Page 14 of Arrogant Heir

She comes to a halt and turns to face me. ‘You have met Damian—’

There’s something haunting about her expression as she says his name. It’s not a question but I confirm I have. I don’t know what more to say because there’s nothing positive for me to tell her, and no one wants to say negative things to a mother about her son. I certainly don’t, so I resume walking and she moves alongside me.

‘He’s not the easiest of characters,’ she continues. ‘But when he commits to something, he does it wholeheartedly, so he will see that you get what you need to complete the book.’

I smile and nip my tongue with my teeth.

Vivian volunteers to answer questions I have about the family business. She tells me that once the children went to school; she worked side-by-side with her husband, and they built a substantial arm of the Rochester empire. ‘Julian loved the family business,’ she says.

I see that wistful expression on her face again, and I turn my head as my eyes well up. How dreadful it must be to lose your soul mate so young. My romantic nature sweeps me up and although I have no evidence to say they were soul mates; I interpret the look on her face as proof enough. She loved him deeply. That much I feel in my gut.

We part ways and she repeats her invitation to seek her out anytime for a cup of tea and a chat, or even a spot of gardening if I’m so inclined.

I said that I don’t know the first thing about gardening, but that I’d most definitely be up for learning and lending a helping hand.

She squeezes my arm before we part near the side of the house. ‘Be patient with Damian, won’t you? He’s a good boy, but it’s not always easy to see. He’s had a hard time of it.’

I continue along the path in the direction of the cottage. What an odd thing to say about your son. Why does he insist on making it not easy to see? What on earth is his problem?

When I enter the cottage, I catch sight of my face in the gold-framed mirror on the wall. My cheeks are flushed, my brown eyes sparkle, and I’m glowing.

Ha!I say out loud. Who would have thought it? What a transformation from the weeping willow of a girl in my flat such a short time ago. Life is surprising.

And that afternoon, for the first time in my life, contrary to my thoughts about stalling my plans, I give myself permission to start writing my romance novel.

I don’t know why, but it feels like the perfect time.

CHAPTER11

Damian

She knocks on my office door, and I call for her to enter. Today, she looks more business-like. Her copper-red ringlets are constrained in a tight low bun. It’s a shame because I rather like her wild mane tumbling all over her shoulders. Even when all five-foot-nothing of her glowered up at me from her stilt-shoes.

There is a fresh buzz about her, and I notice it immediately. I wonder if she’s excited about this project or if she just does this work for the money.

It’s difficult for me to relate to regular working people because I’ve never been in that position. I know I’m privileged, even if there’s a load of baggage that comes with it and sometimes it feels like the load will break my back. When you come from a family like mine, the expectations forced on you from an early age are enormous, but I’m aware that’s quite different from the problems that plague most people.

I mostly only ever mixed socially with kids from similar wealthy backgrounds to me—their parents wouldn’t be able to afford the school fees otherwise. There was the occasional scholarship kid, but they typically kept themselves to themselves, knowing they wouldn’t fit in with the elite, who were their contemporaries only in class.

I watch Ms Jackson remove her laptop from her bag and take a seat opposite me like last time, and I find myself curious about what it’s like to show up because you need the money. Of course, Rochester Media has hundreds of employees, and the entire Rochester chain of department stores, hotels and other companies employ thousands. But I see little of them and haven’t thought about it before. Not until now. Until her. Why would I? I’m Damian Rochester. CEO of Rochester Media and heir to the whole damn empire.

Normally I keep my thoughts to myself, but I find myself oddly provoked by the fiery redhead’s presence. She says nothing after her initial good morning as she organises herself.

‘I see it’s game on, Ms Jackson.’

‘What do you mean?’ She raises her head, laptop open, and an expectant look crosses her face. Her brown eyes meet mine unwaveringly, a direct challenge hidden in the pools of caramel, and I stare back at her. I can’t help admiring her skin, which is like porcelain with smatterings of cheeky freckles. She’s an alluring combination of pure innocence and red-headed sex siren with an air of fifties glamour about her. My usual type is tall, leggy, brunettes, but I find her intriguing. It’s like you’ve been surrounded by chimpanzees every time you visit the zoo, and then one day an almost-extinct petite gazelle stumbles into view and your breath snags in your throat. I can see she’s one of a kind and it scares the hell out of me.

I silence my chain of inappropriate thoughts and sit up straighter in my leather chair.

‘Well, I think we can agree we got off on the wrong foot, but whether we like it or not, here we are with a book to write, so I suppose we’d better make the most of it.’

She says, ‘Okay. Yes. Great.’

I notice the delicate cream skin on her neck move as she swallows, and for no reason I can explain, there’s a dull throbbing ache in my groin.

I clear my throat, but there’s a husky edge to my words. ‘Before we begin, I’d like to say something to clear the air, if I may.’

She seems unmoved, and my statement doesn’t seem to be having the expected effect. I don’t purposely intimidate employees, but I have noticed they become nervous in my presence, and only the boldest challenge me—on anything. And that’s just how I like it.