Sweet Deception (20 page)

I hadn't really understood why at first. Then the truth had hit me like a ten-tonne truck. I had a crush on Richard.

It was as if I was seeing him for the first time. I'd previously found his seriousness irritating, thinking he was just uptight—but now I could see that made him commanding. His passion for his work and his single-mindedness—how had I never appreciated those qualities before? And maybe I didn't usually go for conventional good looks, but it was amazing how they grew on you—the strong jaw and nose; the perfectly proportioned, clean-shaven face; the athletic build . . . Suddenly rocker boys who shunned showers and razors seemed far less appealing.

Rex must have noticed the blush on my cheeks, because he gave me a knowing smile. “Oh, so that's it. Someone likes a boy,” he said in a sing-song voice.

“What?” I tried to convey just how ridiculous that was. “Please. I'm just tired, that's all.”

“Oh, don't give me that. You can't fool me. I know that look.” He turned to Helena. “Hey, Hel,” he called into her. “Charlotte fancies someone.”

“Good for her.” She didn't bother glancing up from her desk.

“Ugh,” he tutted. Unable to evoke any interest from her, he turned his attention back to me. He leaned over my desk,
lowering his voice in a conspiratorial manner. “So just between us girls, who is it? You can tell me.” He pretended to zip his lips shut. “I won't tell a soul. I swear. I'm very discreet.”

As much as I adored Rex, I also knew what a gossip he was. Whatever he said, if I told him anything, it would be all round the office in an hour.

“I told you before. You've got it all wrong. There's no one I like.” The last thing I needed was this getting out. The teasing would be merciless. I wouldn't be able to show my face. Not to mention the awkwardness it would cause with Richard . . .

“Hmmm.” He gave me a disappointed look. “You know I don't believe you for a moment, right? But don't you worry, I'll get it out of you in the end. No one can keep a secret from me.”

I hoped he was wrong about that, because I didn't relish anyone finding out I had romantic feelings for Richard. Especially not the man concerned. For one thing, he had a girlfriend. And as much as I didn't like Petra, I wasn't the type to start trying to steal another woman's guy. I had a lot of flaws, but that wasn't one of them.

*  *  *

I managed to avoid any more awkward questions from Rex for the rest of the day. I threw myself into my work, which
helped to put Richard from my mind, too.

I got home that night to find a message on my answer phone from my mother. It was the sixth message she'd left, and I could hear from her tone that she wasn't going to tolerate much more of me avoiding her, so I had no choice but to call back.

I sat curled up on the couch, half listening and saying uh-huh in what I hoped were the appropriate places, as she caught me up on what she had been doing. Then she hit me with it—the real reason she'd phoned.

“I was hoping you might be free to come down to Claylands this Sunday.” Hearing that, my shoulders slumped. “We haven't seen you since our anniversary.” When I didn't answer straight away, she added, “And I know your father would love to see you.”

I'd already been formulating my excuse, but hearing that I knew there was no way I could get out of it. It was the only way I got to see my father, so I would have to go.

I was going to accept the invitation, but my mother was still speaking. “Unfortunately your sister and Toby won't be able to make it.”

“Shame,” I muttered. Well, that was one small mercy, at least.

My mother appeared not to catch my sarcasm. “Although just to warn you, Richard will be here.”

Hearing that, I sat up straighter. “Richard's going?”
Suddenly the prospect of lunch didn't seem so bad after all.

“Yes.” My mother sighed. “I know you get irritated with him ‘interfering' in your life, but I like to see him. It makes me feel closer to—well, to your brother.”

Hearing her speak about Kit, I felt bad then. We spent so much time bickering that sometimes I forgot how hard it was for her to lose her son.

“I know that, Mum.” For once my voice was soft, understanding. “And don't worry, I'll be there.”

“You will?” She couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice. It must have been the first time she'd got me down to the house without a battle for years. “That's wonderful news, Charlotte.” She sounded so pleased at the thought of seeing me that I almost felt guilty for demonising her all the time. Then she said, “So we'll see you around midday? Try not to be late this time, though. I don't want to hold everything up for you again.”

