Five Exotic Fantasies: Love in Reverse, Book 3 (11 page)

Peter went still. Jack’s eyes flicked to Felix and back to the man sitting beside him.

“I didn’t encourage her,” Peter said.

He met Felix’s gaze, the same as he had when Felix had first walked into the room. This time, however, Felix didn’t look away. He held the icy blue stare, content to wait, to prove that he was in control of this hearing, acting on his gut instinct that this man was guilty, that he’d intimidated Sasha and tried to make her have a sexual relationship with him, and when she’d stood her ground and refused, he’d turned to blackmail. The woman had been upset enough to file a complaint. That in itself deserved further attention. Felix wasn’t going to play along with the partners and pretend it was a trivial matter. He wasn’t that type of man.

Peter continued to stare at him, his building anger evident in the way he clenched his fists once again. But Felix waited. And eventually Peter dropped his gaze.

Felix refused to let a smile of triumph touch his lips, but inside him the wave of relief made him feel almost light headed.

He finished off his coffee, closed the manila file and replaced it in his briefcase. “After some consideration,” he said, “I’ve decided the matter needs further investigation. I propose that I stay here until the end of next week to interview other members of staff, consider my verdict over the following weekend and give you an answer on the Monday. Is that acceptable?” He looked at Christopher, not Peter.

Christopher met his gaze, void of expression. Then he nodded.

Felix stood. “Thank you, everyone,” he said. And he turned and left the room.

Chapter Thirteen

Several hours later, Coco leaned against the doorjamb and studied the young lawyer where he sat deep in thought. Christopher and Peter had left the building, leaving behind a low murmur of rumour and speculation rumbling through the office like the earthquake tremors that occasionally plagued the capital.

Felix had disappeared into his office and shut the door when he vacated the boardroom, and she’d left him to it, although she knew Christopher had gone in to say goodbye. What had the Auckland boss said to him? Had he berated him for not brushing the case away as if it were the cobwebs in the dusty corners of the offices? Been angry and worried about the reputation of the firm being brought into disrepute?

She’d seen Rob Drake, who said Felix had asked for the rest of the day to read through some files and look up the procedure he was expected to follow, ready to start interviewing the next week.

Forget about him,
she’d thought, and had busied herself throughout the morning, casting her eye over that day’s work generated by the secretaries, sorting out their hours for the following week, making sure everyone had been paid for the right number of hours, having a brief meeting with Accounts when she found two members of staff who hadn’t, settling a dispute between two secretaries who weren’t getting along, and generally ensuring that the office ran smoothly and without a hitch.

At lunchtime, as usual, she put on her coat, walked outside and rang her mother on her mobile.

Nurse Rachel picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi, Rachel, it’s me.”

“Hi, Coco. We were just talking about you.”

“Oh. How is she today?”

“So so.”

Eleanor Stark was currently in the middle of an attack that had started over a month ago, leading to problems with coordinating her arms and legs, incontinence, some trouble speaking and bouts of dark depression at the thought that she was going to be that way for the rest of her life.

“I’ll put her on,” Rachel said.

The phone rustled and muffled voices sounded, and then Eleanor said, “Hi, love.”

“Hi, Mum. How are you today?”

“I’m fine,” Eleanor said, her standard response, her words slurring slightly. “Now, have you been thinking about our conversation this morning?”

Coco gritted her teeth. Eleanor had given her a speech as she ate her breakfast, something along the lines of “You’re twenty-seven and should be out enjoying yourself, not looking after me.” It was a recurring theme.

“No,” Coco said.

“I want you to go out this evening. It’s Friday night and I’ve asked Frances to come and stay with me for a few hours so you can socialise.” Frances was Eleanor’s best friend.

“I don’t want to socialise,” Coco said. “I’ve just bought the final series of
House
. I thought we could have a marathon watch—four or five episodes until we fall asleep.”

“That sounds lovely,” Eleanor said softly. “But not tonight. Please, Coco. Do this for me.”

Coco walked across the road to look at the harbour, her stomach churning. “Seriously, Mum, I haven’t got anywhere to go. Amy’s busy tonight, and I don’t have any other friends.”

“Then you should get some,” snapped Eleanor. “There must be someone at work you can go for a drink with.”

Coco hesitated as Felix’s tall, smiling form jumped into her mind. She shook her head angrily. “It’s my choice to look after you,” she said, near to tears. “I wish you’d stop trying to push me away.”

Eleanor ignored her. “Sort something out. Frances will be here from seven until at least ten, or whenever you get home.”

She hung up.

Coco stared at the phone, then clipped it shut and slid it in her pocket. Eleanor had never hung up on her before.

It was a windy day in the capital city—no change there, she thought—and the breeze whipped the waves of Lambton Harbour into white horses. The ferry that crossed the Cook Strait from the North Island to the South—affectionately named the Vomit Comet—would be earning its nickname that day.

Depression settled over her. Eleanor meant well, and deep down Coco supposed she was right, but the truth was that she couldn’t think of anyone to go for a drink with. She purposely maintained a professional relationship with everyone in the office, except for Amy, whom she’d known since secretarial college and who was unfortunately going to her Tai Chi class that evening. And Coco didn’t want to get close to anyone else—didn’t want to reveal that beneath the severe image of the office manager she worked so hard to project was a soft-hearted, passionate woman, too afraid of being hurt to open up and let anyone in.

Unbidden, Felix’s brown eyes swam into her mind again, kind as he promised to keep her nickname a secret, and she sighed. He’d impressed her in the boardroom, and although his insistence on investigating the case could raise problems for her, nevertheless she was touched that he obviously felt Sasha’s claims deserved to be considered.

