was the real world—exactly as this woman had said. The woman who was now looking at him with anxiety in her eyes.
‘But, for the record, I genuinely love what you’ve shown me. That wasn’t faked. I hope I didn’t overstep in any way?’
‘No, you didn’t.’
Ben realised that he must be glowering and that the woman must think it was because she had upset him. How was she to know that memories of his childhood still had the power to sear old wounds?
With an effort he forced a smile to his lips. ‘Honestly. I’m pleased you like the new range.’
She ducked her head in a nod. ‘I’d better get on, then.’
As the vacuum cleaner whirred back into life he returned his eyes to the screen and studied the outfit on display and the slogan above it. The ordinary is extraordinary. Had he forgotten what that really meant? Was he so out of touch with the ordinary that he’d completely missed the mark with this new range of clothes?
Ben wasn’t sure he liked the answer to either question.
Her voice distracted him. ‘Well, goodnight. Thank you for showing me the new range.’
‘Goodnight.’
He looked at her departing figure: straight back, long legs, medium height, slim but not skinny. Her words echoed in his head: in the real world.
‘Actually. Hang on a second...’
SARAH HALTED MID-STRIDE. She’d clearly blown it. First she’d witnessed the whole Leila incident, then she’d been caught spying on his confidential designs, and after that she’d pretty much told him he didn’t live in the real world.
Great! Clearly for some reason she’d forgotten that he was a multimillionaire CEO and her big boss. Idiot.
Slowly she turned. ‘Did I miss something?’
‘No.’ His cobalt blue eyes held a thoughtful expression. ‘Not at all. But I think I might have. I was wondering if we could continue our conversation over dinner.’
‘Dinner?’
‘Yup. I’ve got a table booked at Tatiana’s. Seems a shame to waste it.’
‘You want to take me to Tatiana’s instead of Leila Durante?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
Despite her best intentions, her hormones had registered that Ben Gardiner had ditched his jacket and was now sitting in rolled-up shirtsleeves that exposed his tanned forearms. Sarah wasn’t sure what was so fascinating about the contrast between his pristine white shirt and the honey tone of his skin, but her gaze had snagged and stuck.
Perhaps she should just go along with this, but instead she said, ‘It doesn’t make sense. I am not exactly your usual type of dinner...associate. I’m not a model, or an actress, nor famous in any way whatsoever. Plus, you don’t even know my name.’
To give him his due he had the grace to look a touch abashed, but not for long. ‘You’re right. What is your name?’
‘Sarah Fletcher.’
Rising, he walked round the jut of his light wooden desk and headed towards her. ‘Pleased to meet you, Sarah Fletcher.’
He held out a hand and for a few seconds she looked at it, reluctant to actually make contact. What was the matter with her? It wasn’t as if they’d combust if they touched.
And of course they didn’t. Yet as she placed her hand in his she registered strength and warmth. A tingle shivered over her skin and she stared down at their clasped hands.
She looked up as he smiled at her. ‘I’m sorry. I should have explained this better, but now we’re properly introduced would you come and have dinner with me? I’d really like to continue our conversation and get more of an insight into how sales assistants think and work. Maybe I’ve lost touch with what’s going on at ground level, in the real world, and maybe you’re the right person to set me straight.’
‘So you want to go out for dinner with me to get my take, as a sales assistant, on the viewpoint of the ordinary woman on the street?’
‘Exactly. No strings attached.’
Their gazes caught for a heartbeat and her brain scrambled. ‘Strings? Um...yes. I mean, no. I’m good, thanks.’
Thanks? What was she thanking him for? And why was she still holding his hand?
Amusement glinted in his sapphire eyes now, but there was something else too—an awareness. And who could blame him? The signals she’d just sent out weren’t hard to read; she’d practically drooled and this man was no doubt an expert in the art of body language. This was nuts. She had barely noticed a man in the past six years.
If she had any sense at all she’d refuse his offer, go home and have a nice cup of tea with her mum. Mind you, her mum would think she’d lost the plot; her hormones certainly knew she had. What possible harm could there be in having dinner with him? One meal. In a restaurant for the stars. With the man who headed up Sahara Fashions.
Whoa. Hang on.
The man headed up an entire retail corporation. It was time to get over her hormones and start using her brain. This was an opportunity. A chance to get herself a job. If Ben Gardiner recommended her to one of the Sahara stores, perhaps she could wangle an interview. But first she had to let go of his damn hand.
Doing exactly that, she stepped backwards. ‘Um... Dinner sounds great. Though I do have a request.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘I told you I used to work in a clothes store. Unfortunately it closed and I lost my job. I would love to work in a Sahara outlet and I wonder if you could interview me over dinner to see if you think I’m a good fit. And if you do maybe you could recommend me for a sales assistant job.’
Sarah paused for breath, aware that she had dug her nails so deeply into the palms of her hand that it hurt. She forced herself to relax as he studied her expression.
‘I leave recruitment to my managers—I don’t tend to interfere. If you’re interested in a vacancy, why haven’t you applied online? With your experience you would have a good chance of an interview anyway.’
In theory he was spot-on. But there was the small matter of her criminal conviction. She almost never made it to interview stage. These days she didn’t even bother applying.
For a stupid moment she was tempted to tell him the truth, explain the facts, but what was the point? Yes, she’d been completely innocent, but why should he believe that? No one else had, and she could still taste the hopelessness, the fear, as she’d told the truth only to have it rejected. She would never