And there it was. The reason we would never get on.

We said our goodbyes, and I lay back on the couch, hands behind my head, staring up at the ceiling.

She was right—I hadn't seen my parents since my performance at their anniversary lunch. I also still hadn't told my mum that I was working at Davenport's. I'd asked Richard to leave it to me to break the news. My dad wouldn't pass much comment, but my mother was bound to have an opinion—and one that was inevitably going to annoy me, I
would put good money on it.

But right now, none of that was of any importance. All I cared about was that it would give me an opportunity to spend some time with Richard, so I could try to figure out what the hell I was feeling for him.

*  *  *

I dressed carefully for work the next day. I chose a cute flirty dress, with an A-line skirt, in a rich royal blue. I washed and dried my hair smooth, and kept my make-up to a minimum. It was still me, but a fresher, softer version.

Unfortunately my efforts with my appearance didn't go unnoticed. Rex commented on how nice I looked with a knowing smile—he clearly suspected my crush was on someone in the office. I made a mental note that I had to be careful of that. The last thing I needed was for him to figure out the truth.

I waited until he went out for lunch, and then headed up to Richard's office.

Outside his door, I hesitated. His PA wasn't around, which meant I couldn't check if he was free to see me. But that was the least of my worries. Before, I'd have had no qualms about talking to him—I wouldn't have given it a second thought. But now I felt unsure of myself and worried about saying the wrong thing. It was strange. I wasn't used to feeling nervous around him.

I took a deep breath and knocked.

“Come in,” he called out.

Trying to ignore the squirming in my stomach, I pushed the heavy mahogany door open.

He didn't even look up as I walked in. He was too engrossed in typing something on the keyboard of his computer.

“Just give me a second . . .” His eyes trawled the screen—I presume he'd just written an email—and then he clicked, no doubt to send. Finally he turned his attention to me. “Charlotte.” He seemed surprised to me. “What brings you to my office?” He leaned back in his chair, contemplating me. “In fact, let me guess. You were hoping to catch me coming out of the shower again.”

I knew he was teasing, but it was too close to the truth to raise so much as a smile from me. Not trusting myself to answer, I simply ignored the question, and walked over to slip into the seat opposite him.

“So I heard my mum roped you into Sunday lunch?”

“That's right.” His eyes narrowed. “Why're you asking?” Then his expression cleared, and he chuckled. “Let me guess—you want a lift down there?”

That was exactly what I wanted—a chance to spend some time together. I knew he wouldn't suspect anything, because I was always blagging lifts off him. “Well, since you're offering . . .”

“You never change, do you, Charlotte?” He shook his head, in a slightly exasperated way. “I'll come over about half ten.”

“Great. I'll be ready.”

I got up to leave, but I was halfway to the door, when he said, “Just one thing.” I turned back to see him regarding me with an amused look in his eyes. “This time I don't want to have to see any naked men in your bed. That's all I ask of you.”

Vivid images flashed through my head—of Richard finding Gavin in my bed, the used condoms on the ground, and then of me parading naked in front of him. I flushed at the memory.

My reaction didn't go unnoticed by Richard. “Oh, Charlotte.” He peered at me as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. “Don't tell me that you're blushing.”

I gave a haughty sniff. “I just don't think there's any need to bring that up.” I knew I sounded a bit prissy, but I felt ashamed at the memory. I'd never cared what Richard thought of me before, but now I did. I didn't want him to think of me that way any more.

He looked taken aback by my reaction. “Sorry, I didn't realise you were so touchy about it.” He frowned. “You've always made a joke about that stuff in the past. And you never seemed to mind if other people did the same.”

“Well, now I do.”

He stared at me for a long moment, and then finally nodded. “Fair enough. I'm sorry I brought it up, and I won't mention it again. You have my word.”

I could see he meant it. But that wasn't the point. Bringing that up about Gavin had soured the meeting for me.

“Good.” My tone was brusque, standoffish. “I'll see you Sunday, then.”

