Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | What His Money Can′t Hide

What His Money Can't Hide
Maggie Cox
The man with the golden touchDrake Ashton has defied his under-privileged, unloved upbringing to become a world-famous architect. With a house in Mayfair and a platinum card to buy anything he wants, his past is well and truly behind him. Until he’s called back home to revitalise his family’s ailing fortunes…Layla Jerome has been duped by the trappings of wealth before – a man with money isn’t enough to impress her! So when Drake strides into her small town like Midas himself she’s determined not to be branded by his touch. But when she’s faced with the sheer force of Drake, that’s more easily said than done…‘I love reading Maggie Cox. Always oozing with emotion and sexual tension!’ – Victoria, Retired, Belfast



‘What if I tell you that I’ve decided that after today I don’t want to see you again?’
‘I won’t believe you. Not after what just happened between us.’
Drake’s expression was as serious and formidable as she’d ever seen it.
‘Look, I’m not interested in having some meaningless fling with you that will burn out in a few days or even a few weeks. I’ll only agree to see you if you let me into your life a little … if you give me the chance to get to know the man behind the successful veneer you present to the world. If you’re willing to at least consider the possibility, then I’ll agree to another date with you.’
‘Setting aside what I do for a living, and my public reputation, I’m a very private man, Layla. I very rarely let anyone get too close to me … especially women.’
He almost didn’t need to say the words. Straight away she detected evidence of the war that raged behind his haunting grey eyes. Tension momentarily made her breathing shallow.
‘So your previous relationships with women have usually been based on satisfying sexual desire and nothing more? Is that what you’re telling me?’

About the Author
The day MAGGIE COX saw the film version of Wuthering Heights, with a beautiful Merle Oberon and a very handsome Laurence Olivier, was the day she became hooked on romance. From that day onwards she spent a lot of time dreaming up her own romances, secretly hoping that one day she might become published and get paid for doing what she loved most! Now that her dream is being realised, she wakes up every morning and counts her blessings. She is married to a gorgeous man, and is the mother of two wonderful sons. Her two other great passions in life—besides her family and reading/writing—are music and films.


Recent titles by the same author:

DISTRACTED BY HER VIRTUE
A DEVILISHLY DARK DEAL
THE LOST WIFE THE
BROODING STRANGER
Did you know these are also available as eBooks?Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

What His Money
Can’t Hide
Maggie Cox


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CHAPTER ONE
‘IS THE old place just how you remember it, Mr Ashton?’
The innocently asked question from his chauffeur Jimmy, as he drove Drake to his less than agreeable destination cut him open like a knife. Yes … his home town was just as dreary and dismal as he remembered it. His memory hadn’t lied.
Glancing out through the tinted car windows, noting the rundown buildings and general sense of despair that hung like a gloomy pall in the air, he felt a sensation in the pit of his stomach right then that was very close to nauseous. Was he insane even to think of revisiting this place, when it had caused him nothing but heartache and pain? It beggared belief that he had agreed his firm of architects would accept a commission from the government to create affordable, aesthetically pleasing housing to attract new residents to the area.
Drake put it down to a moment of insanity. Why anyone in their right mind would want to live in such a soulless pit he couldn’t begin to fathom. As his grey eyes stared hard at the drab scenes that flew by the backs of his eyes burned with remembered pain.
Snapping out of his reverie, he realised that Jimmy was still waiting for an answer. ‘Yes, I’m sorry to say it’s exactly how I remember it.’
‘Certainly looks like it could use a facelift.’ The broad good-natured face reflected in the driving mirror displayed his sympathy.
‘Where did you grow up, Jimmy?’ Drake asked him.
‘I was born and bred in Essex. The family didn’t have a lot of money but we pulled together. Had plenty of laughs along the way, as well as tears.’ He grinned.
Drake forced a smile. He wished he could have said the same about his own upbringing, but sadly there had been very few laughs in his home after his mother had walked out. His father had raised him, but he’d done it with an angry and bitter resentment that had made Drake wary of making too many demands. Even the most basic requests had been apt to enrage his father and make him particularly cruel. Very quickly he’d learned to be self-sufficient and resourceful … simply because he’d had to.
Enough of this pointless and painful introspection!
Scowling, he leant towards the driver’s seat. ‘Pull over at the end of the high street, then go and park, Jimmy. I’ve just spied a coffee place and I’m in need of some caffeine and food. I’ve also got to look over some papers. Give me at least a couple of hours and I’ll ring you to come and pick me up.’
‘Sure thing, Mr Ashton. Do you want to take your newspaper with you?’
‘Thanks.’
The aroma of rich roast coffee acted like a siren, reeling Drake in as he pushed open the heavy glass door of the café he’d noticed and entered. Years ago, when he was a schoolboy, this old Victorian building had housed the newsagents where his dad had bought his newspaper and tobacco, and later—when it had become a mini-supermarket—his cans of beer too …
The bittersweet memory was apt to sour Drake’s anticipated enjoyment of his breakfast, so he jettisoned it to the back of his mind in the same way he ruthlessly eliminated unwanted e-mails from his inbox. Instead he focused on the display of mouth-watering pastries, croissants and muffins in the glass cabinet facing him and his stomach rumbled appreciatively.
To hell with his usual cup of instant black coffee and burnt toast—his typical mismanaged breakfast because he was inevitably in a hurry.
