time in them. Do you like it?’
‘All this glass …’ She glanced to her right and then to her left, and then up above her at the ceiling and its breathtaking view of the twilit sky. ‘It must be so light in here during the day. I definitely like the idea of that.’
‘That’s why I had the roof made out of glass. Sometimes I work in here at night, and if the moon is full and the stars are out I switch off the lamps for a while because they’re not needed. The illumination from the sky is so bright that it’s like a shroud of magical light blanketing everything.’
His companion’s big brown eyes were so transfixed by what he said that this time it was Drake who was discomfited. He’d never admitted to anyone that he did such a thing before, and certainly not to any of his colleagues. What on earth had possessed him to be so candid?
In a bid to divert Layla from the too personal confession he smiled and said, ‘Want me to give you a tour?’
Her smooth cheeks flushed a little. ‘Maybe some other time … Aren’t we supposed to be going out to dinner?’
‘Are you telling me that you’re hungry?’
‘I am, actually. But the truth is I don’t feel at my best in offices—even one as beautiful as this. My experience of being a personal assistant robbed me of all desire to ever work in one again. The world of “shocks and scares”—as my brother Marc calls it—was like a bear pit, and to work in an atmosphere where there’s such a high level of drama and tension every day is apt to make a person permanently on edge. It’s a lot more peaceful working in the café.’
Intrigued, Drake walked behind his desk and slipped on the tailored black jacket that he’d hung almost thoughtlessly over the back of his chair. It barely registered these days that the cost of his clothing far exceeded most ordinary people’s annual salaries. But then if you wanted the best, you had to pay for the best. He’d come a long way from the boy whose father had dressed him in charity shop finds.
Frowning at the bewitching girl who stood in front of his desk, he asked, ‘Can you tell me what your boss the broker was like?’
‘I’d rather not. At least not right now. Perhaps when I get to know you a bit better?’
His heart slammed against his ribs. ‘Can I take it, then, that you’re planning on us having more than one date?’
‘I’m not planning anything … it’s a policy of mine to always try and live in the moment.’
‘Mine too.’
‘Besides … it’s not just up to me, is it? Who knows? By the end of the evening you might be glad to see the back of me.’
‘Somehow that’s not how I envisage the evening ending.’ Quirking a droll eyebrow, Drake gestured that they should move towards the door. ‘Let’s go to dinner, shall we? I’ve booked us a table at a nice French restaurant I know.’
They had been escorted by an ultra-polite maître d’ to what Layla imagined must be the best table in the house. The ‘nice’ French restaurant Drake had mentioned turned out to be one of the most acclaimed eateries in Europe … let alone London. It had two Michelin stars and was populated tonight by an extremely classy-looking clientele who clearly weren’t short of a penny or two. Their table was situated in a discreet far corner of the room, and the candlelit setting was quite simply beautiful. Everything from the polished silverware to the gleaming candelabrum and the white linen tablecloth that was hung with frightening precision was arranged to exemplify the most exquisite good taste, and the genteel ambience was further emphasised by some softly playing classical music.
Drake touched his hand lightly to her back as Layla’s seat was pulled out for her by the maître d’, and he waited until he saw she was comfortable before seating himself. Was it normal to have felt his touch as strongly as though a powerful electrical current had penetrated her layers of clothing? God knew she’d been jumpy enough at his office, but alone with him like this, in an intimate setting far away from any working environment, she feared she would display her unease and self-consciousness by talking far too much. Back at his office she’d already babbled and said more than she’d meant to say. And what on earth had possessed her to suggest she might like to get to know him better? For a woman who had vowed to steer well clear of men of Drake Ashton’s elite calibre, she was doing abysmally poorly. Now she was sure that the heat he had ignited in her body with his brief touch must easily be displayed on her burning face.
‘I’ve heard about this place—of course I have—but I never thought I’d be so lucky as to get the chance to eat here. Rumour has it that the waiting list for a table is at least a year long. Is that true, do you think?’
Her restless hands nervously folded and unfolded her linen napkin. The magnetic silver-grey eyes in front of her glinted with amusement.
‘I have no idea. I simply had my secretary ring and book me a table.’
Layla didn’t get the chance to comment straight away, because just then a waiter handed them leather-bound menus and a female sommelier appeared to make recommendations for the wine they might like to order. She didn’t miss the fact that the attractive and vivacious redhead obviously knew Drake. The woman was completely professional, but she all but lit up when she saw him, and the banter between them sounded as though it was borne of a long-standing association.
When she’d left them alone again Layla sipped at the glass of water another waiter had poured for her and wondered if the sommelier and Drake had ever enjoyed a far closer relationship. The idea bothered her far more than it had a right to.
‘The reason you have no idea how long the waiting list is for a table,’ she announced jerkily, ‘is obviously because you’re an important man whose name alone gets you an automatic foot in the door.’
‘You sound as if that perturbs you.’
Her handsome date narrowed his gaze and she felt as if she’d just voluntarily put herself under a high-powered microscope that would hunt out every flaw and discrepancy in her character and ruthlessly bring it to light.
‘Why should it bother you that I can get a table in a good restaurant without having to wait for a similar time as most people do?’
Her skin prickling hotly with embarrassment, Layla frowned, feeling not just guilty and foolish but extremely gauche. ‘I didn’t mean to suggest that it bothered me. It was really just an observation. You’ve obviously worked hard to have the privileges you enjoy and I don’t even know why I mentioned it. Forgive me. Put it down to nerves.’
‘So I make you nervous, do I?’
‘Yes, you do a little.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Maybe you mistakenly think I’m a lot more confident than I am? The truth is I’m just a girl from an ordinary suburban home, and I’m not that comfortable in the company of privileged men like yourself.’
She’d hoped her honest admission might alleviate some of the anxiety she felt around Drake, but it didn’t. Instead she was left feeling even more gauche and unsophisticated.
At that very moment the pretty sommelier returned with their wine and proceeded to pour some into Drake’s glass for him to taste and approve. When he indicated with a nod of his head that he did
