half-hour, she wished she could have claimed a previous engagement!
‘Here, let me.’ An impatient Logan McKenzie reached out and relieved her of one of the heavy baskets.
Darcy blinked her surprise, having been taken unawares, lost in thought as she was. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured dazedly. ‘But there’s really no need,’ she added awkwardly, moving to take the basket back out of his grasp.
Something he obviously had no intention of letting her do as his long, tapered fingers tightened about the wicker handle. ‘Leave it,’ he snapped impatiently as the lift finally arrived, standing back to allow her to enter first.
Darcy looked at him beneath lowered lashes as he pressed the lift button for the ground floor. Aged about thirty-five, he was incredibly good-looking—in an arrogantly austere way, she decided slowly. His short dark hair was straight and silky, blue eyes the colour of the clear Mediterranean Sea, his nose slightly long, sculptured mouth unsmiling now, although Darcy had witnessed several charming smiles during the serving of lunch, his chin squarely firm. Tall and ruggedly muscular, he looked as if he would be more at home on a farm, than in an office wearing tailored suits and silk shirts.
Silk shirts…she remembered with an inward groan, the marks of her crying earlier clearly showing on the now-dried material. She really doubted that the traces of blood on the white silk would come off during dry-cleaning, either.
Darcy was relieved when the lift reached the ground floor, having found the silence between them uncomfortable, to say the least. ‘Thanks.’ She reached to take the basket from him, making no effort to follow him out of the lift.
Logan McKenzie stood in the doorway to stop the doors closing behind him, frowning again. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To the basement,’ she told him lightly. ‘I have the van parked down there.’
‘In that case…’ He stepped back into the lift, the doors instantly closing behind him as he pressed the button marked ‘basement’.
‘There’s really no need,’ she told him once again, completely flustered at having the owner of this world-renowned company helping her in this way.
‘There’s every need,’ he rasped grimly. ‘A little thing like you shouldn’t be carrying these heavy baskets. And correct me if I’m mistaken, but was there only you dealing with the preparation and serving of lunch today?’ Logan continued firmly, completely ignoring the fact that she had been about to protest at being called a ‘little thing’, blue eyes narrowed questioningly.
‘Yes.’ Darcy shifted the heavy basket to her other hand. ‘We’re short-staffed today, you see and—’
‘No, I don’t see,’ Logan interrupted shortly, stepping out into the darkened basement that acted as a car park for the office staff of McKenzie Industries. ‘Short-staffed or not, you shouldn’t have been expected to deal with it all alone. A fact I will be passing on to Daniel Simon at the earliest opportunity,’ he added grimly.
‘Oh, don’t do that!’ Darcy turned from loading the van to protest, two wings of embarrassed colour in her cheeks. ‘I managed just fine. You had no complaints about lunch, did you?’ she pressed determinedly as Logan McKenzie still looked grim.
‘No…’ he answered slowly.
‘Then there’s no problem, is there?’ she assured him brightly.
He looked at her consideringly. ‘You know, Darcy,’ he began slowly, ‘you might find Daniel Simon less of a—bully, if you weren’t so eager to please.’
Darcy looked up at him, but the subdued lighting in the car park made it impossible to read his expression clearly. Which was a pity—because she had no idea what he was talking about!
‘It was only a lunch,’ she responded, ready to leave now, the van loaded, the keys in her hand.
‘I wasn’t particularly alluding to lunch,’ he rasped.
Then what was he talking about? Admittedly, she could have handled the latter part of this booking with a bit more detachment—in fact, a lot more!—but there really had been nothing wrong with the lunch this man and his guests had been served before her tearful outburst.
Logan McKenzie scowled at her slightly bewildered expression. ‘I’m merely offering you some advice from a male point of view, Darcy,’ he replied. ‘It’s up to you whether or not you choose to take it,’ he ended abruptly, obviously impatient to be gone now.
‘I— Thank you,’ Darcy mumbled, having no idea what advice she had just been given!
It wasn’t a question of being eager to please where Daniel Simon was concerned; she hadn’t really been given too much of an opportunity to do anything else where this lunch today was concerned. She was upset, yes, in fact she was more than upset, but it would have been churlish to refuse to help out when they were short-staffed. Business was business, after all, she acknowledged slightly bitterly.
Logan McKenzie nodded tersely before turning quickly on his heel and striding back to the still-waiting lift, stepping inside, his expression still grim as the doors closed.
What a strange man, Darcy decided as she got into the van and drove out of the car park. Kind one minute, impatient the next, then offering fatherly advice—although anyone less like a father-figure, she couldn’t imagine!
Oh, well, she decided lightly as she drove confidently through the early-afternoon London traffic. Logan McKenzie was the least of her problems at the moment. A frown marred the creaminess of her brow as she thought of what was her biggest problem.
Daniel Simon. Chef Simon.
And the fact that this morning he had calmly informed her that he intended marrying a woman he had only met for the first time three weeks ago!
CHAPTER TWO
‘THIS has just been delivered for you,’ Logan’s secretary informed him, before placing a large square parcel on top of his desk, his name and the office address clearly printed in black ink on the brown wrapping paper.
Logan looked up with a frown, his thoughts still on the contract he had been studying; the legalese in these things became more complicated by the day. His legal team could obviously deal with it, but he would have liked his cousin Fergus’s opinion too before anything was signed.
But his cousin’s housekeeper had informed Logan that Fergus had gone to Scotland, to the home of their shared maternal grandfather. No doubt Hugh McDonald had a good reason for appropriating the services of the family lawyer, but, at this precise moment, Logan had little patience for those reasons!
He laid down the gold pen he had been using to mark his way down the pages, running one of his hands over the tiredness of his brow. Yesterday evening, spent with the blonde from Saturday night, had not been the success he had hoped it would be.
In fact, after only half an hour spent alone in the beautiful Andrea’s company, he had already discovered that she giggled like a schoolgirl, talked incessantly, mostly about her modelling career, ate almost nothing, because of her figure—whatever that might mean!—and drank even less, for the same reason.
The evening had dragged on interminably for Logan, and he had breathed a