Message to self: must hire a housekeeper who can cook. The last one he’d employed had been a dab hand at making beds, cleaning bathrooms and plumping up cushions, but she’d barely been able to boil an egg, let alone cook him breakfast—which was why Drake had fired her. This morning he was definitely in need of more substantial sustenance—especially in view of the task he was about to undertake. But, whatever his feelings about his home town, he would be viewing this visit with his usual detached professional air. At the end of the day he was here to take an unbiased look round. It was a preliminary to starting work with other professionals on the regeneration of an area that had been as tired and broken as an abandoned and rusted lawn-mower ever since he could remember.
At first when he had been approached by a government official to become involved he had baulked at the very idea. His memories of the area hardly fostered fond and sentimental recollections of a happy, carefree childhood that he would be pleased to revisit … anything but. The majority of his work was in the private sector, and up until now Drake had been happy to keep it that way. After all, it had made him rich beyond imagining, and thankfully had taken him far away from the pains of his childhood and youth. Yet in the end he’d seen accepting the commission as a cathartic exercise and an opportunity for him to erase a painful part of his past. For as well as regenerating his home town Drake also planned to demolish the house he’d grown up in and build something much more beautiful in its place.
His cruel father was long dead, but this small act would help Drake feel as if he were mentally freeing himself from his father’s grasp. Drake could imagine facing his father and saying to the man, No matter what you did to me when I was a kid, your despicable treatment is not going to rule the rest of my life. Now I’m the one who’s in control, and I’m going to knock this godforsaken house down and erect something in its place that will be testimony to a member of the family that at least has some integrity … who cares about making the environment more beautiful!
And Drake would do it too. He might have had his issues whilst living there, but nobody could accuse him of being a coward in not facing his demons. To help dissociate the personal from the pragmatic he’d made the decision to treat this commission just as any other architectural project he undertook, and he intended to apply his renowned design skills along with every bit of dedication and experience he had to help make the planned improvements an unmitigated success.
Up until now he’d believed the best way to deal with his sorrowful childhood memories was to relegate them to the deepest, darkest corners of his mind and endeavour to forget about them. It didn’t always work, but at least his policy of single-mindedly focusing on what was right in front of him had definitely helped bring rewards beyond even his wildest dreams …
‘Good morning. What can I get for you?’
Cutting off his distracted perusal of the goodies inside the display case, Drake glanced up into the most arresting pair of glossy brown eyes he had ever seen. If there were any thoughts in his head at all in that moment he couldn’t have said what they were. He was simply mesmerised. The owner of those eyes was a girl who was breathtakingly beautiful. She was dressed plainly in a maroon T-shirt with the café’s logo on it, and a pair of ordinary blue jeans, with a short navy-coloured apron tied round her trim waist. The nondescript clothing merely emphasised her loveliness.
Her thick dark hair was fashioned into a simple ponytail, and her features were nothing less than sublime. The only evidence of make-up that Drake could detect was the dark eye-pencil that underlined her lower lashes. How refreshing, he thought. So many women these days dressed for work as if they were going out to a nightclub. The other thing he noticed about the girl was that she bore a passing resemblance to an Italian movie actress he admired … except she was even prettier.
He was totally unprepared for the dizzying pleasure that assailed him. As his avid gaze met and held hers, he felt as if he was drowning in it. He stared helplessly, just like a dumbfounded schoolboy. ‘I’d like a large Americano, a couple of plain croissants—and do you have anything savoury, like a panini?’ he asked, his voice a little gruff as he answered because the arresting sight of her had so completely thrown him. ‘I’m hungry this morning.’
The girl’s big dark eyes widened, as if she was amused, but then she quickly lowered her lashes and looked away. ‘We don’t have any paninis, but you could have a toasted muffin with some bacon, or even bacon and egg?’
As her glance levelled once more with his, Drake saw her polite smile was definitely guarded. Had she registered his stunned reaction? A girl with looks like hers must get men hitting on her all the time. She was probably sick of it. No wonder she seemed wary.
‘I’ll go for the bacon muffin, I think.’
‘Okay.’ Her hands were already reaching for a large cream mug and a tray, but her brown eyes met his for another fleeting moment before turning towards the gleaming bank of coffee-making equipment behind her. ‘Why don’t you take a seat at one of the tables and I’ll bring your order over to you?’
‘Sure … thanks.’
Drake had immediately noted that the medium-sized cosily proportioned café wasn’t exactly teeming with customers on this drizzly September morning. He scanned his surroundings with a bit more attention to detail. The décor, with fading artistic prints on the walls, was definitely a little tired, but there were some charming extras—such as comfy sofas scattered with ethnic print cushions and a bookshelf full of well-thumbed books—which helped create a welcoming and friendly atmosphere. Another plus was that everything appeared scrupulously clean and tidy. But for a café that had a prime location on the high street he knew it ought to be a lot busier than it was to make a profit. Also, the prices he’d seen on the menu were far too low. The owner obviously didn’t have a business brain.
He frowned, feeling oddly guilty all of a sudden. Clearly the area had not prospered over the years. Drake was struck anew at how fortunate he was to have escaped the poverty that many of the local population were crippled by, and it certainly wasn’t going to get any easier for people in the current economic climate, he knew. At any rate, because the place was so quiet it meant he had his pick of the most appealing tables and the inviting sofas. Selecting a corner seat, he pushed his fingers through his light brown hair and found his attention once again drawn to the beautiful young waitress. The graceful way her slender body moved as she went about preparing his order put him in mind of watching a captivating butterfly.
In the midst of the wistful thought, a wave of irritation assailed him. Usually nothing tore him away from his work, but right now the compulsion to focus solely on her was doing a good job of exactly that. Consequently, the plans of the area that he’d received from the local council didn’t immediately get plucked from his briefcase. Instead he scanned the copy of the Financial Times that his chauffeur Jimmy had so thoughtfully handed to him as he’d left the car, but every now and again his glance was helplessly lured back to the girl.
