her Ramon laughed. ‘Ouch.’
Holly flushed furiously. She could feel her ears tingle with it. There was a microsecond when she wanted to throw things, make him eat his words, make him look at her. Look and see more than a delivery robot.
Then the practical Holly reasserted herself. Reluctantly she curbed her temper. Pierre would never forgive her if she kicked a client. He might even sack her and she needed the job. She would have to get out of there before the temptation to hit him became overwhelming.
She almost snatched the docket from Señora Martinez and stuffed it into the canvas bag. It was full of flyers for the club where she worked in the evening. She was supposed to be circulating them. She had almost forgotten until now. With a gasp of guilt, she looked at her watch, clutched the bag to her and fled.
Another black mark in a bad, bad day.
First, a late night playing the flute at Le Club Thaïs had made her oversleep. Then there had been a delay on the Metro. By the time she’d got to work Chef Pierre had been growling with fury over intruders who interrupted his baking, the phone had been ringing off the wall and no one had even started to make up the day’s orders.
And then, to cap it all, a tall dark stranger who looked as if he’d just stepped out of a dream, had scored an easy point off her because she’d let her temper out of its cage.
No more temper, Holly vowed, punching the elevator button as if it were a personal enemy. ‘No more smart remarks.’
‘A message from the Chair, Mr Armour.’
Señora Martinez was wary as she handed over a sheet of paper. The Chair always said Jack Armour was a tough negotiator but Elena Martinez had never seen him anything other than charming before. She did not know why he had challenged the young delivery girl like that. She felt sorry for her.
Jack opened the paper and scanned it rapidly.
‘You and I,’ he told Ramon in a dry voice, ‘have got the afternoon off. The committee does not want us back.’
Ramon looked as if he might cry.
Elena Martinez said helplessly, ‘But of course you are welcome to…’ She gestured at the boxes Holly had brought.
Jack grinned suddenly. ‘No, thanks. We’ll pass on the picnic. The committee can have our share.’ He buffeted Ramon lightly between the shoulder blades. ‘No need to look like that. We can go play, now.’
Roman protested. ‘But the committee, the contract…’
Jack laughed aloud. ‘The committee has my mobile number and the contract is on the table. They can call when they’re willing to sign.’
On which magnificent announcement, he swept Ramon out of the office and into the elevator.
‘We should have stuck around,’ objected Ramon as they descended to the ground floor. ‘We should have gatecrashed that bloody committee again. We should—’
‘Cool it, Ramon.’
‘But—’
‘Wait until we get out of the building.’
‘What?’
Jack cast a meaning look at the closed-circuit camera above their head. Ramon subsided.
Jack tapped his fingers on the wood panelling.
‘I’ve had three months up to my neck in mud and bureaucracy. I can use some major frivolity. Paris is good for that.’
Ramon hunched his shoulders. ‘What sort of frivolity?’
‘Good food, great wine, music.’
‘That means you’re going to cut the Combined Agencies’ dinner,’ Ramon diagnosed gloomily. ‘I’ll have to do it on my own again. You know I hate these things.’
Jack was unimpressed. ‘Take a date.’
‘Who do we know in Paris?’
Jack chuckled. ‘You could always ask the chairperson. She was impressed by your Latin charm.’
‘I couldn’t—’ Ramon began in lively alarm. Then he saw Jack’s expression and relaxed. ‘Take a date yourself. Then I can have the night off for once.’
Jack did not stop smiling. But suddenly it did not reach his eyes any more.
Hell, thought Ramon. Good score, Ramon. Second time in half an hour.
To cover his discomfort, he said roughly, ‘That kid who brought the food—you should have got her number instead of beating up on her. Then you’d have a date yourself.’
Jack shook his head. ‘Too much of a fighter.’ But at least he was smiling again as if he meant it. ‘I wonder who she really was?’
‘What?’
They were getting out of the elevator. Ramon looked back at the camera, suddenly worried. ‘Do you think she was some sort of spy? Political? Industrial? What?’
Jack laughed. ‘Hey. Calm down. No one spies on the guys who put up tents at disaster sites.’
‘But back in the elevator you said—’
‘Back there I didn’t want you bad-mouthing the committee. It would undoubtedly get back.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Security guards rent out embarrassing bits of the surveillance tapes.’
Ramon stared, torn between affront and suspicion. ‘I don’t believe it.’
Jack shrugged.
‘How do you know?’ said Ramon, half convinced in spite of himself.
‘I’ve done my time as a security guard.’
And that Ramon did believe. He knew that Jack had done every non-career job going while he was trying to get Armour Disaster Recovery off the ground.
‘Though never in a state-of-the-art building like this.’
Jack looked round the entrance hall with a wry smile. Trees wafted in the air conditioning. There was a faint tinkle from a baroque fountain. The marble walls gleamed. Palms were everywhere. Among them, almost unnoticed, a steady stream of people arrived, departed, delivered, left messages. Their heels clipped on the floor. Their voices were lost in the cathedral-high atrium. And not one of them took any notice of anybody else in the flow.
Ramon shuddered. ‘Give me mud every time.’
Jack nodded. ‘Not exactly human size, is it?’
‘Big enough to get lost in—’
But Ramon was talking to himself. As he stared, open-mouthed, Jack suddenly wasn’t there any more. He had cast away his briefcase and
