# All Bets Are On

Charlotte Phillips

Ask Alice Ford to shine in the boardroom and it’s a done deal. Ask her to go on a first date, however, and she’s a quivering mess! So, discovering that she’s the target of an office bet? To get her into bed? It’s her professional nightmare!Office legend Harry Stephens is her unlikely saviour. He even volunteers to teach her just how to avoid a heartbreaker. After all, it takes one to know one… But what is Harry really after?And when his kisses throw a curve ball into the situation, is Alice ready to gamble everything for love?

The stakes are high, but the prize is worth it!

Ask Alice Ford to shine in the boardroom and it’s a done deal. Ask her to go on a first date, however, and she’s a quivering mess! So, when she discovers that she’s the target of an office bet—to get her into bed—it’s her professional nightmare!

Office legend Harry Stephens is her unlikely savior. He even volunteers to teach her just how to avoid a heartbreaker. After all, it takes one to know one….

But what is Harry really after? And when his kisses throw a curveball into the situation, is Alice ready to gamble everything for love?

ALL BETS ARE ON


“If you’re thinking about dating again, maybe you’d like to go for a drink,” he said.

“With you?”

The question exploded from her lips in the form of a laugh. Because it was laughable, wasn’t it? That after her past experiences she would look twice at someone like him?

“Your amusement could be construed as an insult, you know,” he said mildly.

“I can’t,” she said. “Sorry.”

In Harry Stephens’s world, of course, no meant maybe. He realized it was a simple matter of finding the right approach. Start small. And, most important of all, offer some kind of incentive. Make her think he could be part of the solution instead of part of the problem.

“Just hear me out,” he said. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

“What kind of proposition?”

The upset tone had slipped from her voice. He could almost hear the ticking over of her mind. Her attention had been raised because he’d given his question a detached work-style tone.

“I’m exactly what you need,” he said. “To help you get back out there.”

Dear Reader,

In my former life, I worked in a number of offices and I was always intrigued by the melting pot of personalities you get in that environment. People with different backgrounds and lives, who are thrown together and have to find a way to get along. The idea of writing an office romance really appealed to me, and I thought hard about the types of people I’d encountered at work over the years. I had a boss like Alice once. She was completely absorbed and focused on work to the exclusion of everything else, she had no social life and kept everyone at a professional distance. I found myself wondering what could have happened to drive someone to take refuge in their work like that.

Ten years ago a dodgy photo in unscrupulous hands might have been flashed around a table in a bar or shown to a few mates. In the world of social media that we live in now, dodgy photos have the potential to go viral at the click of a button and, once out there, can be impossible to get back. Tearing up a photo is no longer an end to it. What might have been a short-lived joke ten years ago can be a massive betrayal now.

What would it be like to find yourself “out there” on the internet, your privacy compromised by someone you trusted? Under those circumstances, it might make perfect sense to throw yourself into work, an area of your life where you are responsible for your own success or failure and where you can easily keep people at arm’s length.

Then imagine what might happen if someone irresistible came along and challenged that safety?

From these thoughts, Alice and Harry’s story grew.

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Charlotte

All Bets

Are On

Charlotte Phillips


www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT CHARLOTTE PHILLIPS

Charlotte Phillips has been reading romantic fiction since her teens, and she adores upbeat stories with happy endings. Writing them for Harlequin® is her dream job.

She combines writing with looking after her fabulous husband, two teenagers, a four-year-old and a dachshund. When something has to give, it’s usually housework.

She lives in Wiltshire.

This and other titles by Charlotte Phillips are available in ebook format—check out www.millsandboon.co.uk.

This book is for Libby, gorgeous daughter,

lovely friend and expert brainstormer. With all my love.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Excerpt

ONE

Alice Ford opened the top drawer of the spare desk in the office, searched for a pen and found a bombshell.

With her temper tested because her entire team was late back from lunch, she was relegated to answering the telephone when she should at this very moment be leading a meeting on how to move forward with the biggest account Innova Brand Management had yet won.

Add to that the absence of her own work station with its colour-coordinated filing system, pen pot, To-Do list and diary managing every moment of her day. This desk was a paper-strewn, disorganised mess from hell, used as a dumping ground for filing by everyone else in the place. Not a pen in sight, hence the need to claw through goodness knew what in the rubbish-filled drawers just so she could note down a phone message. There were crumbs under her fingernails. Bleurgh. And then exasperation spilled over as she looked in disbelief at the crumpled sheet of paper in her hands.

An innocent-at-first-glance grid. Columns filled out with the names of colleagues, amounts of money. Understanding kicked in, swiftly followed by irritation. Why was she even surprised?

Yet another office betting ring.

Seriously, what was it going to take to instil a proper work ethic into these people? Leading by example clearly wasn’t enough. She ran a sensibly short and neutrally lacquered nail down the list of names. The whole office wasn’t here, not by a long stretch, but all the usual suspects were. Exclusively male. Obviously feeling the need to confirm their masculinity by indulging in this kind of primitive-caveman pastime.

She wondered what it was this time. Maybe something to do with Roger from Accounts—she’d heard he was giving up smoking again. Too much to hope that it might be in aid of a charitable cause.

Then she caught sight of the few sentences at the top of the page and sudden cold horror flushed through her, accompanied by the disorienting sick sensation of sliding backwards in time. The heat of humiliation rose in her cheeks.

‘Who can land Ice-Queen Ford? Proof required. In event of a tie, cash prize to be split equally.’

Alice swallowed hard and dug her nails hard into her palms until the prick of furious tears at the back of her throat subsided. Two things were clear:

Her male colleagues were betting on the dismal state of her love life, staking money on who could successfully have a crack at her.

The reputation she’d thought she held here was non-existent.

Far from being perceived as someone to look up to, she was apparently viewed as a dried-up frigid old spinster, enough of a challenge to wager money on, the perfect butt of a joke. Proof required? What the hell would that consist of? An item of underwear?

Humiliation had been long dead and resigned to the past, so she’d thought. But after three years of self-inflicted singledom, during which she’d taken control of every tiny facet of her life and had reinvented herself as career-woman-extraordinaire with no room on her list of priorities for a man, it seemed humiliation was alive and well and living in London.

Alice Ford was gossip-central.

Again.

* * *

Harry Stephens glanced around the bar, having just bought a round of drinks for the entire team. Correction. Almost the entire team. Despite the graft she’d put in to win the prestigious new contract, Alice Ford was a no-show yet again.

He finished his drink quickly and made his way across the bar, nodding at colleagues along the way. Fortunately Arabella had chosen to sit at a table close to the door. Perfect for the swift exit he intended to make the instant he finished speaking.

‘Harry!’ she said with real pleasure as he approached, loudly enough to draw glances from adjacent tables. The three other junior assistants sitting with her looked his way with interest. He was dimly aware that the redhead to Arabella’s left must be new. Worth a second look, just not today. He filed her away in his mind for future consideration.

Arabella ran her fingers through her long blonde hair, twirling the ends lightly as she smiled at him. He kept his eyes on her face. The expression of adoration wasn’t the only thing putting him on edge. The half-dozen texts she’d sent him so far today also needed to be considered along with the following facts:

1. she’d only left his bed at seven a.m.,

2. it was still only lunchtime, and

3. they worked in the same building.

The increasingly urgent texts along with the smile told him all he needed to know. It might have only been one night, but it was still time to jump ship.

Best to do it quick. Short, clean break before she had the chance to big it up in her mind into more than it was. Just sex. Just fun. No letting it run on too long—that led to all kinds of trouble as he’d recently discovered. And he was having none of it.