But there was no point in going out with him. He would only be in Wellington a week at most—surely it was pointless to start a journey when she had to get off after one stop? And yet the thought of going out with him, of having a drink, getting to know him better, filled her with a warmth she couldn’t shake.

Head bowed, she walked back through the streets to the building and rode the elevator to her floor. She left her coat in her office and checked with Rob. Felix was still in his room, he assured her, and hadn’t appeared for lunch.

It was now one thirty, so she bought two different boxes of sandwiches from the cart, made two cups of tea and went to his office to find the door open and him deep in contemplation, studying his iPad.

He looked up and a rueful smile spread across his face. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She walked in and put the mugs on his desk. “Thought you might like a cup of ‘Rosie’.”

He laughed, put down his stylus and leaned back in the chair. “Thank you. That would be lovely.”

“And I wondered if you were hungry. The cart leaves at two, and I didn’t want you to miss out on lunch.” She offered him both boxes.

He smiled and chose the chicken. “Will you join me?”

“If that’s okay.”

“Of course.”

She moved the mugs to the coffee table, and he rose and walked around the desk to take the armchair across from her. They opened the boxes and began to eat the sandwiches.

She indicated the desk. “How’s the investigation? Rob said you were going to take today to go through some files.”

“Yeah.” He picked at a bit of lettuce. “Actually, between you and me, I thought I’d take the afternoon to recover. I found the process a bit…hair raising.”

He was confiding in her. Once again she flushed with warmth, aware of the strange connection they’d made that, as he’d told her, they couldn’t now undo. “You surprise me. You looked totally in control, especially at the end. I loved the way you stared Peter down.”

He gave her a wry smile. “I’m sure he was wearing a syrup.”

“Syrup?”

He grinned then. “Sorry. Syrup of figs—it’s rhyming slang for wig. Toupee, you know. You can’t tell me that black rug was real.”

She rolled her eyes. “I need an English to Cockney dictionary just to talk to you.”

“I know, I forget. I rented a house with a girl from Peckham for two years—it rubbed off on me.”

She chewed her sandwich, studying him curiously. “Was she your girlfriend?”

He picked up his mug but didn’t drink, staring instead out of the window. “Yes.”

“Did she move back over here with you?”

“No.” He sighed. “She died.”

Coco inhaled. “Oh goodness. I’m so sorry.”

He looked back at her, his eyes sad. “Thank you.”

“Was she ill?”

“No. She went on holiday to Greece with some friends and went snorkelling. When she was younger she used to have asthma, but it hadn’t been a problem for years so she didn’t even think about it. But she had an attack—I think it was something to do with the pressure of the water—and they just couldn’t get her breathing again.”

Coco put down her sandwich, filled with horror at the thought of losing someone at that age. “That’s so awful.”

“It was. Well, still is. It was seven years ago now, but I still have trouble moving on, you know? I’ve tried…” He gave a sheepish smile. “Quite a few times. But it’s not easy.”

Coco was only too aware of how a relationship could haunt you even after years had passed. Thinking about her ex, Michael, sent another wave of depression over her, and she pushed the second half of the sandwich away uneaten. Michael had effectively killed her hopes of another relationship by destroying her self-confidence to the extent that she was terrified of opening up to anyone again.

What was she doing here? Felix’s intimation that he’d tried to move on implied that he slept around, and that was most definitely not the sort of man she was interested in. In fact she didn’t want a relationship with anyone, and certainly not Felix Hotshot Fancy Pants. She didn’t want a social life at all. At twenty-seven surely she’d earned the right to live her life the way she wanted? She was going to go home that evening, change into her sweats, eat ice cream from the carton and watch
House
in her bedroom, and her mother could lump it.

“I’d better go,” she said, clicking the sandwich box shut.

Felix’s eyebrows rose. “Already? You haven’t finished your tea. Stay a moment.”

“I’m very busy.”

He ignored the comment. “Have you thought about my proposition? Would you come out for a drink with me tonight?”

Oh for God’s sake…
The world appeared to be conspiring against her. “No, thank you.”

“Just one glass of wine. We can talk about anything you like—it doesn’t have to be work.”

“I…I’m busy.”

“You look like you could do with a drink,” he said.

She glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He blinked at her aggressive tone. “Just that you look like you need to relax.”

“I’m perfectly relaxed.”

“Yeah,” he said, exasperation showing on his face for the first time, “with your hair wound tighter than a duck’s arse and your shirt buttoned to your chin. You’re totally chilled out.”

Her cheeks burned. “I dress professionally! Do you think I should wear my skirts halfway up my thighs and my boobs out on display for all to see just to prove I’m not frigid?”

His lips twitched. “No. I didn’t mean—”

She stood. “Just because my hair isn’t tumbling around my shoulders and I’m not showing my belly-button piercing doesn’t mean I’m straight-laced.”

His eyebrows nearly shot through his hairline. “You have a belly-button piercing?”

Shit.
She hadn’t meant to say that. She’d had it done shortly after she left Michael in a fit of rebellion. “I…that’s irrelevant. The point is that you don’t know what I’m like inside—nobody does.”

“Maybe not, but I’d like to find out,” he said. “Come for a drink with me.”

She was irritated now, though. He’d struck a nerve. “You’re here for a week. You really think I’m so easy that I’ll sleep with you after one drink?”

Now he looked amused. “Who said anything about sex?”

“So that hadn’t entered your mind at all?”

He grinned. “I didn’t say that.”

“See. All men are the same.”

His brow darkened at that comment and he also got to his feet, scrunching up his serviette and throwing it onto the coffee table in a ball. “That’s unfair. I thought it would be nice to have a drink, to get to know each other. I know I’m only here temporarily but I’m on my own and I thought it would be a pleasant way to pass a few hours. Clearly I was mistaken.”