Chapter 42

"Not at all." She forced a smile. "The meeting went well; I’ll write up a report and get the information to you. And also, Justin mentioned Daphne Rogers. He said you’ll know what it was."

"Okay, but I wasn’t talking about that meeting." Chase frowned. "Is anything wrong?"

"Nothing," Amaya said, then realising what he’d seen, she relented. "I’ve got a bit of a headache, that’s all."

Chase raised a brow, "Have some medicine and coffee, okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"By the way, Amaya, um, my butler, is not well."

"Oh! Um, so you need something?" Amaya blinked, reaching for the phone. "Do you want me to ring the agency and arrange a replacement?"

"I’ll survive for a day without Juan," Chase said magnanimously, "but I am going to be flying to L.A. this afternoon and be back the next day, just an hour before Donna’s wedding, so can you go over to my room and pack for me? I'm... clueless about that thing. Juan knew everything, and without him, I didn't know if I'd survive—"

"Sure. It's no bother. I know what to pack for L.A. I'll let you know when I’m done. Just keep my son entertained after his nap, or it’ll be World War three since his nanny is on day off."

"Okay. I'll take care of him. Thank you."

Few minutes later. Amaya thought how strange it was for Chase to get confused about his needs because, as Amaya had realised, he was rich and in demand—there was very little personal in his personal life. There was a whole army of people ensuring that every minute of his valuable time was put to the best use.

Letting herself into his vast, luxurious master's bedroom a little later, Amaya bent down and went to stroke Ruru, who duly growled a warning, then waddled to the huge glass sliding door to be let out. Amaya wandered out onto the balcony and stared at the spectacular view of the garden before setting to work. She headed inside, opening her organiser and locating the list that would tell her what was required for a nightly international business trip.

All the information was there on her iPad.

Chase’s immaculate suits and shoes were packed, as was his equally immaculate casual wear, and then she opened his underwear drawer to see neat rows of folded hipsters and socks as if they were on display in an exclusive store. There was nothing personal about the choices she made—the list saw to that. These cufflinks were preferred with this tie and shirt; these shoes with that suit. It just felt personal, that was all.

"Hey!" Amaya jumped as Chase walked into the bedroom unannounced, blushing as she held a handful of his hipsters. It just seemed wrong somehow to be going through his underwear drawer, even though it was her job to be in there.

He was completely at ease with it, of course.

He just kicked off his shoes and lay on the bed, chatting on his phone as Amaya walked through to the sumptuous bathroom to pack his toiletries and to try and not listen as he made a couple of personal calls—cancelling his plans for the next couple of nights and, by the sound of it, breaking a couple of hearts in the process by telling them that he was getting married.

"Why?" Chase asked as she came back into the bedroom with his toiletry bag and was finishing off his packing. "When I say I’m going to Los Angeles, do they think it has something to do with them—why would they think that I’m lying?"

"The women?"

"Yes."

"Well, Chase, because you usually are," Amaya pointed out.

"Well, I’m not this time. I'm telling them the truth that I finally found a suitable bride." He ran lazy eyes over her, taking in the smudges under her eyes, the vague distraction that slightly displaced her more usual sunny nature. "What’s wrong, Amaya?"

"Oh nothing!" Amaya instantly pulled him up, refusing, just as she always did with him, to cross the line.

"Come on. I just saw you zone out. What’s wrong, Amaya? And don’t give me that rubbish about a headache."

"Nothing’s wrong," Amaya insisted.

He lay back on the bed, closed his eyes, and gave a low laugh.

"Now that I’ve stopped, I realise I have a headache too!"

He did—right there at the front of his head. He could hear the sounds of her packing, and it would be so incredibly easy to just close his eyes and sleep. He didn’t want to go to Los Angeles.

Incredibly, and not for the first time lately, he could hardly stomach the thought of the flight.

"We should fare force…" Chase smiled with his eyes still closed.

"Sorry?"

"You know..." he waved his hand and tried to come up with the smarter word for it, but it eluded him, and those gorgeous eyes finally opened to hers. "Leave school." He snapped his fingers, impatient with himself now. ‘Not go back.’

"Play hooky!" Amaya grinned.

"Yeah, play hooky!" Chase smiled at the term and closed his eyes. "That would be good—we could get ice packs from the fridge for our foreheads and lie in the dark and ignore the phone. Ignore meetings and ignore everything."

Amaya rolled her eyes. "Sounds good."

Chase smiled at her. "And I was a fool for wishing, yeah?"

"Yes." Amaya smiled, because she knew exactly what he meant and exactly how he felt because she felt it too. "But we can’t. We aren't teenagers anymore; we aren't in school or without responsibility."

He looked as if he were dozing, except his mind was actually whirring.

He was sick of keeping things businesslike between them.

He was also cross with himself for his handling of things.

He wanted her. Wanted her so badly.

And yet he didn’t—because he actually liked working with her. Liked having her around, and once things moved, as they surely would, well...

There was no question of a future for them.

Not even a hint of one. The marriage was a contract, not real.

He deliberately didn’t do long-term relationships—as soon as things got too comfortable or too nice, he cut all ties. Those were his ideals. Just play and play.

It was a promise he had made himself many years ago.

He lay there, head pounding, listening to her pad out to the cabinet, to the bathroom, to the running of the tap, and for once he was torn with indecision.

He wanted her.

He didn’t want to lose her.

Yet he couldn’t have both.