Keeping his voice deliberately detached, he reached into his inside jacket pocket.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ he said. ‘You left your earrings at my place.’

He held them out, found this morning in his bathroom. She didn’t take them, a light frown touching the perfectly arched eyebrows.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I realised when I got to work. I just thought I’d pick them up next time I saw you. Maybe tonight—did you get my texts...?’

She trailed off, eyes fixed on his face, and he literally saw the click, saw her face begin to redden as she caught on. She wouldn’t be visiting his place again. Her time there was done.

Smile gone now, she stood up, pushed past the redhead and joined him a few feet away by the door.

He held out the earrings again and this time she took them. She looked back up at him with a confident smile that was a bit too small to be pulled off.

‘What’s going on, Harry?’

He made his voice light, surprised.

‘Nothing’s going on. Last night was fun but I told you, I’m not interested in anything serious right now. I think it’s best if we just call it quits, go back to being workmates.’ He paused. ‘Friends.’

He could tell from her face that ‘friends’ was going to be a bit of a big ask. All smiles had gone.

‘You’re dumping me? After one night?’

He heard the crack in her voice. He was so right to get out now.

‘We both knew it was just a laugh,’ he said.

Her gutted expression told him that he might have known that, but she’d had much bigger plans. She opened her mouth, undoubtedly to argue the point further and he cut in quickly. Getting into a debate was a bad move; he knew that from experience.

He gave her upper arm a friendly squeeze, making sure he was well clear of her personal space.

‘I’d better get back to the office,’ he said. ‘Thanks for a great night.’

He left quickly, secure in the knowledge that he’d been honest. He was not responsible for Arabella’s feelings. He’d been up front with her from the start, made no promises, had made it crystal clear at all times where they both stood.

The fact she’d read more into the situation was nothing to do with him.

* * *

The outside line began ringing on various phones across the deserted office, but Alice was oblivious to the noise. Her eyes slipped to the bottom of the paper and her stomach gave another sickening lurch.

Page One.

There’s more than one page?

She turned the paper over. Blank on the reverse. Next moment she was scrabbling through the desk, pulling out armfuls of papers, food wrappers, a half-eaten decaying sandwich. Her stomach gave a sickening lazy roll as she threw it on the floor. If there was a second page, if there were more people involved, she would damn well know about it.

Perspiration laced her forehead and upper lip as she stood back, out of breath, hands on hips. The desk drawers were empty, their contents strewn over the floor.

Nothing. Maybe this was it. As if it were enough.

She reread the list, and the wave of upset that she had managed to control until now crested with full force. Names that she dealt with on a daily basis, people she’d believed she had a friendly, trustworthy, albeit working relationship with. People she’d thought liked and respected her. She’d come all this way, put the past behind her, rebuilt herself from the inside out, and now she was a laughing stock again.

The bitterness that flooded her mouth tasted just the same. Back then it had been her own image, plastered on the internet, bandied about between so-called friends. This time she was the subject of a bet. Same difference. Three years ago or present day, she was the butt of other people’s amusement.

The names blurred as tears came in a rush of uncontrollable sobs.

Across the open-plan room, the lift suddenly rumbled into life.

She snapped her head back up mid-sob, heart thundering in panic. In that brief moment it seemed entirely possible that the whole team, some thirty-odd people, were about to pour back in and find Alice a blubbering wreck with her head in her hands and a face full of snot, crumpled in the middle of the office.

The mortification of moments before stepped up to even dizzier heights.

She needed to get out of here. She did not need to be seen having an emotional meltdown by her colleagues. She needed a quiet space to think, calm down, get her head together. She stared madly around the room and finally made a manic dash for the only option of refuge within sprinting distance.

Sad cliché that it was, Alice Ford, top-class ambitious professional, was about to be reduced to crying in the Ladies.

Stumbling blindly between desks, knocking her thigh agonisingly hard against the corner of the printer table and upending a bin as she went, she sprinted in her high-heeled court shoes towards the door of the restroom, actually had it in her sights as the ping of the lift signalled its arrival and the doors slid smoothly apart.

She almost made it. A second or two faster and all Harry Stephens would have known about it would have been the slamming of the door behind her. Instead what he got was a full-on glimpse of her face as she shoved past him. Since the first thing she saw as she made it into the Ladies was her own reflection in the mirror, she knew that, humiliatingly, he’d just been treated to her beetroot-red face running with a combination of tears and snot and her always-sleek chignon looking like a rat’s nest where she’d been clutching in anguish at her hair.

A loud knock on the door made her jump.

‘Alice?’

She ignored him.

‘Alice?’ Louder this time. ‘Are you OK?’

Another knock. Perhaps if she kept quiet he’d give up. She clutched the side of the sink in frustration.

‘Sandra’s downstairs in Reception. I’ll go and get her,’ he said.

Sandra. The resentful marketing assistant who’d been passed over when Alice got her promotion to Account Manager and who would probably like to see her buried under a patio. No, thanks. She could envisage the ill-hidden glee and fake concern on Sandra’s face right now and it was enough to galvanise her into action.

‘I am fine!’ she snapped, hearing the nasal tone in her voice from all the crying and hating it. ‘I don’t need Sandra or anyone else. I’m perfectly all right.’

He totally ignored her.

‘No, you’re not. What’s up? Maybe I can help?’

The idea that she might want an emotional chat about her love life, or lack of it, with the man who was sleeping his way through the office actually raised a crazy bubble of laughter.

‘Go away,’ she snapped.

‘I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re OK.’

The concern that softened the deep voice was, of course, not genuine. Harry Stephens didn’t do concern. As Head of Graphic Design he did creative brilliance in the office and short-term devastation in his personal life. Emotions like concern need not apply. Anyone with a pulse and a pretty face in this building had probably at some point looked into his deep blue eyes and thought he would be different with her. So far, he never had been.

She was just trying to come up with an adequately cutting response that would get him off her case once and for all when he opened the door. She hadn’t considered for one second that he’d actually have the arrogance to follow her into the ladies’ room. She caught a glimpse of her own gobsmacked expression in the mirror as she dashed into one of the cubicles and twisted the lock.

‘You can’t come in here!’ she squawked.

‘I’m already in here,’ he said. A pause. ‘And I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re OK, so you might as well just come out with it.’

She heard the squeak of the wicker chair in the corner as he made himself comfortable. Despair rushed in and buried her. She’d let her guard down; let the mess she’d been in the past show through. And he’d seen it. The real Alice Ford—behind the iron-solid professional glossy persona she’d worked so hard to perfect.

The surge of grief swelled back up, too big to squash down or bat aside, and in her misery her guard slipped a little.

She sat down on the toilet, clutched her hot forehead in her hands, and closed her eyes against her wet palms. She had the beginnings of a headache.

‘It’s nothing,’ she mumbled. ‘Work stuff.’

* * *

A vague comment that would probably put most people off probing any further, Harry thought. She was the expert at keeping things on a work level. He couldn’t think of a single person in the office who had ever socialised properly with her.

He wasn’t most people.

‘Then I can definitely help,’ he said. ‘If it’s work related. I’m always happy to help out a colleague.’

‘Please will you just go away?’

The despair in her voice tugged unexpectedly at his heart. He jumped a little in surprise. Of course, he didn’t do crying women so no wonder his reactions were off kilter. He didn’t need emotional angst. Avoid like the plague.

Except that this situation was also an opportunity.

Alice Ford was the current subject of the office betting ring, an outwardly light-hearted but in reality deadly serious pastime. Naturally he had a huge stake in it and naturally he intended to win. He’d simply been biding his time. And now that time was here.

