Chapter 18

"I'm not comfortable with you asking me some personal questions, Mr. Johnson," Amaya said as she looked around her at her neat space, in which she felt so safely cocooned. These four small walls of her cubicle were tangible proof of how far she’d come and how quickly—tangible proof of the solid income that marked her steps along that road called financial security.

Her son had begged if he could visit her place of work, but Amaya had tactfully, and a little shamefully, killed the suggestion before it could take shape. She feared what might happen if Chase saw her son—what if he recognised him?

"Why? I'm merely asking so I can drop you off; the bus at this hour is—"

"I can handle myself; the bus is always busy, but I managed for the past two weeks. Thanks for the offer." She shoved her work laptop into a leather briefcase and reached for the grey jacket she had slung over the back of her chair.

Grey jacket, grey calf-length skirt, flat, sensible patent pumps, and, yes, definitely tights. Not stockings. Tights. Possibly of the support variety. Who knew? It was impossible to tell what sort of figure she had under the prim ensemble, but Chase knew; he knew from head to toe. Though after six years, he wondered if something had changed. Not fat, not thin, not tall... The shirt managed to hide everything up top, and the skirt did a similar job with everything down below.

And why the hell was he looking anyway?

"I'm surprised," he murmured.

Amaya paused and frowned. She reached for her briefcase, slung her black bag over her shoulder, and straightened her skirt. "Thanks very much for your offer of a ride home, but there are one or two things I need to collect on the way, so I shall take the bus."

"What things?"

"Things... food items. I need to stop off at the corner shop."

Chase heard irritation behind her calmly spoken words. This was something he wasn’t used to, and he was as bemused by his own reaction to it as he had been by his earlier curiosity as to what lay underneath the prissy work clothes.

"Not a problem." He waved aside her objection. "I’ve sent my driver home, and I have my own car. It's far more convenient if you load whatever you need to buy into my car rather than having to walk with it back to your house."

"I’m accustomed to walking home with my groceries."

Chase looked at her narrowly. He wouldn’t have taken her for being skittish, but there was something skittish about her now. And why turn down a ride home? With him?

"I need to discuss what to do about Gary. It would be useful for us to decide how to approach this delicate problem and whatever money he’s been syphoning off."

Okay, that was his reason. She thought.

Amaya rolled her eyes. "If he’s been syphoning off any. And I was under the impression that you had already decided what you would do if you found out that he had taken money from you. Throw him in prison and chuck away the keys."

"I'm doing it for Justin’s sake. But let’s hope I’ve got it wrong in that case, and he’ll be spared the prison sentence." He stepped aside, leaving her just sufficient room to brush past him through the door, switching off the lights in her wake. "You’ve been in this office two weeks, and this is the first time it’s struck me that there’s nothing personal in here at all. Nothing." Amaya flushed. "It’s an office," she said briskly, stepping in front of him, briefcase in one hand, bag over her shoulder, head held high and deliberately averted from him. "Not a boudoir."

"Boudoir...nice word. Is that where you stash all your personal mementoes? In your boudoir?"

"What's wrong with you?" She paused and thought to herself that yes, Chase Asshole Johnson was the biggest jerk to ever walk on planet Earth, and he carried that title like a badge of honour.

The only silver lining was that I now knew it wasn’t personal. He was just a dick—a dick who did a phenomenal job making me uncomfortable and surpassed every single asshole I’d ever learned from, but a dick nonetheless. And speaking of penises, contrary to my impression from our last encounter, he’d kept his tucked firmly inside his slacks all throughout the week. Not that we had any chance of working one-on-one in a busy, expensive office, but when he did acknowledge my existence (albeit reluctantly), he remained cold, aloof, and professional. But now he is asking personal questions? Why?

And me? I tried to forget the moment of weakness during which I’d touched him.

I didn’t know why I was looking for a connection with him. Maybe I recognised how similar we were. He was bitter, and I was angry. He wanted to be casual, and I didn’t think I could afford anything else with everything that went on in my life. But I couldn’t forget how it felt when he touched me.

When his mouth was on mine.

When his hands pinned me to the wall.