I walked out of the office, trying to ignore the confused look on his face. Damn. If I was hoping to get him to see me in a new light, it didn't seem like I was doing a particularly good job of it. I'd just have to hope to do better on Sunday.

The following Sunday morning, I stood in front of the full-length mirror that hung on the back of my bedroom door, casting a critical eye over my appearance. I couldn't make up my mind if I liked what I saw. I'd ditched my usual black, scruffy rebel look, and in my place stood a much softer, more conservative version of myself. I had on a grey woollen skirt, which stopped just above my knee, and a baby blue cashmere jumper, with elegant knee-high boots in brown leather.

That wasn't my only change. Along with shopping for a new outfit yesterday, I'd also booked an appointment with a hairdresser. After a lot of headshaking and disapproval about the damage that the home bleaching had done, she'd shown me swatches of colours to add in low-lights. She'd warned that the shade might not turn out exactly perfect, but it was much better than we'd both feared—now, the unnatural
whiteness was gone, and had been replaced with shades of dark blonde, warm auburn and chestnut-brown. The dry split ends had been ruthlessly cut away, too, so my hair fell softly around my shoulders, like a long-layered, grown-out bob.

I nervously fiddled with the ends of my hair. The hairdresser had kept telling me how great the new style looked—well, what else was she going to say?—but I couldn't decide whether I agreed. My over-the-top clothes, make-up and hair had been my armour for the past seven years—my way of hiding from the world. Looking like this, I felt strangely vulnerable.

I glanced at my watch, eager to get on with the day. Unlike the last time Richard had picked me up, for my parents' anniversary lunch, I was ready twenty minutes early. It was giving me far too much time to think, so I decided to head out to the sitting room to watch some TV. At least it would distract me from fretting about the day ahead. I'd been there for a few minutes, mindlessly channel surfing, when Lindsay stumbled out of her room, in her usual nightwear of shorts and an old T-shirt.

“Hey,” she mumbled, bleary eyed, throwing a glance in my direction as she headed to the bathroom. She'd made it just a few steps past me when she stopped, turned and did a double-take.

“What the hell happened to you?” She was suddenly fully
alert. She rubbed her eyes with her palms, in a theatrical gesture. “It looks like Doris Day gave you a makeover!”

I groaned inwardly. That was the last thing I needed to hear. “Is it that bad?” I glanced down worriedly at myself. “Should I change?”

“No!” Lindsay's response was so vehement the walls practically shook. “I'm only teasing. You look good—really good.” Then she raised one eyebrow suggestively. “Much more Richard's type.”

“What?” Lindsay recoiled as I screeched the word. “This”—I indicated my outfit—“has nothing to do with him.”

“Whatever you say,” she said, in a voice that suggested she believed otherwise.

I groaned. “Oh, no. If you think that, he's going to as well. I had better go and change . . .”

I stood, to go to my room, but before I could make it two paces, the intercom sounded. I looked desperately at Lindsay, but she just shrugged—as if to say,
That's your problem
—and headed to the bathroom. I stood frozen for a second, but the intercom sounded again, more demanding this time. Remembering my promise to be on time, I ran over to answer it.

“I'll be right down,” I said. Well, it looked like I had no other choice than to go like this. The only other option was to keep him waiting—and I couldn't do that.

I tried not to think about what he'd make of my new look. Instead I shrugged on my royal blue suede jacket—a vintage item I'd already had in my wardrobe, which had seemed to suit my outfit—grabbed my bag and ran down the stairs.

Richard was sitting in the lobby of our building, looking at something on his iPhone, when I got downstairs. He only gave me the briefest of glances, and then resumed what he was doing. I stood there for a moment, before I realised what was going on—he simply hadn't recognised me.

“Richard?” My voice was tentative, but unmistakable.

He looked up then, his gaze running over me as he frowned in confusion, trying to link my voice to my appearance. Then everything must have clicked into place, and like Lindsay, he did a double-take.

“Charlotte?” He stood, his eyes not leaving me as he tucked his phone away. “What the hell?”