‘No chance,’ he said.

He heard her strangled sob and was on his feet before he knew what he was doing, moving across to the cubicle door. He spoke through it, making his voice gentle.

‘Come on. Tell me what’s up,’ he encouraged. ‘Is it family stuff? I know what that can be like.’ He certainly did. Putting family stuff out of his mind was pretty much up there at the top of his priorities.

‘No,’ she mumbled, between sobs.

‘Boyfriend stuff, then?’

A perfunctory suggestion and he knew it. The word was that there had been no boyfriend in years—the surprisingly high-stakes bet proved that. But no harm in confirming the fact, confirming the challenge.

‘You don’t know the first thing about it!’ she howled angrily through the door. ‘With your life-is-a-cabaret attitude.’

‘Oh, OK, so tell me the first thing about it. Has some bloke dumped you? Because if he has, he’s an idiot.’

In Harry’s opinion, flattery was always a good starting point.

She snorted bitterly.

‘Are you having some kind of a laugh?’

‘No. I just assumed that the main reason women cry in toilets is over men.’

‘Well, of course, you’d know that, wouldn’t you? I bet there have been plenty of tears shed in here over you.’

He chose to ignore that.

‘If it’s not over a man, then what the hell is it?’

‘Will you please just leave me alone?’ The anguished note rose in her voice. Maybe if he just pushed her a bit harder.

‘No. Not until you tell me what’s wrong.’

The answer came in a sobbing shout and the cubicle door rattled as if she’d beat a fist against it. He stepped back in surprise.

‘All right, then, it is over men! Plural! Not just one man, the whole damn lot of you! You think I’m having a meltdown because some bloke’s dumped me? I haven’t dated in three years. Go on and laugh it up now!’

She dissolved into a flurry of sobs again, coming up every so often to blurt out more details.

‘It’s not that I don’t want to date, it’s just been so long I haven’t a clue where to start. I can’t face the whole nightmare of meeting a guy, investing all that emotion, all that time and energy, only to be kicked in the teeth a few months down the line.’ A sob. ‘I’ll be single for ever and end up one of those women in a houseful of cats smelling of wee.’ A loud snuffle followed by a furious snarl. ‘And my clock is ticking!’ Another sob, tapering off into sniffles.

He took a moment to consider how best to play this. He couldn’t quite believe his luck. By pure coincidence he’d happened to come back to the office early, find her like this and now here it suddenly was. The chance he needed.

Insider knowledge.

A way into her life where he could then stay put long enough to win the bet and scoop the cash and the kudos.

This year or so in London, the job here, were beginning to pay dividends. Finally a sense of freedom. New place, new people. After the last few weeks he was definitely ready for a new challenge. Arabella had just been a diversion. This would be something else entirely. It was common knowledge that Alice was a workaholic who kept all men at arm’s length. Now he knew that wasn’t what she really wanted, he could use the fact to his advantage. She was just too used to being single; that was all it was.

She needed some persuasion.

‘Alice, listen to me,’ he began.

His voice was gentle and kind, and Alice’s stomach gave a sudden melty flip-flop. Apparently even in the depths of emotional meltdown her body was as receptive to his charm as the rest of the female workforce, who cared only that he looked like an Adonis with his dark-hair-blue-eyes combo and the muscular build and leftover tan from whatever sporty summer holiday he’d taken.

Fortunately she was able to rely on her mind, which knew only too well the kind of man he was.

‘You just need to get out more, that’s all,’ he said, jump-starting her temper, which up to now had been squashed into submission by humiliation and disbelief. She unwound a huge wad of toilet roll and wiped her eyes angrily.

‘I need to get out more?’ she snapped through the door. The simplicity of the suggestion, pigeon-holing all her problems into one easy sentence, infuriated her. ‘Like you, you mean? Your social life is the talk of the post room. You must be barely ever home. I’m surprised you’re able to fit work in. Don’t you ever wonder what the point of it all is?’

There was a surprised silence.

‘The point is to have fun,’ he said. ‘Look, I’m not trying to criticise. I’m just saying that the sun doesn’t rise and set with Innova. When did you last go out? Socially, I mean. For a drink or a meal?’

‘I go out,’ she said defensively, glaring at the back of the cubicle door, imagining him on the other side of it, with his dark tousled hair, crinkly-eyed smile, and his endless string of girlfriends and rampant social life. An image of her own previous evening flashed into her mind. Herself on the sofa, Kevin the cat on one side, stack of work files on the other, laptop open, CSI box set on the TV in the background. Hell, it might as well be an image of any evening this week. This year.

‘When? Where? Who with?’

‘What are you, my father? I see people.’ She frowned indignantly at the closed door.

‘See me, then,’ he said in a low voice and that soft melty sensation bubbled hotly back up inside her. She slid her hands across her middle and pressed hard to make it stop as she groped for a suitable response. Any response.

‘Alice?’ he said. Her stupid heart had begun to beat madly.

She took a deep calming breath.

‘What?’

His voice was low and close. She knew he must be literally right on the other side of the door.

‘If you haven’t dated for a long time and you’re thinking of getting back out there—’

‘I didn’t say that!’ she snapped. Oh, what the hell was she thinking, blurting out all her problems to him? At best he could go back to the office and report that Ice-Queen Ford was having a crying fit over being perpetually single. At worst, there really might be a Page Two of the damn bet pool and Harry Stephens could be right there on it with a big fat stake.

His voice was serious though, steady, making her feel as if he could see perfectly well through her bravado. Her insides felt suddenly squiggly.

‘Because if you were...’

‘Were what?’

Her thumping heart seemed to be working independently of her mind.

Please. Was she actually having a swooning moment over Harry Stephens of all people? After all she’d been through in the past had her body learned nothing? Did her heart have no reservations about reacting to the most unreliable playboy bachelor London had ever seen? Over the past year or so, he’d had more female workers in tears than she’d had hot coffees! She gritted her teeth. Obviously she’d been thrown off balance by discovery of the bet. Her usual defences had been scrambled.

‘If you were thinking about dating again, maybe you’d like to go for a drink,’ he said.

‘With you?’

The question exploded from her lips in the form of a laugh. Because it was laughable, wasn’t it? That after her past experiences she would look twice at someone like him.

‘Your amusement could be construed as an insult, you know,’ he said mildly.

‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘Sorry.’

Stock answer. No excuse required. Always worked on the run-of-the-mill guys in the office, those that dared broach the aloof distance she kept between herself and her colleagues. She could count the times she’d been asked out at work on one hand and, come to think of it, two of them had been in the last month or so. Her cheeks flushed hotly. Now she knew why—because there was a pot of cash waiting to be scooped by the man who managed to land her. She wondered again if Harry was involved.

‘Of course you can,’ he said. ‘No one works twenty-four-seven. Not even you. It’s only a drink. An hour. Everyone has an hour.’

‘I’m busy,’ she said again. ‘I don’t date.’

In Harry Stephens’s world, of course, no meant maybe. He realised it was a simple matter of finding the right approach. One that might appeal to her reluctance to get out there instead of feeding it. Start small. If she hadn’t dated for years, more than a drink or a coffee was going to seem monumental. And most important of all, offer some kind of incentive.

Make her think he could be part of the solution instead of part of the problem.

‘Just hear me out,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a proposition for you.’

‘What kind of proposition?’

The upset tone had slipped from her voice. He could almost hear the ticking over of her mind, her attention raised because he’d given his question a detached work-style tone.