When he made me forget about my son's sick pile of bills and special education,

Damn it! Stop AMAYA! Stop thinking about it!

"Me? Nothing, I'm making conversation. That's all," he smirked.

Amaya heard the amusement in his voice and turned to him angrily. Get a grip, she told herself sternly. Don’t let the man rattle you. His blue-indigo flashing eyes clashed with his oh-so-dark ones, and she felt herself sinking into his gaze, having to yank herself firmly back to reality.

Chase had a reputation with women. Even if the gossip hadn’t reached her ears, one glance at any news rag would have informed her of that reputation.

He used women. He was always being snapped with models draped on his arm, gazing up at him adoringly. Lots of models. A different model for every month of the year. He could have started his own agency with the number of them he ran through. She wondered whether some of those models had been like her mother—sad creatures, blessed with spectacular looks but not enough common sense to know how to use what they had been given. Hang on. Hoping for more than would ever be on the agenda.

"Okay. Shall I email you my findings?" Underneath the scrupulous politeness, her voice could have frozen fire. She pressed the button to summon the lift and stared at him, as rigid as a plank of wood.

Chase had never seen anyone so uptight in his entire life.

This went way beyond self-control—way beyond a certain amount of composure.

What was her story? And didn’t she know that all those ‘No Trespassing’ signs she’d erected around herself were enticing beacons to a man like him? She wasn't like this when he first met her at Tyler’s party. She was free-spirited, but now she was cold as ice.

Chase wasn’t sure whether to be proud or simply accept the fact that he had never had to try very hard for a woman. They offered themselves to him.

But Amaya had issues with him. He didn’t know what they were, but he did know that they constituted a challenge—and since when had he ever been a man to turn down a challenge?

If he had, he certainly wouldn’t have ended up in the exalted position of power that he did.

He suppressed the onslaught of thoughts that always managed to put him in a foul mood.

"I don’t think so." He stepped back as the lift doors slid open, allowing her to edge past him, making sure she kept her distance as much as she could, doing her utmost to be casual about it. "Emails can be intercepted."

Amaya frowned. "Aren’t you being a bit cloak and dagger about all of this?" To hell with her boss and his deep blue-indigo eyes, his pouty lips, his dirty mouth, and Zac Efron's body.

Amaya addressed the long metal case in the lift containing the various buttons, but she was acutely aware of him right next to her, of the warmth of his body wafting through the air and settling around her like a dangerous cloak that she wanted to shake off. She couldn’t remember him having this sort of effect on her before, but then they had usually been in a room with other people around—not heading down in a lift, just the two of them.

She was alive to his presence in a way that made her whole body feel uncomfortable.

Chase stared at that pale, averted profile. He realised with sudden surprise that she was a beautiful woman. It was something that wasn’t immediately apparent because she was in such pain to play down her looks, but studying her now, he saw her features were perfect. Her nose was small and straight; her lips were oddly full and sexy; and her cheekbones were high and sharp. Maybe the severity of her hairstyle accentuated all of that.

He wondered how long her hair was. Impossible to tell.

She swung sharply around, and he straightened, flushing guiltily at being caught red-handed staring at her. Not very cool.

"I doubt Gary is going to do a runner if he gets wind that you’re on to him. And that’s if he’s guilty of anything at all!"

"Why are you so keen to protect him?"

"I’m not keen on protecting him. Just being fair. Innocent until proven guilty, and all that."

The lift doors opened with a purr, and she stepped out into the vast marbled foyer that still impressed her after nearly two weeks.

She wasn’t protecting Gary or Justin. Or was she? When she thought of Gary, a little fashionable neon-coloured guy staring down the barrel of a gun and not even realising it, she thought of her own vulnerable child, who had spent most of his life asking for his dear father. Which, of course, was not going to change soon. All she ever wanted was to protect Tommy from the dangers of this world. Free her from disappointment and pain.

"Commendable," Chase murmured. "So we begin tomorrow. The hunt to find out whether Gary is guilty of fraud or stupidity. Either way, he will doubtless end up being sacked. Now, where do you live...? My car’s in the underground car park."

"I can handle going home alone, Chase. Goodbye."