and I’m in debt to the tune of several thousand pounds. I’ve invested all the money Dad left me to start it up and get it going, and now it looks like I might even lose the premises that he worked so hard to own. The café needs a serious injection of something, Layla, or else we’re just going to have to throw in the towel.’
Layla would do anything to help her brother feel more optimistic about the café—his pride and joy as he’d called it when he’d first decided to set it up. It made her heart feel bruised to see him looking so tired and worried all the time. But his intention to ask Drake Ashton to invest in it scared the life out of her. The man might be admired in his field, and have a glamorous professional profile, but they had no idea what his character or his values were.
Silently she berated herself again for trusting her own life savings to a money-making scheme that—with hindsight—had had so many holes in it. It was a wonder her boss hadn’t handed out life rafts to the gullible fools who had risked their hard-earned cash in it! If she’d held onto her money she could have given it to Marc to pay off his bank loan, and straight away ease his fear and worry about the café’s future.
Brushing back her hair with her fingers, she emitted a gentle, resigned sigh. ‘He gave me his business card to give to you,’ she told him. ‘He said he’d like to talk to you.’
‘Drake Ashton wants to talk to me?’ Straight away Marc’s dark eyes gleamed with hope.
Layla nibbled anxiously at her lip. ‘He’s an astute businessman, Marc, and from what you say the café is losing money hand over fist. I don’t get the impression that he’d be in a hurry to invest his money in a concern that doesn’t have the potential to make a healthy profit.’
‘Thanks for your support.’
At his stricken expression she reached forward and squeezed his hand. ‘You know my support and belief in you are unquestionable, and I think the café is wonderful … I just wish more people did too. I don’t want you to build your hopes up that Drake Ashton might be the answer to your prayers, that’s all. We might have to think of other options other than investment … that’s all I’m saying.’
‘You’re right.’ Pulling his hand away from hers, Marc lightly shook his head and smiled. ‘Trouble is I let my heart rule my head too much. I realise that’s not the best approach to running a business. Wanting a thing to work so much that it makes your ribs ache just thinking about it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s suddenly going to take flight and make your fortune. But it’s worth talking to Ashton anyway … he might give me a few tips at least. Give me his card in the morning and I’ll ring him. In the meantime let’s eat, shall we? Our supper’s going cold.’
Layla smiled, but inside she secretly prayed that when they spoke Drake Ashton wouldn’t thoughtlessly crush her brother’s dream into the dirt by telling him he should forget about the café and think about doing something else instead …
Turning his head, Drake squinted at the sunlight streaming in through the huge plate-glass windows. The hexagon-shaped chrome and glass building that housed his offices had become quite a landmark amid the sea of sandblasted Victorian buildings where it was situated, and he was justifiably proud of the design. If he’d wanted to shout out his arrival he couldn’t have made a bolder or louder statement. His workplace was a professional portfolio all by itself.
When the thought sneaked up on him from time to time that what he’d achieved was nothing less than a miracle, considering his background, he impatiently brushed it away, not caring to dwell on the past for even a second longer than he had to. It had become his motto to concentrate on the now. After all, the present made far more sense to him than the past could ever do.
‘Mr Ashton? There’s a man called Marc Jerome on the phone. He says you gave your business card to his sister so that he could call you.’
Drake’s secretary Monica appeared in the doorway to his office. She was a pencil-slim blonde whose efficiency and dedication to her job belied her delicate appearance. The woman could be a veritable tiger when it came to sifting out and diverting unwanted callers—whether on the phone or if they turned up unannounced. But the knowledge that it was Layla Jerome’s brother who was ringing made Drake immediately anxious to take the call. The beautiful woman had been almost constantly on his mind ever since he’d seen her, and if nothing else he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to try and get her phone number again.
‘Put him through, Monica. I’ll take it.’
At the end of the call Drake pushed to his feet and moved restlessly across to the tall plate-glass panels directly behind his desk. Staring out at the parked cars on the street below, he could barely suppress the gratifying sense of satisfaction that throbbed through him. He had listened to Marc Jerome’s views on the needs of his local community, and when the younger man had asked for some business tips he had agreed to meet up with him so that they could discuss it more fully.
When that topic was safely out of the way Drake hadn’t been slow to seize the opportunity to ask directly if his sister was currently dating anyone. He had all but held his breath as he’d waited for the answer.
‘No, she’s not,’ Marc had replied carefully, definitely sounding protective. ‘As far as I know, she’s quite happy being free and single right now.’
Drake had allowed himself the briefest smile. ‘I’d really like to ask her about that myself, if you don’t mind?’ he’d returned immediately. There was a fine line between being bold enough to state your aim clearly and being pushy, but when it came to something he wanted as badly as this, he definitely wasn’t a man to let the grass grow under his feet—and neither was he overly concerned if he offended anyone. ‘It’s probably best if I talk to her outside of work. Maybe even on the day that you and I have our meeting?’
‘You’d better ring her first and check and see if that’s okay,’ had been the distinctly wary-sounding reply.
‘Of course.’
And now Layla’s mobile phone number was writ large across his notepad.
He made a vow to ring her after lunch, just in case the café was busy, and, breathing out a relieved sigh, stopped gazing out the window and returned to his desk, bringing his focus determinedly back to his work …
‘Layla?’
‘Yes?’
‘This is Drake Ashton. I got your number from your brother Marc.’
In the midst of a leisurely stroll in the park, through the sea of burnished gold leaves that scattered the concrete path, Layla changed direction and strode across the grass to sit down on a nearby bench and take the call, her phone positioned firmly against her ear. Marc had despatched her to eat her packed lunch and get some fresh air after a surprising flurry of lunchtime trade, but any sense of feeling free to enjoy a precious hour in the autumnal sunshine had immediately vanished at the sound of the famed architect’s magnetically velvet smoky voice.
‘He told me you’d asked him for my number,’ she answered, already desperately rehearsing her carefully worded refusal of what she suspected would be another invitation to meet him for a drink.
Inexplicably, and against every impulse to act sensibly, she’d hardly been able to stop thinking about the man since he’d visited the café yesterday, and that was definitely a cause for concern. Just hearing his voice ignited an almost terrifying compulsion to see him again. The ethereal grey eyes that sometimes seemed almost colourless, the