‘I’m exactly what you need,’ he said. ‘To help you get back out there.’

TWO

There was a snap as the lock twisted back on the cubicle door and then Alice was in front of him. The tears had dried and her face was no longer purple. She looked pale and tired, her eyes red-rimmed from all the crying. Her hair, still partially twisted into its chignon, stuck out at odd angles. She took a deliberate side-step around him and moved across to the sink, putting a good space between them. Harry saw her grimace at her own reflection before she turned her gaze back on him.

As her eyes narrowed a spark of sudden heat zipped up his spine. Obviously because Alice Ford didn’t do vulnerable, he decided, that was all. She did polished and professional. He was bound to react to such a change in her.

‘What do you mean, you’re exactly what I need?’

Her arms were crossed defensively, her face totally suffused with suspicion and he knew that convincing her he was genuine was going to be tough. Then again, tough had never caused him a problem before.

‘What if I were to offer you my services?’ he said.

She was looking at him as if she thought he might be crazy.

‘Your services? As what exactly?’

He shrugged, leaned back against the wall and looked her in the eye.

‘As someone who dates a lot. Someone who’s out there.’

He ignored the cynical expression on her face and forged ahead.

‘Instead of going to bars or restaurants on your own, come out with me. You said yourself just now, you’re rusty. And starting from scratch at anything is pretty daunting—right? Just think of the alternatives.’ He shrugged. ‘There’s internet dating, where you never know if the person showing up is a serial killer.’

‘As opposed to a serial dater,’ she said, eyebrows raised.

‘Hey, that’s an advantage! I’ve probably been on more first dates than anyone else you know. I’m used to the social scene. I know all the best places to go to meet new people. I’m perfect for the job. Whatever your reason is for staying out of the field these last three years, whatever moron has stitched you up or treated you badly in the past—’

‘How do you know that’s the reason?’ she snapped, his interest sharpening at her sudden defensiveness. ‘I’ve been putting work first, that’s all. Focusing on my career. It’s as simple as that. I don’t need your help.’

‘OK, OK.’ He held his hands up. ‘You’ve still been out of the field for a while. Out of the social scene, out of the habit of getting to know people.’

‘I get to know people!’ she protested.

He deliberately fixed his gaze on hers.

‘Professionally maybe. But what about getting to know someone for pleasure?’

He saw a soft blush touch the porcelain skin of her cheekbones. He had her on edge. He liked having that effect on her.

‘Just think about it for a minute. A few no-strings dates with me and you’ll have checked out a few nice bars, maybe a restaurant or two, you will have broken the ice, started talking to people about something other than work for a change.’ He winked at her. ‘You’ll be back out there. Problem solved.’ He paused, then added an extra touch of encouragement. ‘And no one needs to know we ever had this conversation.’

Momentary relief in her eyes as she picked up on that last sentence. And then a sceptical smile touched the corner of her mouth, drawing his attention there.

‘And assuming I were to go along with this, what happens once I am “back out there”?’

He shrugged.

‘Then, when it runs its course, we part company and you make your own way forward, back in full control.’ He held his hands up in what he hoped was a you-can-trust-me gesture. ‘Totally risk-free.’

She gave him an amused look from beneath her dark eyelashes and his pulse rate began to climb unexpectedly. When you bothered to look beyond the starchy business persona she really was a knockout. She just needed to loosen up a bit.

‘Come on,’ he persuaded. ‘What have you got to lose?’

Her gaze narrowed suddenly.

‘And what exactly is in it for you? Why the hell would you want to take me out when you have the pick of the office, not to mention the city? I’m sure HR are recruiting at the moment—there should be a whole new intake of candidates for you to hit on if you wait a week or two. You’ve never seemed to have a problem finding someone before. And judging by the trail of devastation you leave around the office they all seem to be a bit more into you than I am.’

He grinned.

‘Maybe I like a challenge.’

She only looked at him levelly. How come he hadn’t realised before how softly pretty she was? Her wide brown eyes were fringed with thick dark lashes contrasting richly with her creamy skin. The way she pulled her dark hair severely back from her face combined with the sharply tailored business suits she favoured made the overall impression coldly keep-your-distance professional, not pretty or sexy. Which, he realised, was probably the point.

‘What about Angela? Or is it Emily?’ She flung an exasperated hand up. ‘That temp from Accounts.’

‘I think you must mean Ellie,’ he said. ‘It’s been over for a while. I’ve actually been out of the field myself this past month.’

He didn’t count yesterday’s one-night stand. Extra-short-term flings were the new thing.

She gave an amused sniff.

‘Am I supposed to feel an affinity with that? A month is hardly an abstention, is it? It’s more of a...breather.’

‘OK, so it doesn’t come close to your three-year cold spell,’ he said, ‘but it’s still been a deliberate step back.’

He took a breath, the hassle of the last few weeks zipping spectacularly through his mind in a haze of all-night repetitive phone calls and shredded clothes. Thankfully it seemed to be over now and he’d learned from his mistakes. From now on, clear caveats up front and no letting it run on too long. More than a month seemed to be code for women that moving in together was a realistic next step.

He shrugged. ‘Is it so unbelievable to you that I might want to take you out?’

* * *

Alice stared at him.

Actually, yes. Forgive me for being cautious but I have just discovered I’m the office joke.

‘How come you haven’t asked me out before, then?’ she asked. ‘Why now?’

‘You do have a bit of a...well, a reputation.’ He ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it, obviously struggling to put it tactfully.

She tensed. If he dared use the term ‘Ice-Queen’, murder might be on the cards.

‘Oh, really?’ she said.

‘As being a bit aloof. But you must have been asked out before, surely?’

‘A couple of times,’ she said. ‘A firm “no” has always been enough before.’

He grinned.

‘I don’t give up that easily. When I see something I want, I make sure I get it.’

She jumped a little at the muffled ping of the lift outside followed by a flurry of voices and footsteps. Her colleagues, pouring back into the office. She needed to regain her composure if she was going to go back out there. And if she wanted him to keep quiet about her little meltdown just now, it might pay to keep him onside.

Risk-free, he’d said. There was a small part of her that zoomed in on those two words.

Three years and she hadn’t so much as been out for a coffee with a man. She had anticipated the day she agreed to a date again would be some kind of milestone. Broken heart fully healed. Pain resigned to the distant past along with sewer-rat Simon and his photographs. But now it seemed the last three years of swearing off the opposite sex had been totally pointless. She was in exactly the same place now as she had been then—the butt of amused gossip. This time because she didn’t date instead of because she did.

Deep down her stomach twisted into agonising knots at the thought of putting herself back out there again. What the hell was wrong with staying in? She never got behind on any TV shows and it saved her a fortune in clothes.

The thought of going out with someone as dangerous as Harry Stephens was akin to playing with fire. But risk-free, he said.

In the face of the day she’d had, knowing how she was viewed by the entire office, she could see that a date with him might have its merits. She had to do something. Even a stupid ego-boosting date with the office lothario was something if it was done on her terms. And since what she wanted was to prove a point, wasn’t he the perfect choice? High profile in the circles she moved in. Gorgeous. And indiscreet—he wasn’t above dumping his conquests in full view of the office, seeming to revel in his reputation as a player. He’d be bound to tell half the office that he’d been out for a drink with the Ice-Queen. That would throw a spanner in the works of their sad little sweepstake. And she could always back out later if she changed her mind.

She had a choice: end this day as Ice-Queen Ford or accept the offer of a drink and at least be able to tell herself she had a date, no matter that it was with the most unsuitable man in the universe.