Due to his success as one of the most in-demand architects in the country, Drake had never been bereft of interested female attention. But it had been six months now since Kirsty—his party-planner girlfriend of just under a year—had broken up with him, calling him ‘spectacularly selfish’ and too work-obsessed to fulfil her hoped-for dreams of marriage and children. He hadn’t denied the accusation. Frankly, he’d been surprised they’d lasted as long as they had. Usually his relationships didn’t extend beyond three to four months.
The truth was, Drake wasn’t interested in a deeper commitment. He much preferred having his freedom. The only problem with that was the fact he had a very healthy libido, and wasn’t keen on soulless encounters purely for sex. His ex and he hadn’t been a match made in heaven, but he had definitely missed having a warm and willing woman in his bed for the past six months …
‘Here you are.’ The brunette stunner who had prepared his breakfast flashed him another wary smile as she placed his coffee and food down on the table. ‘Enjoy,’ she added, clearly intent on returning to her post as quickly as possible rather than linger and pass the time of day with him.
‘What’s your name?’ The question was out before Drake could check it.
Her slim shoulders tensed visibly. ‘Why?’
Her guarded, less than warm response didn’t faze him. He shrugged a shoulder. ‘Because I’m curious.’
Turning the tables on him, she challenged, ‘What’s your name?’
‘Drake.’
‘Is that your first name or your last?’
‘My full name is Drake Ashton.’
‘Of course.’ Her widened brown eyes reflected dawning realisation. ‘You’re the celebrated architect who’s going to rejuvenate the area by creating attractive and affordable housing for potentially interested residents.’
She could have tagged supposedly onto the end of that sentence, because her tone suggested she doubted that he would be able to do any such thing. Drake was suddenly uncomfortably irked. ‘Not by myself … there are other people involved.’
‘But if the local papers are anything to go by you’re the one that’s excited all the interest.’ She frowned, staring back at him with disturbing candour. ‘Home town boy made good … that’s the story they’re running.’
Straightening his back against the red faux leather seat, he met her examining glance with one equally unflinching and frank. ‘Is it? Then seeing as I was born here I guess that more than qualifies me to have an interest in the place … wouldn’t you agree, Miss …?’ He tipped his head, scanning her well-fitting T-shirt for a badge with her name on it, and not immediately tearing his gaze away when he saw that there wasn’t one because the lovely shape of her firm, high breasts outlined by her clothing distracted him disturbingly.
‘It’s hardly any of my business what your motivations for coming back here are. I apologise if you think I was rude.’ Colouring slightly, she shrugged. ‘I’m sorry but I have to get back to work now.’
‘You still haven’t told me your name. And, in case you hadn’t noticed, including myself there are only three customers in the whole place. You’re not exactly rushed off your feet this morning,’ Drake observed wryly, glancing round.
Her cheeks reddened again, but whether this was due to embarrassment or irritation with him for being so persistent, he couldn’t tell.
‘My name’s Layla Jerome, and whether it looks busy or not I have to get back to work. I don’t just make drinks and serve them,’ she retorted, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. ‘There’s a myriad of jobs that need to be done in a café. You said you were hungry. You’d better drink your coffee and eat your bacon muffin before they go cold.’ And without further ado she marched back behind the counter, looking unashamedly relieved when a female customer with a small child in tow came in.
Layla … The beautiful name certainly suited her exotic good-looks, Drake reflected with satisfaction. Smiling to himself, he raised his mug of coffee to his lips, then reached for the temptingly aromatic muffin on his side plate. Before he left the café he fully intended to get her phone number, and when he did it would become a much better day altogether than he’d been anticipating …
The three other customers besides Drake Ashton—including the young woman and her child—had been and gone, and still the man sat there, absorbed in what appeared to be architectural plans. Layla knew this because he’d signalled to her to come over so that he could order another large Americano. She’d breathed more easily when he hadn’t tried to engage her in conversation but simply continued perusing the technical drawings he’d spread out on the table, yet the seductive waft of his expensive sandalwood cologne did disturb her. Its potent woody notes had hit her straight in the solar plexus when she’d returned to take his order, making her feel ever so slightly light-headed.
The other thing that had unsettled her was the vaguely amused glance from his curiously light grey eyes when she’d delivered his coffee. Why do that? she thought crossly. Did he think she was some easily impressed featherbrain who would fall at his feet simply because he smiled at her? It bothered her that she’d wasted even a second mulling it over—especially when she ought to know better. Her experience of men like him—confident, handsome, rich men, who took it as their God-given right to say what they wanted to women like her—had not helped Layla feel remotely easy in their company, and neither did she trust them.
Unfortunately she’d reached that conclusion the hard way. It was why she had given up her prestigious job as PA to an ambitious but unscrupulous broker in the City and returned home to work for her brother Marc in his café instead. Her income had plunged dramatically, but it was worth it to live the much more pared-down and uncomplicated life she lived now. No more paying rent on a London studio apartment that was not much bigger than a utility closet, and no more extortionate dry cleaning bills for the suits, skirts and jackets that her ambitious boss had required her to wear to present the efficient corporate image that he insisted best represented him.
Her change of job and income had also meant the end of expensive lunches in fashionable restaurants with colleagues eager to be seen in all the right places and hopefully headhunted by rival prestigious firms so that they could step up a rung or two on the career ladder. But for Layla the best thing of all about leaving her London life behind was that at least now she was working for someone she trusted. And in return her brother Marc respected and valued her—unlike her lying boss, who had fleeced her of all her savings with the promise of a money-making opportunity that would set her up for life. It hadn’t.
