mind. I promise to wear shoes when I see a client, so save the lecture.’
‘You have absolutely no—’ He broke off in mid-sentence, his attention snagged by the dramatic transformation of his previously ordered office space. ‘What happened here?’
‘You told us we could do what we wanted with the space.’ Knowing that she sounded defensive, Polly scrambled up from the floor, acutely conscious of his height now that she wasn’t wearing her heels. She followed his appalled gaze and saw the calendar of half-naked firemen someone had stuck to one of the steel rods that supported the ceiling. Oops. ‘That was a project we did for one of our clients. It’s a photographic masterpiece, don’t you think? We put it up because it helps us to think creatively.’
A dark brow lifted in mockery. ‘The more I discover about your creative process, the more fascinated I am.’
Polly shrugged awkwardly. ‘I accept we’re a bit more—er—informal than you, but to be honest the whole “hot desk” thing doesn’t really work for us. I think we’re very possibly cold desk people. Or maybe lukewarm desk. We like knowing where we’re going to sit instead of playing musical chairs when we come to work every day. We like having a home. A little space to call our own.’
‘The place looks like a Sunday market.’ He picked up the pink fluffy pen she always kept on her desk, his gaze incredulous. ‘What do you do with this thing?’
‘I write with it. If I’m brainstorming ideas I need to doodle on paper. It helps me think.’ Exhausted, her head throbbing, Polly wished she’d hidden the pen. ‘It’s my happy pen. I like it. It makes me smile and I’m more creative when I’m happy.’
‘Well, that’s good, because obviously your happiness is my first priority.’ His silky-smooth tone held a deadly edge. ‘Talking of happiness, how are the fish settling in? Are they homesick? Enjoying the view? Anything I can get them to make them feel more comfortable?’
She decided to ignore the sarcasm. ‘Just don’t get too close. They’re afraid of sharks.’
‘I am not a shark, Miss Prince.’
‘You just gobbled up my father’s company in one mouthful so forgive me if I disagree with you.’
‘We both know I have no interest in your father’s business.’
‘Which is a shame, because you’re stuck with us now.’ Suddenly she appreciated the irony of it. ‘You’re stuck with our pink, fluffy, fish-loving approach to business and we’re stuck with your empty-desk-eyes-forward-don’t-anybody-laugh ethos. Interesting times ahead.’
Suddenly, Polly was too tired to fight and she surreptitiously slid her pink notebook under a file in the hope that it wouldn’t draw his attention. ‘Can I please have my pen back? It’s a lucky pen. All my best creative ideas have come while I’m holding it.’
The bold curve of his brows came together in a frown and she wondered what she’d said this time. He obviously thought she was a complete numbskull. ‘Could you stop frowning? It’s so unsettling. We’re used to working in a positive atmosphere.’
He studied her for a long moment and then dropped the pen back on her desk. ‘Have you heard from your father?’
‘No.’
‘Doesn’t the man ever call you?’
With that single sentence he unwittingly dug a knife into the most vulnerable part of her. Afraid he might see the hurt, Polly kept her eyes down. ‘We live independent lives.’ And not for anything would she betray how much this latest episode was upsetting her. She wasn’t going to give Damon Doukakis the satisfaction of knowing she was as miserable about the whole thing as he was. ‘Was that all? Because I’m pretty busy.’
There was a brief silence and then he surprised her. ‘You look exhausted. You need to stop for the day.’
The fact that he’d noticed sent a flicker of warmth through her body and that feeling frightened her more than the power he wielded. The last thing she needed was to think of him as sympathetic. ‘I can’t stop for the day. My boss thinks I’m a lazy slacker and I have another million phone calls to make before I go home.’
‘You can’t go home.’ He picked up a stuffed bear she kept on her desk and studied it with an air of baffled incredulity. ‘There is a mob of journalists outside just waiting for one of us to leave so that they can bombard us with questions.’
Polly snatched the bear out of his hands. ‘I’m not scared of journalists.’
‘I’m not talking about a few intrusive questions.’ He was still looking at the bear as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. ‘I’m talking about a horde of people hungry for juicy scandal. You and the stuffed bear can stay in the apartment tonight.’ He reached into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew a plastic card. ‘Take the lift up to the top floor. This opens the door. The security is more sophisticated than the Bank of England. You’ll be safe there.’
He was offering her sanctuary from the press?
The unexpected gesture destabilised her. Staying in the apartment would mean she could carry on working and clear some of the backload. ‘Well, that’s—if you’re—thanks,’ she said gruffly. ‘How do you plan to avoid them?’
‘My car is in the underground car park.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I have to go, but tomorrow we’re going to talk about that presentation of yours. I have questions.’
‘Right. But I can’t talk tomorrow. I’m going to Paris for a client meeting.’
‘What time is your flight?’
‘I’m not flying, I’m catching the train. It leaves at seven- thirty. The meeting is in the evening.’ Realising how that sounded, she coloured. ‘They moved the meeting after I booked my train.’
‘And you thought you’d have a day in Paris.’ The brief moment of harmony had been blown away and contempt was stamped on his hard, handsome face.
His continued censure was too much for her after a long and stressful day and she glared at him defensively. ‘It was an economy ticket. I couldn’t move it.’
‘I’ve seen the company expense account.’
‘No, you’ve seen the directors’ expense account.’
‘Who are you meeting in Paris?’
‘Gérard Bonnel, the Vice President of Marketing for Santenne. He was there when we pitched for the business. Now he wants to go over our ideas.’
‘You cannot meet someone of Gérard’s seniority on your own. I’ll come with you. And for God’s sake wear a suit before you come face to face with a client.’
Polly opened her mouth to argue but he was already striding across the floor towards the elevator.
Her confidence well and truly punctured, she stared after him and decided that she’d rather stab herself in the eye than sleep in his apartment. So what if a few journalists were waiting for her outside? She’d dealt with journalists before. And she was so tired and moody they’d probably take one