‘OK,’ she said impulsively.

He looked momentarily surprised and she realised he hadn’t really expected her to say yes. The idea that she was acting out of character spurred her on even more, offering a stab of what felt like excitement. Except it couldn’t be, because she didn’t do excitement.

Hah! Didn’t expect that, did he? Didn’t expect a yes from Ice-Queen Ford!

To his credit, he collected himself quickly.

‘Great,’ he said. ‘After work?’

The sudden scary reality of what she was doing kicked in and she scrabbled for thinking time.

‘Tonight’s difficult,’ she said. ‘I’m cooking for my flatmate.’ Never mind the fact that slave-to-the-ready-meal Tilly wouldn’t give a damn if she changed her plans.

A muffled laugh from outside the room made her tense. Was this how it was going to be? Thinking every chuckle in the office, every whispered conversation was about her? Enough was enough.

‘I’ll check my diary and let you know,’ she said.

* * *

‘If it bothers you that much—which it must do because it’s all you’ve talked about since you got home—give me one good reason why you aren’t just taking it to the top and getting the whole damn lot of them fired or reprimanded, or whatever it is you do in an office environment?’

Besides sharing a childhood and now a flat with Alice, Tilly sold ethnic jewellery at various markets, dabbled in various other off-the-wall jobs and had an ongoing role as Alice’s voice of reason. Now she pushed her chilli-pepper-red hair out of her eyes and leaned back against the kitchen counter while Alice put dinner together.

‘Because then I’d have to hand this piece of paper over to my boss.’ Alice brandished the betting pool under Tilly’s nose.

Tilly pulled a face.

‘Blimey, he’s not on the list, is he?’

She shook her head. ‘Not as far as I know. Thank goodness. At least there’s one man in the building who isn’t a chauvinist. But it would lead to a big investigation—I’d have to discuss it all in detail. I just can’t face the embarrassment of it all.’

The thought of slipping this piece of paper in front of the CEO filled her with dark horror at the way it portrayed her. Not just the Ice-Queen comment, but the very fact her colleagues were betting on her behaviour. All her hard work to build the perfect corporate image obviously hadn’t cut the mustard with her subordinates. All this time she’d been priding herself on the way her colleagues regarded her. But it was clear from this situation that she didn’t command the slightest bit of respect and revealing that to her boss would only diminish her standing even further. It was like school all over again, picking your way through the years, trying to keep your head below the parapet so you didn’t attract any unwanted attention.

Tilly pursed her lips, considering.

‘You have a point. Plus you don’t want the hideous creeps to think they’ve got to you.’

‘Which they haven’t.’ Alice pointed the wooden spoon emphatically at Tilly, then went back to stirring the chilli con carne.

‘’Course they haven’t, honey. So instead you handle this the only way you can.’

‘Which is?’

‘You have to see it as a sign, use it to your own advantage.’ She waved her fingers in the air in an all-encompassing gesture.

Alice tried not to roll her eyes in exasperation. Did she have to put a mystic slant on everything?

‘For Pete’s sake, Tilly, don’t ask me to see this as some kind of karma, some fatalistic indication from the gods.’

‘Everything happens for a reason,’ Tilly countered.

Alice sighed.

‘OK, then, a sign of what?’

‘That you need to actually do that thing you’re always talking about but never do.’

‘Which is?’

Tilly leaned forward. ‘Get back out there. This whole bet is based on the fact you never so much as go for a drink with a guy. Ever. They see you as some power-suited, uptight workaholic. That’s what they’ve latched on to—that’s the stick they’re beating you with. Well, you’ve licked your wounds long enough. Get back on that dating horse, Ice-Queen, and prove that moronic bunch wrong. Stop procrastinating and go out with this guy from work.’

She folded her arms triumphantly. There were times when Alice wondered how on earth she and Tilly could be such good friends.

‘I’m not ready,’ she protested.

‘You never are. But that’s OK, there is one other option.’

Alice brightened immediately.

‘What’s that?’

‘You could become a nun.’

‘Very funny.’

‘Look, you’ve said you want a family one day. That means at some point you’re going to have to bite the bullet and date again. It might as well be now. This could be just the push you need. And this guy, this Harry, asked you out today.’ She shrugged. ‘So go out with him.’ She winked at Alice. ‘Or I could have a think if you prefer. Julian’s bound to have a few single mates I could set you up with.’

Tilly’s boyfriend, Julian, was a strict vegan who had actually done that experiment whereby if you ceased washing your hair it would eventually cease needing to be washed. The matted result hadn’t convinced Alice to give up the shampoo and conditioner any time soon.

‘Thanks but Julian’s not...’ She groped for a tactful description.

‘Not really your type?’ Tilly grinned. ‘Then go out with this Harry from the office.’

‘But he’s exactly the kind of guy I wouldn’t touch with a bargepole. He’s broken more hearts than you’ve been to music festivals. Harry Stephens: King of the One-night Stand.’

‘Sounds the perfect foil for an Ice-Queen,’ Tilly said, snatching a bread roll from the worktop. ‘And it certainly sounds like he’s into you.’

Alice frowned.

‘I’m not sure he’s exactly into me, as you so classily put it. He offered me his services. As Serial Dater.’

‘As what?’

Tilly looked mystified and Alice couldn’t really blame her. It did sound ludicrous spoken out loud.

‘When I knocked him back on just going out for a drink, he tried to sell it as helping me back into a social life. I think he sees it as some kind of personal glory trip, like he’s mentoring me or something because I’m obviously socially inept. He’s getting off on it, like some kind of dating fairy godfather.’ She put a hand briefly over her eyes. ‘It’s almost too humiliating—the idea that he thinks I would need his input into my social life.’

‘Well, you do,’ Tilly said around a mouthful of bread. ‘I thought that was a given. And you could do worse. A lot easier to start trying out the nightlife, eyeing up the talent, if you’re on the arm of someone at the...you know...hub of it all. He’ll know all the best places to go. You can really get your confidence up instead of sitting on your own in a corner with a mineral water waiting for someone to approach you. Someone totally unsuitable.’

Alice raised offended eyebrows. Tilly jabbed the roll at her.

‘You do have a bit of a history.’

She had to concede Tilly had a point.

Tilly lobbed the remains of the roll in the bin and hoisted herself up to sit on the counter next to the hob.

‘Go on. It’ll be fun. And after this whole betting debacle, what the hell have you got to lose? Can a couple of dates make you feel more of a loser than you already do?’

‘You’re seriously testing our friendship here, you know.’

‘I’m being honest with you like I always am. That’s why you love me!’

Alice stirred the chilli. She had to admit Tilly had a point. Every second of the rest of the day in the office had passed excruciatingly. The bet swamped her mind and she was filled with frustration, hating the fact that she couldn’t face reporting them. Strong Alice Ford, who ate errant juniors for breakfast, couldn’t take a bunch of men to task for messing about in work time at her expense. She had believed herself stronger, more rebuilt than that, and it had crushed her confidence more than she wanted to admit, even to Tilly.

‘What if he’s in on the bet too? Why else would he want to take me out?’

‘Is it really so impossible to believe that he might just find you attractive?’ Tilly said.

‘I’m not the usual kind of girl he goes for.’

Tilly frowned.

‘Maybe he’s upping his game, then. Look, he wasn’t on the list, was he? Are you sure you got a full copy of the names?’

She shook her head.

‘I don’t know... I tore the desk apart looking for a Page Two or, worse, Page Three. That one page is all there was. But I can’t be sure. Even if I asked him he’d deny it.’

Tilly pursed her lips, considering.