Instead the supposedly failsafe deal had cost her every penny of her hard-earned cash. Although she took full responsibility for allowing her desperation to quit a job she’d grown to hate to make her take such a risky gamble with her savings, she didn’t intend to allow herself ever to act so desperately again.
Releasing a long, heartfelt sigh, she let her glance settle on the still preoccupied Drake Ashton. His dark head was bent over the drawings and he was chewing the end of a pencil as he studied them. The picture he made called to mind a small boy mulling over his homework. The wave of compassion that swept through Layla at the idea took her by surprise. The polished handsome architect was surely the last man on earth who needed anyone’s compassion!
Her thoughts ran on. She wondered if by visiting her brother’s simple little café he had some idea of presenting a much more down to earth image than he was usually purported to have?
The local newspaper stated that he had a tough reputation and took no prisoners. It also said that he lived in a house worth millions in Mayfair, as well as owning property in the South of France and Milan, and that he had made his fortune by designing luxurious homes for the rich and famous. No doubt he was used to taking his morning coffee in locations far more affluent and glamorous than here.
Layla swept her hand irritably down over her ponytail. Why should she care where the man usually drank his coffee? What did concern her was that he might report back to the council and his other sponsors that their little café was dreary and rundown and, judging by the woeful lack of customers, would it matter if it had to be closed down to make way for a much more viable business?
The idea stirred white-hot fury in her belly, quickly followed by sickening fear. The café meant everything to her brother Marc. If he got wind that Layla had been less than welcoming to the well-known architect, and had potentially sabotaged his chances for investment because she was still smarting from her bad experience with her ex-boss, it was understandable that he would be furious with her.
An uncomfortable flurry of guilt and regret besieged her insides. The government representatives and council members who had headed up the public meetings she and Marc had attended to hear about the intended plans for the town’s regeneration had emphasised that everyone should be as helpful as possible to the influx of professionals who would be working hard on their behalf. Well, one thing was for sure … She hadn’t exactly got off to an impressive start with the head architect. Was there the remotest chance she could make a better impression without compromising herself? she wondered.
‘Layla?’
She almost jumped out of her skin when the man himself called her over again. Her heart thudded hard. Wiping the back of her hand across suddenly dry lips, she presented herself at Drake Ashton’s table. ‘Would you like some more coffee?’ Along with her bright and friendly smile, she ensured her tone was ultra-polite.
His disturbingly frank grey eyes all but pinned her to the spot. ‘Two cups at breakfast is my limit, I’m afraid, else I’ll be too wired to think straight. So, no … I don’t want any more coffee. Could you sit down for a minute? I’d like to talk to you.’
Swallowing hard, Layla panicked a little. Despite her musings about making a better impression, her gaze automatically sought out an escape route … an incoming customer, perhaps, or even her brother Marc returning from his trip to the suppliers? But no such luck. ‘What if a customer comes in? You know I’m supposed to be working.’
‘You can give me a couple of minutes of your time, surely? If you get a customer then of course you must go and serve them, but right now it’s quiet. I want to ask your views about something.’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Sit down, Layla … please. Hovering makes me uneasy. Did you by any chance fill in one of the questionnaires the council sent round to locals?’
Her relief was palpable. He wanted to ask her about the regeneration of the town, that was all … Nothing more threatening or disturbing than that.
Lowering herself into the chair opposite him, she folded her hands neatly in her lap. ‘Yes, I did.’
‘Good. Would you mind sharing with me what your views are on the question, “What improvements do you think are most needed in the community”?’
The handsome face before her, with its chiselled jaw and high-sculpted cheekbones, suddenly looked very businesslike and serious. Layla wasn’t fazed. This was a topic that she took seriously too. ‘Aren’t you mainly concerned with designing new housing?’
‘I am. But my brief is fairly wide. I’ve been asked to look at not just housing for potential new residents, but also at what other builds might be possible that would benefit the community in general.’
Curling some hair that had come adrift from her ponytail behind her ear, Layla automatically leaned forward. ‘That’s music to my ears, because in my opinion one of the things that’s most needed in this community is more facilities for the young—by that I mean specifically for teenagers. The reason why a lot of teenagers hang around on street corners with their friends and get into trouble is because there’s nowhere for them to go and socialise. They’re too young to go to the pub and hang out there, and frankly they don’t need another excuse to drink when booze is already sold frighteningly cheaply at supermarkets and already causes havoc. No … What they need is a place specifically for them.
‘The local so-called “community” hall prides itself on keeping them away. The people who run it won’t take the time to get to know any of these kids and find out what they’re really like, but they’re very quick to judge and demonise them. A place where they can go and listen to music together, maybe play snooker or pool, would be fantastic. We could ask for volunteers from the community to help run it. That way it would bring young and older people together and would benefit us all.’
‘You sound like quite the crusader.’
‘I make no apology about that. It’s great that there are so many campaigns to help the elderly, it really is … but the young need help too. Don’t you think?’
Remembering his own emotionally impoverished and lonely childhood, when he had often yearned for somewhere to go where he could just be himself and forget about his unhappy home-life, Drake undoubtedly agreed. Layla’s impassioned tone as she had voiced her opinions had taken him aback, made him regard her in a whole new light. It had also strengthened his vow to get her phone number. In his world he didn’t often meet people who cared half as much about the welfare of others, and it certainly didn’t hurt that she was beautiful too …
‘I agree,’ he commented thoughtfully. ‘I’m going to look over some plots in the next few days for potential new builds, and I’ll definitely bear in mind what you’ve told me. Of course I can make recommendations, but ultimately the decision to establish a youth club or something similar lies with the council. They’re the ones who’ll have to allocate the funds.’
