thrown her onto the street so his ex-girlfriend could move back in. She’d reeled into work, still swaying in disbelief and humiliation. Not that she had any intention of sharing that with Joe; she doubted it would make any difference if she did. She suspected Joe didn’t hold much truck with personal issues affecting work.
Panic churned in her stomach. The Langleys wouldn’t want Joe to fire her. But Peter was in the midst of a breakdown and Harry was stable but still in Intensive Care after his heart attack; neither of them was in a position to worry about her.
Leaning forward, she gripped the edge of the desk. ‘I’m good at my job,’ she said quietly. ‘And I’ll do anything I can to help keep this company going until Peter and Harry are back.’
Including fighting this man every step of the way if he tried to tear apart what the Langley brothers had built up.
For a second his gaze dropped, and his frown deepened before he gave a curt nod.
‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ he said. ‘Now, let’s move on. According to Peter this is a list of current projects and obligations.’ He pushed a piece of typewritten paper across the desk. ‘He doesn’t seem very sure it’s complete and he referred me to you.’
Imogen looked down at the list and tried to focus on the words and not on Joe’s hand. On his strong, capable fingers, the light smattering of hair, the sturdy wrists that for some reason she wanted so desperately to touch. Those hands that in her dreams had wrought such incredible magic.
Grinding her molars, she tugged the paper towards her. ‘I’ll check this against my organiser.’ She bent at the waist to pick up her briefcase. And frowned. Had that strange choking noise been Joe? As she sat up she glanced at him and clocked a slash of colour on his cheekbones.
Focus.
Imogen looked at the paper and then back at her organiser. ‘The only thing not on here is the annual Interior Design awards ceremony. It’s being held this Wednesday. Peter and Graham Forrester were meant to attend.’ She frowned. ‘Could be Peter forgot. Or he’s changed his mind because the client can’t make it. Or he’s too embarrassed to face everyone.’
Joe’s forehead had creased in a frown and his fingers beat a tattoo on the desk—and there she was, staring at those fingers again.
‘Tell me more about it.’
‘It’s a pretty prestigious event. We won in the luxury category for the interior of an apartment we did for Richard Harvey the IT billionaire. He commissioned us to create a love nest for his seventh wife.’
Joe’s brows hiked towards his hairline as he whistled. ‘Seven? The man must be a glutton for punishment.’
‘He’s a romantic,’ Imogen said. ‘You’ve got to admire that kind of persistence.’
‘No.’
‘No, what?’
‘No, I don’t have to admire it. It’s delusional. Sometimes dreams have to be abandoned because they aren’t possible.’
Easy for him to say—it was impossible to imagine a lean, mean corporate machine having any dreams.
‘Some dreams,’ she agreed. ‘But not all. I truly believe that if you persevere and try and you’re willing to compromise there is a person out there for everyone.’
After all, she had no intention of giving up finding a man to match her tick list just because she and Steve had gone pear-shaped.
‘Richard has just had to try harder than most. And,’ she added, seeing the derisory quirk to his lips, ‘he and Crystal are very happy—in fact they are in Paris, celebrating their meetiversary.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘The day they met a year ago. Richard has whisked her off to Paris for a romantic getaway. That’s why they can’t attend the awards. I hope Richard and Crystal get to celebrate decades of meetiversaries.’
‘Good for you. I hope to show Richard that we value the award we won for decorating his apartment. So, tell me more about the project. Who worked on it?’
‘Peter, Graham and me. Peter often lets me get involved with the design side of things as well as the admin stuff.’
Joe’s brown eyes assessed her expression and his fingers continued to drum on the desk-top. ‘How involved were you on the project?
‘I designed both bathrooms.’
‘Could you show me?’
‘Sure.’
Trepidation twisted her nerves even as she tried to sound calm. Maybe Joe would use this to make his final decision on her job. Or was it something else? There was something unnerving about his gaze; she could almost hear the whir and tick of his brain.
‘I’ll get the folder.’
Once she’d pulled the relevant portfolio from the filing cabinet at the back of the room she walked back to the desk.
Placing the folder carefully on the glass top, she leaned over to tug the elastic at the corner. Whoosh—an unwary breath and she had inhaled a lungful of Joe: sandalwood, and something that made her want to nuzzle into his neck.
No can do. Newsflash, Imogen: this is not a dream—it’s for real.
She needed to breathe shallowly and focus—not on the way an errant curl of brown hair had squiggled onto the nape of his neck but on demonstrating her design talent.
‘The spec was to create something unique to make Crystal feel special.’
‘Tough gig.’
‘I enjoyed it.’
Back then she’d been living in Cloud Cuckoo Land, absolutely sure that Steve was about to propose to her, and throwing herself into the spirit of the project had been easy. She had enjoyed liaising with Richard over the plan and ideas—loved the fact that the flat was to be a wedding surprise for his wife.
‘These are the bathrooms.’
She pointed to the sketches and watched as he flipped through the pages.
‘These are good,’ he said.
His words vibrated with sincerity and she felt her lips curve up in a smile, his approval warming her chest.
‘Thank you. The hammock bath is fab—big enough for two and perfect for the wet room.’
Imogen and Joe, lying naked in the bath … Just keep talking.
‘I went for something more opulent for the second bathroom. All fluted pillars and marble. With a wooden hot tub, complete with a table in the middle for champagne.’
Her breath caught in her throat. Imogen and Joe, playing naked footsie … Move on, move on.
‘And this was