‘OK, forget about his motives for a second. Does it even matter whether he’s in on the bet or not? Why not just look at what’s in this for you? Like it or not, you really could do with his input. Don’t you think the insights you could get from dating someone like him, from just watching his behaviour, might be valuable?’

And suddenly there it was.

A flash of inspiration that fell on her like a ton of bricks, a bucket of ice, a jolt of electricity. Not a foolproof way through the minefield that was dating, more an approach to it. One that appealed to her constant desire to be in control, to avoid the pitfalls she’d shown herself to be so susceptible to in the past.

‘Erm, I think that might be burning,’ Tilly said.

Alice suddenly realised the chilli was catching on the bottom and Tilly was staring at her. She shook herself and stirred it vigorously.

‘I could use him to build up a profile,’ she said, thinking out loud.

‘A what?’

She looked at Tilly with sudden excitement.

‘What if I could use him to come up with a behaviour profile? A list of the way players react in certain situations so I can identify that type of man in the future before I get in too deep? I can come up with a list from my own experiences, then test it on Harry. Think about it. Think how much a list like that would have helped me when I was going out with Simon—I would have recognised from the start what kind of man he was and I could have kicked him into touch way before any damage was done.’ And saved myself a whole lot of grief.

‘Harry Stephens is the embodiment of everything I need to avoid in a man.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, except for the chiselled face and super-fit body. He’s the worst kind of player. He has zero regard for the women he takes out but he’s so gorgeous that none of them are able to see past that. I’ve seen enough assistants crying into their coffee over him at work to know that. Well, I can see past that, and I can use him to build myself some dating criteria.’

Tilly was staring at her as if she might be mad.

‘Oh, for crying out loud, you and your lists! You can’t possibly be serious. This isn’t the office—this is the real world. You can’t run every facet of your life that way. It won’t work.’

‘It can’t hurt. How hard can it be? All I have to do is go on a few dates.’

‘While not falling for him. What about that chiselled face and super-fit body? The broad shoulders you told me about? You can’t backtrack now and tell me you don’t find him attractive.’

‘OK, he is attractive,’ she conceded, rolling her eyes. ‘But with his track record, falling for him is the last thing I’m going to do.’

Her mind was running with the idea now, trying to get it off the ground.

‘I could take it step by step. How does a player behave on a first date? How long does it take him to call or text? That kind of thing.’

‘When does he go for a first kiss? How long does he wait before he tries to get you into bed?’ Tilly said.

Sudden heat curled up through Alice’s body and pooled softly in her stomach at the thought. Since it had been three years since she’d had sex she cut her stupid overreacting body some slack and ignored it.

‘I wasn’t thinking so much about the physical side of dating,’ she said through gritted teeth.

‘Well, you’d better get started.’

Tilly jumped down from the counter and retrieved a bottle of wine from the fridge.

‘Because you can bet whatever you like that the physical side of dating is exactly what he’s thinking about.’

* * *

Harry found himself at the office brutally early for a change. Waking early, he had found sleep shoved aside by thoughts of uptight Alice with her work obsession and her challenging attitude. He wasn’t about to be put off by a bit of procrastination. He sought her out at her desk, certain that she would be there despite the crushingly early hour, because she always was. He was right. Perfectly groomed as always, a takeaway coffee on one side of the pristine desk.

She glanced up as he approached.

‘That drink,’ she said, before he had the chance to get back in and start persuading. ‘I’ve thought it over and I’d like to go, if the offer’s still on.’

Bet your life the offer was still on.

He knew once he got her out and alone with him that he could convert the situation into whatever he wanted it to be. Yet the expected stab of triumph didn’t for some reason materialise. After yesterday’s coldness, the sudden change of heart was unexpected and he didn’t miss the cautious tone of her voice or the way she fidgeted with the pen in her hand. He was struck again by how appealing he found her. Had she really not been out with a guy for three years? Despite the severe business dress and scraped-back hair, she was undeniably pretty and smart. What the hell had happened to her to make her withdraw like that?

‘’Course it’s still on. Let me know your address and I’ll pick you up.’

She held up a hand.

‘Please, let me finish. First of all, we need to talk terms.’

Not such an easy victory after all, then.

‘Terms?’

‘Yes,’ she said. She gave him a businesslike smile across the desk, pen twiddling between her fingers.

He felt a spark of amusement.

‘You’re going out on a date, not buying a car.’

She pursed her lips. He tried to drag his eyes away; the soft fullness of them was just delectable.

‘True,’ she said. ‘But in my opinion there’d be a lot less heartbreak and the divorce rate would be a lot lower if people just took the time to negotiate terms a bit. Get it all sorted up front so everyone knows where they stand and there’s no danger of misunderstandings. Ergo, no one gets hurt.’ She pointed her pen at him. ‘Someone like you could benefit a lot from terms, I think.’

‘Someone like me?’

‘Yes.’ She looked up at him. ‘A, you know, player.’ She dropped her eyes quickly away from his and looked down at her desk.

‘Is that what I am?’ he said, biting back a smile.

She didn’t look up.

‘Did you or did you not hand back a pair of earrings to Arabella yesterday, pointing out that she’d left it at your place and making it clear she wouldn’t be visiting you there again, thereby causing her to take sick leave for the day?’

Was this for real?

He inclined his head cautiously. ‘OK, maybe I did.’

She nodded triumphantly.

‘And so we have terms.’

A flash of exasperation made him wonder whether she might drive him nuts just over the course of an hour or so, let alone a series of dates. Was this really worthwhile for a bit of a laugh and a few hundred quid? She took high maintenance to the next level.

Higher maintenance.

Then his eyes dipped down again to her full lower lip and the determined look in the dark brown eyes and unexpected heat began to burn low in his abdomen.

It occurred to him that maybe just what he needed after the last month or so was an antidote to pushover. So she was difficult. So what? There were half a dozen girls he could call up right now who would fall at his feet. He couldn’t be less interested in any of them. It seemed that wasn’t what piqued his attention these days. Not any more. Easy was just...well, too damned easy. And easy led to a lot of hassle when it ended.

‘Go on,’ he said.

‘Great!’ She smiled up at him. ‘Then let’s be clear. This is just a few dates. Nothing serious. I won’t be jumping into bed with you.’ She held his gaze briefly before dropping her eyes. ‘I’m not that kind of girl.’

So this was her setting up ground rules? He bit the inside of his mouth to suppress a grin.

‘Sounds risk-free,’ he said.

‘It is.’

‘Unless you fall for me.’

‘That isn’t going to happen. You are the exact opposite of the type of man I’m looking for. In the long term, I mean.’

She took a sip of her coffee.

‘When you’re back up to speed, so to speak.’

She nodded. ‘Exactly. I’ve had enough of guys like you to last me a lifetime. I need a keeper.’

‘A keeper,’ he repeated.

‘Yes. The polar opposite of player. Treats you with respect and isn’t commitment-phobic.’

‘I’ll treat you with respect,’ he protested.

‘And the commitment part?’

He shrugged.

‘Maybe thinking that far ahead just takes all the fun out of it.’

She gave him a dismissive smile that told him she couldn’t agree less.

‘I just want to be clear from the outset that this isn’t going to get serious.’

If by serious she meant physical, he was confident he could turn that around. No need to argue the point now though—let her have it her way.

He held his hands up.

‘Suits me fine.’

She examined her fingernails.

‘You never know, I might even be able to give you a few pointers if you like. On how to treat women...you know...properly. On where you’re going wrong.’