‘I know that. But an important man like you …’ Her eyes shone with renewed zeal. ‘A man who grew up in the area himself … perhaps you could bring some of your influence to bear? It would mean such a lot to the kids if you could.’
They both glanced towards the door as it swung open, heralding the entrance of a frail-looking elderly couple.
‘Looks like you’ve got some customers.’ Drake smiled, but his lovely companion was already on her feet and making her way back behind the counter.
Half an hour later Layla noticed that Drake was folding up the plans into a stylish leather briefcase. She chewed down on her lip as he crossed the room to speak to her. It felt as if every sense she had was on high alert as he neared. The man was seriously imposing, she realised. The shoulders beneath his stylish jacket were athletically broad, and his lean, muscular build and long legs meant that he would look good in whatever he wore—whether it was the dark grey chinos and smart blue shirt he was wearing now, or a scruffy pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Suddenly she seemed to be preternaturally aware of everything about him. He moved as if he owned the space and everything in it. And the amused, knowing glint in his silvery grey eyes made her stomach coil with tension.
‘The coffee and food were great—particularly the coffee,’ he commented, setting his briefcase down on the floor.
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it. My brother, who owns the café, buys the very best grade coffee he can get his hands on, and he took great pride in teaching me how to make it. His aim is always to deliver a good product and good service to his customers.’
‘In business that’s one of the best intentions you can have … that and being dedicated to making a profit. I meant to ask you before who owned the place. So it’s your brother? What’s his name?’
‘Marc Jerome.’
Her questioner tunnelled his long, artistic fingers through his hair, unwittingly drawing her attention to his strong, indomitable-looking brow. There were two deeply ingrained furrows there, she saw.
‘Have you always worked for him?’ he asked.
‘No.’ An unconscious sigh left her lips. ‘Not always.’
Drake looked bemused. ‘You don’t care to embellish on that?’
‘I worked in London for a few years, but I needed a change so I—I came back home.’ Lifting her chin a little, Layla wrestled with her usual reluctance to reveal much more than that.
‘What did you do in London?’
‘I was a personal assistant to a broker in the City.’
Raising a quizzical eyebrow, Drake looked even more bemused. ‘This is quite a career change for you, then?’
‘Yes, it is. Is there anything else you want to ask me before I get back to work, Mr Ashton?’
‘Yes.’ His gaze suddenly became disturbingly intense. ‘There is something else, Layla. I’d like your telephone number.’
‘Why?’
‘So that I can ring you and invite you out for a drink. Will you give it to me?’
Shock eddied through her like an ice-cold river. She hadn’t missed the gleam of admiration in his eyes when he’d first seen her, but she hadn’t expected him to invite her out or to be quite so quick in asking for her phone number.
‘If you’d asked for my brother’s number, so you could talk to him about his views on the area’s regeneration or about his business, then I would have been more than happy to give it to you. But to be honest I’m not in the habit of giving my number to men I hardly know.’
‘But you do know who I am. By that I mean I’m not some stranger who’s just walked in off the street. And, whilst I would definitely appreciate having your brother’s number so that I can ask him a few questions, right now it’s yours that I’m far more interested in.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Uncomfortably twisting her hands together, she nonetheless made herself meet his intense silvery gaze unflinchingly. ‘My answer is still no. I enjoyed our little chat earlier about what’s needed in the community, and I’m very encouraged by your interest, but—well … let’s just leave it at that, shall we?’ The need to protect herself from another over-confident and arrogant wealthy man like her ex-boss was definitely at the forefront of her mind as she spoke.
With a sigh, Drake stretched his sculpted lips into a slow, knowing smile ‘Maybe we will and maybe we won’t … leave it at that, I mean.’
He didn’t sound at all offended. In fact, as he picked up his briefcase, he gave her another enigmatic glance.
‘This is hardly the busiest or most populated town in the country. No doubt we’ll bump into each other from time to time. In fact I’m certain we will. Have a good day, won’t you? Oh—and why don’t you give your brother my number? I’d very much like to have a chat with him about his views on the town.’
He slid the business card that he’d taken from his jacket pocket across the counter, not waiting to see if she picked it up to examine it.
Opening the heavy glass door, he stepped outside onto the damp and grey pavement, and as Layla watched him go several seconds passed before she realised she was holding her breath …

CHAPTER TWO
JEROME … The name should have rung a bell as soon as he heard it. Slowing his stride, Drake turned his head to take another look at the faded, worn exterior of the building he’d just vacated. As soon as Layla had given him her surname he ought to have remembered that it was the name of the newsagents that had been in business there before the café. The place had been called Jerome’s, for goodness’ sake. Had the friendly newsagent who had often discussed the football results with him while he was waiting for his dad to make up his mind about what he wanted been her father? he wondered.
Drake calculated that she must be at least ten years younger than he was. That put her age at about twenty-six. He wondered whether, if he mentioned to Layla that he’d had genuine regard for her father, it might help persuade her to meet him for a drink—better still, dinner. At any rate, unless she had a boyfriend he wasn’t going to give up on the idea any time soon. Not when his first sight of her had been akin to falling into a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. He’d felt stunned, dazed and disorientated all at once, and it was hard to recall the last time his heart had galloped so hard and so fast. It struck him that she was the first woman who had ever declined to give him her phone number. It made him all the more determined to get her to change her mind.
