something more hands-on, more direct—’ He broke off.
The image of a homeless Ruby had set him galloping on his hobby horse.
‘Like what?’ She leant forward, her entire being absorbed in their conversation. ‘Come on, Ethan—spill. I want to help.’
Her sincerity was vibrant and how could he quench that? It would be wrong.
‘My idea for the castle is to open it as a luxury hotel for nine months of the year and then use the proceeds to utilise it differently for the remaining three months. As a place for troubled teens. Surfing holidays but also training courses, so they can learn job skills—maybe in the hotel industry.’
He’d explained his idea to Rafael, but somehow the words were much harder to utter now—maybe because Rafael understood his need for redemption, retribution, second chances. Ruby didn’t. And there it was—the dawning of approbation, the foretaste of hero worship simmering in her beautiful eyes.
‘That is an awesome idea,’ she said quietly. ‘Truly. Tony was right. You are a good man.’
The words were not what he wanted to hear—there was too much in his past for him to have earned that epithet.
‘I’m not quite ready for a halo—all I plan to do is use the profits from a business venture to try and do some good. That’s all. Don’t big it up into more than it is.’
A push of the nearly empty dessert plate across the table.
‘Now, eat up and then let’s go brainstorm.’
There went her chin again. ‘You’re not just raising money—you have a hands-on plan that will help some of those homeless kids out there. That’s pretty big in my book, and nothing you say will change my opinion. Now, we’d better find Tony and say goodbye.’
One effusive farewell later and they were outside. Next to him, Ruby inhaled the cold crisp air and looked up into the darkness of the sky. ‘Do you think it will snow?’
‘Unlikely.’
‘So no white Christmas?’ Ruby said with a hint of wistfulness. ‘It’s a shame, really—can you imagine how beautiful Cornwall would be covered in snow?’ She shook her head. ‘On the subject of Christmas...how do you feel about a Christmas party at Caversham? Not on Christmas Day, obviously, but maybe Christmas Eve drinks? Or eve of Christmas Eve drinks? For suppliers and locals. A lot of the staff we’ve taken on are local, so I think it would be a nice idea. Bank some goodwill...show the Caversham community ethos.’
Ethan considered—it was a good idea. But not in the run-up to Christmas.
‘It doesn’t fit with my plans.’ More plans he didn’t wish to share. ‘Maybe we could think about it later? After New Year? Anyway, I know you said you had Christmas plans as well. So take some time off. From the twenty-first—that’s not a problem.’
‘Okay. Thanks.’
Enthusiasm was not prominent in her voice and Ethan swallowed the urge to ask her exactly what her plans were. Not his business—and not fair, as he didn’t want to share his own.
The limo pulled up and he held the door open for Ruby to slide in, averted his eyes from the smooth length of her leg, hoped the tantalising cinnamon smell wouldn’t whirl his head further. Employee, employee, employee.
As soon as the car started she leant forward; now her enthusiasm shone through the dim interior of the car.
‘So—for the medieval banquet... I’ve already done loads of research and I’ve got some fab dishes we could use. What do you think about eels in a thick spicy purée, loach in a cold green sauce and a meat tile—which is chicken cooked in a spiced sauce of pounded crayfish tails, almonds and toasted bread, garnished with whole crayfish tails. Or capon pasties—or even eel and bream pasties. I’ve spoken to a medieval re-enactor and I reckon he’ll know someone who will come along and cook us some samples. We could even put together a recipe book and sell it—raise some extra funds.’
‘Excellent ideas. Though...what is loach?’
‘It’s a freshwater fish. Mind you, I’m not sure you can get it here.’ A quick rummage in her evening bag netted a small notebook and pen. ‘I’ll check. What about an auction?’ A sudden grin illuminated her face. ‘Hey! You could talk to Tony. Auction off a cooking lesson with Antonio Pugliano. What do you think?’
His breath caught as his lungs suspended their function. One thought only was in his mind—Ruby was so beautiful, so animated, so unutterably gorgeous, and all he wanted was to tug her across the seat and kiss her.
RUBY