For a moment he couldn’t quite believe his ears. Was she actually suggesting he needed dating advice?

‘Where I’m going wrong? You’re the one who’s spent the last three years in the dating desert, not me.’

‘That was by choice. I could have dated—I just didn’t want to.’

‘Why not?’

She dropped her eyes from his.

‘None of your business,’ she said.

Something must have happened. She’d been dumped badly, maybe cheated on. He wasn’t about to press the point right now though, not when he almost had the date in the bag.

‘No offence,’ he said, ‘but I don’t need any pointers, thanks very much.’

She shrugged.

‘Please yourself. But you can’t deny some of your behaviour is a bit...’

‘Detached?’

‘Brutal. We’ve probably lost weeks of productivity with the amount of sick leave your broken hearts have caused around here.’

‘That isn’t my fault,’ he protested. ‘I make it clear from the outset I’m not interested in settling down. Can I be blamed when people read more into it than that?’

‘We should get on perfectly, then. Neither of us wants anything serious.’

He held her gaze deliberately.

‘You never know, you might find a player is more fun after all.’

He caught the blush again, high on her cheekbones. Nice.

‘We’ll see,’ she said. She looked back down at her notepad.

He watched her transfer her focus back to her computer, eager to get back into professional mode, thinking she was in full control. So the date was his. First stage of the mission accomplished. If she wanted to think of it as some platonic outing then he was prepared to agree to it.

Agreeing to it didn’t mean honouring it.

Winning the bet required getting her into his bed, not just taking her out. That would take time and effort and it was going to be interesting. He wasn’t about to fail before he’d even begun.

‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Eleven-thirty. Let me know your address.’

She snapped her eyes back up.

‘Eleven-thirty? In the morning?’

She looked wrong-footed, and he grinned.

‘How long has it been—three years? You’re obviously stuck in a rut of dinner-and-cinema.’

‘But I thought we were going out for a drink.’

‘We are,’ he said, enjoying keeping her on her toes. ‘Coffee. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

THREE

ALICE FORD’S DATING SURVIVAL CRITERIA—HOW TO IDENTIFY & AVOID A PLAYER.

Rule #1 First Date. How does he play it? A keeper will be interested in getting to know you. A player will be all about getting his hands on you.


Alice had forgotten what a minefield it was just getting ready for a first date, let alone actually going on one. Even an experimental one for research purposes. Unfortunately telling herself that dating him was a project, to be treated in the same dispassionate way as a work assignment, didn’t seem to be having any effect on her nerves, which were zipping around in her belly and making her knees wobbly.

Not that she actually gave a damn what Harry thought of her or her appearance.

But still, it was ages since she’d been out and knowing him they were bound to be going somewhere cutting-edge trendy, probably for lunch. What the hell did the hip twenty-something London crowd wear these days?

The imbalance in her wardrobe reflected the imbalance in her life.

Still hanging in the cupboard: getting on for a dozen work suits—some with trousers, some with skirts; a huge selection of shirts and blouses in sensible office styles; opaque tights; court shoes; shoe boots, predominant colour scheme black, grey and blue.

Still in the drawer, although she felt like dragging them out and telling Harry to get stuffed, she was far too busy with a tub of ice cream and a box set to even think of going out this side of Christmas: a wide selection of greying loungewear track pants and vests, numerous pyjamas and bedsocks.

And finally, scattered over the bed, the contenders for today: a meagre selection of tops and well-worn T-shirts, a shirt in a soft pale grey material that she’d bought on impulse and never worn, a couple of pairs of jeans and a little black dress that was way too smart for daytime.

She’d started getting ready what felt like hours ago and suddenly there were five minutes left before he was due to show up and she still hadn’t made a final decision on what to wear. She’d seriously underestimated the sheer size of the project of turning herself from hairy-legged couch potato into someone who might look at home hanging around a trendy London eatery. The hair removal alone had taken ages. Not that she intended to remove a single item of clothing in the presence of Harry Stephens, but it made her feel marginally more attractive knowing that if she did she wouldn’t look like Bigfoot from the waist down.

All of which meant she’d now have to stick with the silver-grey shirt and jeans combo she was wearing and hope for the best.

She pushed her feet into black ballet flats and grabbed her black jacket just as the doorbell rang. Her stupid heart, which obviously was out of practice and working rustily at best, began hammering in her chest. For God’s sake, Harry Stephens was not a boyfriend—he was a task. With any luck her body would quickly get to grips with that and revert to...well, to efficient-work-mode might actually be good.

He was right on time. She wondered if that was typical behaviour. Come across as perfect from the outset and your excuses might hold more weight when you start playing around in a few dates’ time.

She took a deep breath and went for the door.

He was leaning against the jamb, wearing jeans and a dark blue shirt that picked out the colour of his eyes, a relaxed grin playing about his lips.

‘Morning,’ he said.

‘Come in a sec, I just need to grab my bag.’ She kept her voice as level as she could although her pulse rate was going crazy.

She was acutely aware of him as he followed her into the tiny sitting room. She could smell the light citrus of his aftershave on warm skin. She concentrated hard on staying calm.

‘Nice place you’ve got,’ he said, looking around. ‘Very tidy.’

‘Thanks,’ she said.

‘And interesting artwork.’ He nodded at the wall above the fireplace and she glanced up.

‘That’s one of Tilly’s pictures, my flatmate. She’s quite arty.’ She leaned over the back of the sofa to grab her bag. ‘She’s also out.’

‘You look gorgeous,’ he said as she turned back round, his blue gaze catching hers. He was closer behind her than she realised, close enough for her to see the dark flecks in his eyes, the light stubble defining his jawline. Her lack of heels meant she had to tilt her head up to meet his gaze.

Her stomach gave a slow and delicious flip. Keeping her mind on her plan even if her body wasn’t, she put a quick couple of extra paces between them.

‘Would you always say that as standard, or does it vary?’ she asked, poised to mentally file away his answer.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Do you always compliment a woman when you take her out for the first time?’

He had a slightly bemused expression on his face.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Always. Always tell her she looks fantastic.’

‘Even if she doesn’t?’

‘Particularly if she doesn’t. Not that I’d be going out with her if she looked like a moose. It’s a no-brainer,’ he said, grinning at her raised eyebrows. ‘I want you to go out with me and have a good time, not slap me in the face.’

‘So, technically, your compliment just now is meaningless because you would have given it even if I was dressed in a bin bag.’

A smile lifted the corner of his mouth and creased his eyes at the corners. He looked heartstoppingly gorgeous.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘Nothing. I was just imagining you in a bin bag. Even more gorgeous than you look in those jeans.’

The predatory way he was looking at her made heat begin to curl through her stomach. The room was suddenly feeling too warm, too small with just the two of them in it.

‘Let’s just go,’ she snapped.

She led the way outside and stared dismally down the path at his open-top sports car. Typical. All that time spent taming her hair into casually undone waves and by the time she’d done a journey in that it would have reverted to bird’s nest.


Rule #2 Do not be seduced by compliments. A player will say anything to get what he wants.

* * *

Harry took the opportunity to catch his breath as she walked ahead of him down the steps. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t this. He realised that without thinking he’d been waiting for her to open the door in her usual business suit.

She was unrecognisable as the tightly strung woman he encountered at work every day. Gone was the firmly coiled sleek hairdo in favour of dark waves that spilled over her shoulders, framing her face and highlighting the soft brown eyes and the high cheekbones. The absence of heels and harsh tailoring made her seem smaller and almost fragile.

All moisture had leeched unexpectedly from his mouth.

