a date she would have refused. Zander was not her type—in so much as she had a type...which she didn’t. But in the unlikely event that she ever figured out love and relationships she’d want someone ordinary, and Zander wasn’t that. Being with Zander would be too much—too intense. He was too gorgeous, too rich, too successful...just too everything.
‘You need a librarian?’ Could he have a collection of books that needed cataloguing? It seemed unlikely.
‘Nope.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘It’s complicated.’
The word should have her running for the sanctuary of her apartment. Gabby was a big fan of simplicity. Yet curiosity surfaced—what on earth could he have in mind? Hesitation stretched the silence and then she shrugged. After all, the point was that this wasn’t a date—this was business.
So... ‘OK. I’m intrigued. Dinner sounds good.’
‘Great. Are you finished or shall we meet somewhere later?’
‘I’m good to go.’
* * *
As they exited the university, Zander wondered if he had completely lost every vestige of common sense. Sitting at his desk earlier he had thought his idea made perfect sense, verging on genius. The problem was now he’d seen Gabby again he’d remembered the major flaw in the whole concept. In a nutshell—the Attraction Factor. One second in her presence was all it had taken for any ideas of business to desert him at supersonic speed. To be replaced by a near-overwhelming urge to cross the room and try for a repeat of that kiss.
But now, out in the fresh dusk-laden air, he sought perspective. Reminded himself that the attraction wasn’t a problem as long as he didn’t act on it.
‘I thought we’d eat at Lothario’s.’
One of Bath’s most prestigious restaurants, it would provide a persuasive backdrop to explain his proposition. Yet she didn’t look impressed; in fact she didn’t even look enthusiastic.
‘Unless you’d prefer somewhere else?’
‘Actually, I would rather go somewhere more low-key, if that’s OK with you.’
‘Sure.’ So much for the dazzling-her-into-acceptance plan.
‘There’s a really good pizza place not far from here. How about we go there?’
Ten minutes later they entered a small cosy Italian restaurant from which wafted out the tantalising aroma of tomato, garlic and a hint of oregano. Most of the tables were occupied with an eclectic mix of diners, and the low-lit room exuded a lively ambience without being loud. The tables were a mixture of sizes and shapes and were cheerfully hung with red tablecloths. The chefs tossed pizza bases into the air with verve and pizzazz.
A waiter stepped forward, led them to a table without fuss and left them with a smile and the menus.
Gabby gave hers a perfunctory glance and placed it on the table. ‘I already know what I’m having,’ she explained. ‘Artichokes, capers, goat’s cheese and olives. I always have that.’
‘Always?’
‘Yup. I don’t eat out often, so I like to know for sure that I’ll enjoy it.’
‘But maybe you could swap something out? Have extra mozzarella instead of capers? Ham instead of artichokes? Or why not try the special? You may find something you like better.’
Zander stopped at the sight of Gabby’s frown. For Pete’s sake. What was wrong with him? The answer was not one he liked: discomfort. This was the first time he’d gone out with a woman since Claudia’s death and he was assailed by an onslaught of nerves.
Zander hauled in a breath, reminded himself that this was a business dinner and it was time to put things on to that footing. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so didactic. Especially over pizza toppings.’
‘Apology accepted.’
Zander checked the menu, focused on the words and realised the irony of his own criticism. As a child, restaurants had been a nightmare for him—unable to decode the menus, he had simply pointed randomly to items with a varied degree of success. Or requested a staple generic dish that he knew would be on the menu.
The waiter returned with a long wooden board that held bread and three slender bottles of olive oil. ‘Rosemary, chilli and plain,’ he explained, then took their order and departed.
As she helped herself, Gabby glanced across at him. ‘So,’ she said, ‘I’m intrigued. To be honest, I can’t imagine what kind of business you have in mind.’
A sudden heat touched her cheekbones and she looked down at the piece of bread she held. A flash of insight told him with complete certainty that she had suddenly been hit with exactly the sort of business he currently had in mind.
Say something, Zander. Before the silence stretches so taut it snaps.
‘Before we go any further, I need to know if you are in a relationship.’
‘I can’t see how that could possibly pertain to a business proposition.’
Her voice had a definite chill factor and he couldn’t blame her.
‘Humour me. Please. Just a simple yes or no will suffice. Then I’ll explain.’
Gabby narrowed her eyes but then shrugged. ‘No.’
Out-of-all-proportion relief touched him that his assumption had been correct. It was an assumption based purely on the sheer intensity of the kiss they had shared. Somehow he’d been sure that if Gabby was seeing someone, she wouldn’t have kissed him like that.
‘So explain,’ she said flatly.
‘It all started with that kiss. There were some rather unfortunate repercussions.’
The waiter reappeared with their wine, and the interlude gave him time to gather his thoughts and marshal them into coherence.
She tilted her head, waited for him to continue.
‘You know my circumstances?’
‘Sure. You run a highly successful consultancy company, with offices in London, Germany and Ireland, you made your first million by the time you were twenty-seven, and you started your business from a rented garage whilst you slept in an ancient caravan because you gambled everything.’
Guilt delivered another sucker punch. He’d done all of that. His wife had died and it had kick-started his route to a success she would never see—a success that would not have happened had she lived.
It’s not that I don’t believe in you, Zan. It’s just not worth the risk. What’s wrong with what we have now? If you do something like that, I’ll never see you. I want us to be together, have a family, not risk losing the roof over our heads.
Claudia’s words were so clear in his head, but there was no point pursuing that path. Right or wrong, he’d done what he’d done.
‘All that is correct,’