Shaking his head in a bid to snap out of his reverie about the beautiful waitress, he determinedly walked on further down the street, stopping every now and then to make notes on his observations about the buildings and the retail outlets that occupied them. When he’d travelled about halfway down the road Drake’s finely honed instincts alerted him to the fact that he was being followed. Turning, he saw two men that were clearly from the press. It was pointless trying to fathom how they’d known he would be there. Somehow or other they always found out.
One of them was toting a state-of-the-art camera and the other a recording device. He just thanked his lucky stars the pair hadn’t invaded the café to try and interview him or he wouldn’t have had much conversation with the lovely Layla at all. Because they hadn’t, he was predisposed to be a lot less irritated with them than was usually the case when the press unexpectedly cornered him.
‘We’re from the local newspaper, Mr Ashton. Can we have a picture and maybe a quick interview with you for our readers? As you can imagine, everyone is very excited about your intended rehabilitation of the area and what the social and economic effects might be.’ The journalist with the recording equipment planted himself directly in front of Drake with an animated smile.
‘Okay. But the interview had better be quick because I’ve got work to do.’
‘Of course, Mr Ashton, but if we could just have a couple of pictures first that would be great.’
He tolerated the photos being taken, and then an interview, with an uncharacteristically amenable attitude—even when a small knot of curious bystanders gathered to see what was going on. The questions had been surprisingly intelligent and insightful, despite the apparent youth of the reporter, but when he had asked, ‘Can you tell us a bit about your personal experience of growing up here?’ it had been one question too far.
Drake had called an abrupt halt to the exchange, and phoned his chauffeur Jimmy and instructed him to meet him at the top of the high street. His heart was still racing uncomfortably as he turned his back on the journalist, photographer and bystanders and walked briskly away.
He was seriously relieved to see the sleek Aston Martin coming down the road towards him. Now he could focus on his work without impediment. There were a few other areas in the locality he wanted to survey before attending a meeting at the town hall to make a brief report, but after that he would be returning to his offices in London to oversee a couple of prestigious projects that were nearing completion. Projects that, although adding substantially to his bank balance and growing reputation, had been far trickier and more time-consuming than he’d anticipated, consequently causing him more troubled nights of broken sleep than he cared to recall …
‘So, what was your impression of Drake Ashton when you met him?’
Her brother had invited Layla downstairs to have some fish and chips with him that evening. After inheriting the family home in their dad’s will, they’d agreed to split the accommodation between them rather than sell it, and had had the two floors converted into self-contained separate flats. Layla had the upper floor and Marc the lower. When she’d moved to London—even though she’d suggested that he rent out her flat while she was gone—Marc had insisted he wouldn’t even think of it because it was her home. It would remain unoccupied until she returned, he’d declared, whether that was in one year or ten, and in the meantime she could come home for the odd weekend to see him.
When her career had come to its unexpectedly ignominious and humiliating end because of her crooked boss she’d been very grateful that she had a place to return to where she felt safe again. Being swindled out of her savings had left her feeling vulnerable and unsure of herself, and she hadn’t minded admitting to her brother that she needed to retreat from city life for a while to rebuild her confidence. Marc had responded by lovingly welcoming her home without judgement and giving her a job in his café.
Now, as Layla busied herself sorting out condiments and cutlery, Marc unwrapped the fish and chips he’d bought and expertly arranged the food on the plates he’d left warming in the oven. He was looking especially tired tonight, Layla noticed. There were dark rings under his eyes, and with his brown hair clearly not combed and his lean jaw unshaven he was looking a little the worse for wear. Had he been worrying about money again? Her heart bumped guiltily beneath her ribs at the mere idea. She knew that the council tax on the business premises had just gone up again, and the café’s takings were already substantially below what they would normally expect this month. The recession had hit all the local businesses hard.
‘What was my impression?’ she hedged, thinking hard about what to say and what not to say about her encounter with the charismatic architect. The experience had been on her mind a little too much that day, and she wished it hadn’t. ‘He looks like a man who knows exactly what he wants and how to get it. By that I mean you can tell why he’s been so successful. He was very businesslike and focused. I get the impression that very little gets past him.’
‘Let’s sit down at the table and eat, shall we?’ Marc forked a couple of mouthfuls of food into his mouth and swallowed it down before lifting his head to look directly at his sister. ‘They say he’s an investor as well as an architect. Did you know that?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘I’d really like to talk to him about the café.’
‘You mean ask his advice on how to help make it more financially viable?’
‘Not just that. I want to ask whether he’d be interested in investing in it.’ Exhaling a harsh breath, he wiped his napkin irritably across his mouth, then scrunched it into a ball.
Alarmed, Layla laid down her fork beside her plate and stared at him. ‘Are we in trouble?’
‘We’re operating at a serious loss. How could we not be? Trying to attract more customers when everyone around here is so fearful of spending money on anything but the bare necessities is like trying to get blood out of a stone! I’ve had two loans so far from the bank to help keep it going, and I’m in debt to the tune of several thousand pounds. I’ve invested all the money Dad left me to start it up and get it going, and now it looks like I might even lose the premises that he worked so hard to own. The café needs a serious injection of something, Layla, or else we’re just going to have to throw in the towel.’
Layla would do anything to help her brother feel more optimistic about the café—his pride and joy as he’d called it when he’d first decided to set it up. It made her heart feel bruised to see him looking so tired and worried all the time. But his intention to ask Drake Ashton to invest in it scared the life out of her. The man might be admired in his field, and have a glamorous professional profile, but they had no idea what his character or his values were.