There was a soft vulnerability about her that she managed to smother with her relentlessly efficient business persona, keeping everyone at an arm’s-length professional level. Seeing it now in the nervous dart of her eyes up to his made his senses zing into action.

He focused hard on starting the car, going through the automatic motions of pulling away into the late-morning traffic. Visual stimulation, that was all it was. Nothing more. Underneath the relaxed jeans and silvery shirt that emphasised her pale skin, she was exactly the same woman.

Higher maintenance.

The way she looked was irrelevant, in fact should simply be seen as a nice bonus. Winning was the aim here, and if he could have a good time along the way, so much the better. But still, he should be thinking how best to push her to the limit he needed, not being distracted by the delectable curve of her neck when she pushed her hair back.

Keep your eye on the prize.

He could sense her nerves from the way she held her bag on her lap, fiddled with its strap and looked straight ahead. He needed to get her to relax. Be as amenable and easy as possible until he could work out what made her tick.

She was just another woman, after all. How hard could it be?

‘Where are we going, then?’ she asked as he worked his way into central London. ‘Some bar, I suppose, or restaurant.’ He saw a flash of anxiety in the tense set of her jaw and knew he’d made the right decision by dismissing the cutting-edge trendy brasserie in Knightsbridge that had briefly crossed his mind. If anyone ever needed to loosen up a little, it was her.

‘You’ll see.’

* * *

‘Regent’s Park?’

He didn’t miss the hint of cynicism in her voice as he led the way through the Clarence Gate entrance. It was a blue-skied September day and a broad pathway between perfectly manicured green lawns lay ahead of them in the glorious sunshine.

‘When you said I needed to get out more, I didn’t realise you meant it so literally,’ Alice said.

‘Now don’t start grouching before we’ve even begun.’ He grabbed her hand and tucked it through his arm, letting her step fall into line with his. ‘You’re going to love it. I thought we could go for a walk, maybe get a coffee, relax for a while, get to know each other. Then we can find somewhere for lunch. Where did you think I was taking you? Straight back to my shag-pad?’

‘I wouldn’t put anything past you.’ She was glad of the sunshine warming her face, perfect for disguising a blush. ‘I suppose I thought we’d go somewhere in town. A restaurant for lunch maybe. Trendier. Busier. With loads of background noise, music, people.’

‘There are lots of places I could take you exactly like that. But I thought you might prefer something a bit more laid-back. Your whole life seems to revolve around work and when you do go out for dinner or drinks it’s probably work-related too. When did you last take a walk in the park?’

‘Back when I was living at home.’ Her mind treated her to an unwelcome flash of the graffiti-festooned park near her mother’s house in Dorset.

‘You’ve lived in London all this time and you haven’t been to the parks?’

She shook her head, bristling a little at the implication she was some kind of hermit.

‘You don’t seem a park kind of a person either,’ she said defensively. He didn’t.

‘Well, that just goes to show how wrong you can be when you judge someone on second-hand information.’

She managed not to laugh at that. If he thought a curved ball of a daytime date would be enough to cast doubt on his playboy reputation, he was deluded.

‘Sometimes a bit of open green space is just the thing. We can talk, get to know each other. Difficult to do that when you have to shout over music or elbow your way through crowds.’

Get to know each other. Her heart began to step up the beat, causing a rush of exasperation. Why couldn’t she just block out all this physical-reaction claptrap and concentrate on the task at hand? As if she were interviewing a candidate for a job or handling a business meeting maybe.

She concentrated hard on the surroundings as they carried on strolling. The sun dappled the path through the trees and warmed her back.

‘I can’t believe you’ve been single for so long,’ he was saying. ‘You’re smart, you’re gorgeous. Why would someone like you stay out of the field so long? It just doesn’t make sense.’

Her mind zeroed in. Flattery and compliments were obviously the order of the day on first dates with him, then. She wondered how long that would continue. Second date maybe? Or until he got you into his bed? She intended to abort her experiment way before it reached that point.

‘I never really meant for it to be that long,’ she said. ‘I just got wrapped up in my professional life. You make me sound like some kind of an alien because I haven’t done the London sights, but plenty of people put work first. There’s nothing wrong with that.’

Landing a job at Innova had been a huge achievement for her. As a teenager she’d thrown herself head first into her schoolwork while her parents focused on tearing strips off one another, enjoying the escape it offered. Her excellent results had almost been a side-effect rather than the main aim. Not that she hadn’t been delighted—it had enabled her to land the university place she’d wanted and then the job of her dreams.

‘I never said there was.’

She took a sideways glance at him, walking beside her. He looked like an off-duty actor in his laid-back jeans and shirt and dark glasses, drawing glances from every girl that passed them. She felt bland and insignificant next to him with her old clothes and messy hair when she was used to dealing with him on the professional level playing field that was the office.

‘You always get a good return on work,’ she said, sticking grimly to a subject where she felt she could have the upper hand. He had the most slapdash work ethic she’d ever come across, which was all the more annoying because he undeniably got the job done. ‘Doesn’t matter how much effort you put in, it won’t be wasted. It can only be beneficial.’

‘Unlike your private life?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘So you’re quite happy with your work-life balance, then?’

Her standard answer, a resounding yes rehearsed to the point of perfection, lurked in her mouth.

‘Not exactly,’ she said, knowing he was watching her. ‘I’ll admit things may have got a bit one-sided.’ She shrugged. ‘Let’s just say it’s very easy to get used to nights in all the time. No pressure. No need to think about pleasing anyone else.’

And no worries about being hurt by anyone.

‘And you get all the validation you want from achievements at work?’

‘Exactly!’ She looked up at him with a smile, pleased that he understood where she was coming from.

‘Being successful doesn’t have to come at the expense of a good time,’ he said.

Well, of course, he would think that, wouldn’t he?

‘Spoken like an expert,’ she said.

As they walked she began to find the city pace that was so ingrained being pushed back into a stroll by the surroundings. She took her jacket off and slung it over her arm. The lake came into view surrounded by trees and she could see pale blue wooden rowing boats out on the water along with ducks and geese. Only the occasional glimpse of buildings peeking through the trees belied the fact that this place was in the middle of the city. Tension in her shoulders, which was so perpetual she hadn’t known it was there, slipped an unexpected notch.

They passed the empty bandstand and headed for a café, the grey-green wooden boat house next to the lake. Sunshine sparkled off the water.

She stood behind him as he bought coffees, trying not to notice the way he turned female heads. It was his height and broad shoulders that drew your first glance but the darkly handsome face that made you look twice. She was acutely aware of the interested and envious glances thrown her way as he turned to her, a takeaway coffee in each hand.

‘Shall I grab a table?’ she asked, scanning the terrace for a space.

He took a sip of his coffee and grinned at her.

‘I’ve got a better idea.’

She looked up at him, squinting a little against the sunlight.

‘What?’

Trepidation spiked a little as she wondered what the hell he might be suggesting. Finding a quiet spot among the trees for al-fresco sex maybe? Nothing would surprise her. She deliberately avoided taking his proffered hand, and followed him across the terrace and down the decking to the edge of the lake. As he took out his wallet and approached the attendant the penny finally dropped.

Not al-fresco sex, thank goodness, but still well outside her comfort zone.

She stopped in her tracks.

‘You’re hiring a rowing boat?’

She could hear the incredulity in her own voice.

He turned back to her, grinning.

‘Yep.’

Despite her attempts to avoid him he grabbed her hand and tugged her gently along the decking towards the row of light blue wooden rowing boats.

She shook her head and tried to dig her heels into the decking, failing miserably in her ballet flats.