the stairwell, I’ll deal with it.’ Without giving his security guards an opportunity to respond he strode into the building.
Avery had done well for herself since they’d parted company, he thought, and the dull ache that was always with him grew just a little bit more intense as did the anger. She’d chosen this, her business, over their relationship.
But he couldn’t allow himself to think about that. He’d long since recognised the gulf between personal wishes and duty. After years pursuing the first, he was now committed to the second. Which was why this visit was professional, not personal.
If he knew Avery as well as he thought he did, then pride would prevent her from throwing him out of her office or slapping his face. He was banking on it. Or maybe she no longer cared enough to do either.
Maybe she’d never cared enough and that was just another thing he’d been wrong about.
Mal passed no one in the stairwell and emerged onto the top floor, through a set of glass doors that guarded the corporate headquarters of Avery Scott’s highly successful events planning company, Dance and Dine.
This was the hub of her operation. The nerve centre of an organisation devoted to pleasure but run with military precision. From here, Avery Scott organised parties for the rich and famous. She’d built her business on hard work and sheer nerve, turning down business that wasn’t consistent with her vision for her company. As a result of making herself exclusive, her services were so much in demand that a party organized by Avery Scott was often booked years in advance, a status symbol among those able to afford her.
It was the first time he’d visited her offices and he could see instantly that the surroundings reflected the woman. Sleek, contemporary and elegant. A statement of a successful, confident high achiever.
A woman who needed no one.
His mouth tightened.
She certainly hadn’t needed him.
The foyer was a glass atrium at the top of the building and light flooded through the glass onto exotic plants and shimmered on low contemporary sofas. A pretty girl sat behind the elegantly curved reception desk, answering the phones as they rang.
For this visit he’d chosen to wear a suit rather than the more traditional robes but apparently that did nothing to conceal his identity because the moment the receptionist saw him she shot to her feet, panicked and star struck in equal measure.
‘Your Highness! You’re … ohmigod—’
‘Not God,’ Mal said and then frowned as the colour faded from her cheeks. ‘Are you all right?’
‘No. I don’t think so. I’ve never met a Prince in the flesh before.’ She pressed her hand to her chest and then fanned herself. ‘I feel a bit—’ She swayed and Mal moved quickly, catching her before she hit the ground.
Torn between exasperation and amusement, he sat her in her chair and pushed her head gently downwards. ‘Lean forward. Now breathe. That’s it. You’ll soon feel better. Can I get you a glass of water?’
‘No.’ She squeaked the word. ‘Thank you for catching me. You’re obviously every bit as strong as you look. Hope you didn’t put your back out.’
Mal felt a flash of amusement. ‘My back is fine.’
‘This is seriously embarrassing. I should be curtseying or something, not fainting at your feet.’ She lifted her head. ‘I presume you’re here to see Miss Scott. I don’t suppose there is any chance you could not mention this? I’m supposed to be cool with celebrities and famous people. As you can see, it’s still a work in progress.’
‘My lips are sealed.’ Smiling, Mal straightened. ‘Sit there and recover. I’ll find her myself.’ At least the receptionist hadn’t pretended her boss wasn’t in the building, which was good because his extremely efficient security team had already confirmed that she was here. The fact that she’d refused to pick up the phone had added another couple of coals to his already burning temper but he wasn’t about to take that out on this girl. He only fought with people as strong as him and he rarely met anyone who fitted that description.
Fortunately Avery Scott was more than capable of handling anything he dished out. She was the strongest woman he’d ever met. Nothing shook that icy composure. Apparently not even the fact that he was marrying another woman.
Temper held rigidly in control, he strode away from the reception desk and towards the offices and meeting rooms.
Deciding that Avery would choose a corner office with a view, he swiftly calculated the direction of the Thames. There was a large door at the end of the glass atrium and he thrust it open and there, seated behind a large glass desk and talking to another woman was Avery, immaculate as ever, that sheet of shiny blonde hair sliding over a pearl coloured silk shirt.
In those few seconds before she saw him, a tightness gripped his chest.
He felt something he only ever felt around this woman.
As always, the image she presented to the world was impeccable. She projected glamour, efficiency and capability. No one meeting Avery Scott could ever doubt that she would get the job done and that it would be done perfectly. She had an address book that would have made an ambitious socialite sob with envy but few knew the woman beneath the surface.
She’d shut him out. The closer he’d tried to get, the more she’d blocked him.
He almost laughed at the irony. He’d spent his life preventing women from getting too close. With Avery that tactic had proved unnecessary. She was the one who’d erected the barriers. And when he’d pushed up against those barriers too hard, she’d simply walked away.
They’d been lovers for a year, friends for longer, but still there had been days when he’d felt he didn’t know her. But there were some things he did know. Like the way a tiny dimple always appeared in the corner of her mouth when she smiled, and the fact that her mouth was addictive. Remembering that taste stirred up a response he’d thought he had under control.
The first time he’d met her he’d been attracted by her confidence and by the way she squeezed every drop of opportunity from life. He’d admired her drive, her success and her utter belief in herself. But the same qualities that had attracted him were the reasons they’d parted. Avery Scott was fiercely independent and terrified of anything she believed threatened that independence.
And he’d threatened it.
What they’d shared had threatened it. And so she’d ended it. Crushed what they had until there was nothing left but the pain.
People assumed that a man of his position had everything.
They had no idea how wrong they were.
Mal stood for a moment, tasting the unpalatable combination of regret and anger and at that moment she looked up and saw him.
He searched for some evidence that his unexpected appearance affected her, but there was nothing. Outwardly composed, she rose to her feet, elegant and in control and displaying the same unflappable calm she demonstrated even in a crisis. ‘This is a surprise. How can I help you, Mal?’ Cool. Professional. No hint that they’d once been as close as it was possible for two people to be, apart from the fact that she’d called him
