Page 107 of The Grand Duel

“The day I came for my interview at Charles Aldridge and you cancelled on me, meaning I never needed to travel into the city in the first place…well, I was mugged on the underground and when being a hero, chasing my mugger, I snapped the heel off my favourite pair of shoes.”

He frowns harder. “Not technically at all, then.”

I give him a small smile and shake my head. “I’m not paying you back for the shoes.”

He pulls open the bag and peeks inside. “Fair enough. What’s in those?” he asks, nodding towards the bags on my arms.

“These—” I pull them to my chest. “Are absolutely none of your business.”

I’m pretty sure a trail of fire follows me and my new underwear all the way to my room.

TWENTY-ONE

Lissie

The dress I picked out is Prada. Black. Full length with short, off-the-shoulder sleeves and a sweetheart neckline that leaves little to the imagination with the way the fabric moulds to my breasts.

It’s a dress my mother would love and likely hang in my wardrobe.

It’s a dress I’d hang in my wardrobe if I could afford it.

I smooth my hands over my stomach and pull open the door to my room, finding the early evening sun blazing in through the open balcony doors.

I place my new matching bag on the table and go in search of my boss.

I spot his leg hanging half off the lounger and head for the folding doors.

His voice finds me before I catch a look at his face, and I’m thankful for it because not for the first time this month, I’m caught off guard by the man’s ability to wear a suit. Or in this evening’s case, tuxedo.

He has his phone held to his ear, lying back with his legs spread out on either side of the lounger. He looks comfortable. At ease. Fucking hot.

And then his eyes find me. And like his voice, they catch me off guard.

They make me feel like an oddity. Like nothing he’s seen before. They make me feel?—

He shakes his head, making my thoughts trail off.

“Scar, I’ll call you back.” Those eyes don’t leave me as he drops the phone to the lounger and flicks his head at me to come sit.

Cautiously, I walk across the balcony and lower myself to the lounger he’s sitting on, putting us close enough that I get consumed by the incredible smell of him, but somehow still not close enough.

That thought would be weird, but with the way his eyes stay fixed on me long after sitting down, the way his knee bounces at our side, wanting to be a little bit closer doesn’t seem that weird at all.

Eventually, just as the red creeping up my neck threatens to flourish over my cheeks, and I’m swallowing around the thick knot in my throat, he leans down and picks up an open bottle of champagne, pouring us both a glass and handing me a flute.

I wait along with the buzz binding us to the moment, watching his tongue peek out as he opens his mouth, but then he closes it again. As if he thinks better of whatever he’s about to say.

I smile.

A nervous smile.

One he doesn’t reciprocate.

But then?—

“Beautiful,” he says, stare lost somewhere it doesn’t belong.

Somewhere no one has ever bothered to look.