Silently she berated herself again for trusting her own life savings to a money-making scheme that—with hindsight—had had so many holes in it. It was a wonder her boss hadn’t handed out life rafts to the gullible fools who had risked their hard-earned cash in it! If she’d held onto her money she could have given it to Marc to pay off his bank loan, and straight away ease his fear and worry about the café’s future.
Brushing back her hair with her fingers, she emitted a gentle, resigned sigh. ‘He gave me his business card to give to you,’ she told him. ‘He said he’d like to talk to you.’
‘Drake Ashton wants to talk to me?’ Straight away Marc’s dark eyes gleamed with hope.
Layla nibbled anxiously at her lip. ‘He’s an astute businessman, Marc, and from what you say the café is losing money hand over fist. I don’t get the impression that he’d be in a hurry to invest his money in a concern that doesn’t have the potential to make a healthy profit.’
‘Thanks for your support.’
At his stricken expression she reached forward and squeezed his hand. ‘You know my support and belief in you are unquestionable, and I think the café is wonderful … I just wish more people did too. I don’t want you to build your hopes up that Drake Ashton might be the answer to your prayers, that’s all. We might have to think of other options other than investment … that’s all I’m saying.’
‘You’re right.’ Pulling his hand away from hers, Marc lightly shook his head and smiled. ‘Trouble is I let my heart rule my head too much. I realise that’s not the best approach to running a business. Wanting a thing to work so much that it makes your ribs ache just thinking about it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s suddenly going to take flight and make your fortune. But it’s worth talking to Ashton anyway … he might give me a few tips at least. Give me his card in the morning and I’ll ring him. In the meantime let’s eat, shall we? Our supper’s going cold.’
Layla smiled, but inside she secretly prayed that when they spoke Drake Ashton wouldn’t thoughtlessly crush her brother’s dream into the dirt by telling him he should forget about the café and think about doing something else instead …
Turning his head, Drake squinted at the sunlight streaming in through the huge plate-glass windows. The hexagon-shaped chrome and glass building that housed his offices had become quite a landmark amid the sea of sandblasted Victorian buildings where it was situated, and he was justifiably proud of the design. If he’d wanted to shout out his arrival he couldn’t have made a bolder or louder statement. His workplace was a professional portfolio all by itself.
When the thought sneaked up on him from time to time that what he’d achieved was nothing less than a miracle, considering his background, he impatiently brushed it away, not caring to dwell on the past for even a second longer than he had to. It had become his motto to concentrate on the now. After all, the present made far more sense to him than the past could ever do.
‘Mr Ashton? There’s a man called Marc Jerome on the phone. He says you gave your business card to his sister so that he could call you.’
Drake’s secretary Monica appeared in the doorway to his office. She was a pencil-slim blonde whose efficiency and dedication to her job belied her delicate appearance. The woman could be a veritable tiger when it came to sifting out and diverting unwanted callers—whether on the phone or if they turned up unannounced. But the knowledge that it was Layla Jerome’s brother who was ringing made Drake immediately anxious to take the call. The beautiful woman had been almost constantly on his mind ever since he’d seen her, and if nothing else he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to try and get her phone number again.
‘Put him through, Monica. I’ll take it.’
At the end of the call Drake pushed to his feet and moved restlessly across to the tall plate-glass panels directly behind his desk. Staring out at the parked cars on the street below, he could barely suppress the gratifying sense of satisfaction that throbbed through him. He had listened to Marc Jerome’s views on the needs of his local community, and when the younger man had asked for some business tips he had agreed to meet up with him so that they could discuss it more fully.
When that topic was safely out of the way Drake hadn’t been slow to seize the opportunity to ask directly if his sister was currently dating anyone. He had all but held his breath as he’d waited for the answer.
‘No, she’s not,’ Marc had replied carefully, definitely sounding protective. ‘As far as I know, she’s quite happy being free and single right now.’
Drake had allowed himself the briefest smile. ‘I’d really like to ask her about that myself, if you don’t mind?’ he’d returned immediately. There was a fine line between being bold enough to state your aim clearly and being pushy, but when it came to something he wanted as badly as this, he definitely wasn’t a man to let the grass grow under his feet—and neither was he overly concerned if he offended anyone. ‘It’s probably best if I talk to her outside of work. Maybe even on the day that you and I have our meeting?’
‘You’d better ring her first and check and see if that’s okay,’ had been the distinctly wary-sounding reply.
‘Of course.’
And now Layla’s mobile phone number was writ large across his notepad.
He made a vow to ring her after lunch, just in case the café was busy, and, breathing out a relieved sigh, stopped gazing out the window and returned to his desk, bringing his focus determinedly back to his work …
‘Layla?’
‘Yes?’
‘This is Drake Ashton. I got your number from your brother Marc.’
In the midst of a leisurely stroll in the park, through the sea of burnished gold leaves that scattered the concrete path, Layla changed direction and strode across the grass to sit down on a nearby bench and take the call, her phone positioned firmly against her ear. Marc had despatched her to eat her packed lunch and get some fresh air after a surprising flurry of lunchtime trade, but any sense of feeling free to enjoy a precious hour in the autumnal sunshine had immediately vanished at the sound of the famed architect’s magnetically velvet smoky voice.
‘He told me you’d asked him for my number,’ she answered, already desperately rehearsing her carefully worded refusal of what she suspected would be another invitation to meet him for a drink.
Inexplicably, and against every impulse to act sensibly, she’d hardly been able to stop thinking about the man since he’d visited the café yesterday, and that was definitely a cause for concern. Just hearing his voice ignited an almost terrifying compulsion to see him again. The ethereal grey eyes that sometimes seemed almost colourless, the high cheekbones and cut-glass jaw seemed to be imprinted on her memory with pin-sharp clarity.
‘Then you’ll no doubt have guessed that I’m ringing to ask you out?’ There was a smile in his extraordinarily hypnotic voice. ‘I know you were reluctant to let me have your number, but I’d very much like to see you again. I’d really like the chance to get to know you a little, Layla. What do you say?’
‘If I’m honest, I’m not entirely comfortable with the idea, Mr Ashton.’
‘Drake,’ he inserted smoothly.
The tension in Layla’s stomach made her feel as if a band of steel was encircling it and tightening by the second. She drew the canvas bag that contained her sandwiches more closely to her side almost subconsciously, as if for protection. ‘I don’t mean to offend you, but I’m not interested in seeing anyone at the moment.’
‘You don’t like dating?’
‘I can take it or leave it, to tell you the truth. I’m certainly not a person who needs to have someone special in my life to make me feel whole or worthwhile.’
‘Good for you. But is that the real reason you’re hesitating to meet me, or is it perhaps because your last boyfriend let you down in some way or treated you badly?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘Maybe not. I’m just trying to find out why you don’t want to have a date with me.’
Layla expelled a heavy, resigned sigh. ‘The man who let me down wasn’t a boyfriend … at least not at first. But he was someone I’d put my trust in—completely wrongly, as it turned out. I was very badly deceived by him. Anyway, I—’
‘You’d rather not risk seeing me in case I do the same thing to you?’ Drake finished for her.
‘No, I’d rather not,’ she confessed reluctantly, feeling strangely as though she’d manoeuvred herself into a narrow dead-end she couldn’t easily reverse out of.
‘Not all men are bastards, Layla.’
‘I know that. I’d trust my brother Marc with my life.’
‘Speaking of your family—I knew your father, you know?’
Her heartbeat quickened in surprise. ‘Really?’
‘Jerome’s was my local newsagent. That’s where I knew him from.’
‘It’s a small world.’
‘I used to go there as a kid. We’d chat about football together. We supported the same team, and he used to tell me about all the matches he’d seen when he was young.’
‘He was crazy about football. And he loved having the opportunity to talk to another fan about the game—also about how his team were doing. My dad always had time for the children who visited the shop. He had the kindest heart.’ Suddenly besieged by memories of the father she had adored, as well as by a great longing for his physical presence, Layla couldn’t help the tears that suddenly surged into her eyes.
‘Presumably he’s not around any more? What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?’
‘He died just three months after a diagnosis of cancer of the throat.’
‘I’m sorry. That must have been a very hard cross to bear for you and your brother.’
‘It was.’
‘And your mother? Is she still around?’
‘She died when I was nine. Look, Mr Ashton, I—’
‘I’d really like it if you called me Drake.’
The invitation sounded so seductively appealing that even though she intuited that he’d used his past association with her father to break down her resistance, Layla found his skilful persuasion hard to ignore. Although her trust in men had been indisputably shattered by the dishonest behaviour of her boss, Drake’s regard for her father seemed perfectly genuine, she told herself.
Her lips edged helplessly into a smile. ‘You don’t give up easily, do you?’
‘No, I don’t. You don’t get far in the world of business if you’re not tenacious.’
‘I hear that you’ve agreed to meet with my brother and give him some advice about the café?’
‘I’m coming to see him on Thursday. After our meeting at the café I’m visiting the site where the first new builds for residential housing are going to be erected. I expect I’ll be there until quite late.’
Not knowing what to say, Layla shivered at the icy blast of wind that suddenly tore through her hair and swept the leaves on the path into a mini-cyclone.
‘Look … I really want to see you,’ he asserted, ‘but I don’t want to wait until Thursday. That’s far too long.’ He made no attempt to disguise his impatience. ‘How about throwing any caution you might be harbouring to the wind and going on just one date with me? If you come up to London I’ll take you out to dinner.’
‘When were you thinking of?’
‘Tomorrow … No, wait! Tonight … I want to see you tonight.’
‘Tonight is a bit short notice.’
Her inner guidance was already sending a loud warning to be careful pounding through her bloodstream. When her brother had confessed that he’d given Drake her number she hadn’t been able to help feeling annoyed at both men. She wasn’t some desirable commodity to be bartered over, for goodness’ sake! Neither had she expected the architect to ring her so soon. She’d like more time to mull his invitation over … time to come to her senses, more like, she thought irritably. Her ex-boss had had a way with words too, and had been a master at devising clever strategies to get what he wanted—sometimes underhand ones. She shouldn’t forget that. Although when it came to sheer charisma she didn’t doubt that Drake Ashton easily had the market cornered.
‘Have you other plans for tonight?’
‘No, but tomorrow night would suit me better.’ Hardly knowing where she’d found the nerve to tell him that, Layla grimaced.
‘I might not be able to make it tomorrow night.’
‘Never mind.’ Holding on to her determination not to be railroaded into flying off to London at the drop of a hat simply because Drake demanded it, she shook her head. ‘It will have to be Thursday after all, then.’ She deliberately kept her tone matter-of-fact. The other end of the line went ominously quiet. ‘Are you still there, Drake?’
His sharp intake of breath was followed by an equally audible sigh of frustration and her insides knotted.
‘I’m still here.’ Irritation was evident in every syllable. ‘Tomorrow night it is, then. Give me your address and I’ll send my driver to pick you up and bring you to my office. It’s close to the West End, and I’ll book us somewhere nice for dinner.’
‘You don’t have to send your driver. I can easily get the train into London.’
‘Are you always this bull-headed?’
Even though Drake was probably still irked with her for trying to thwart him, disconcertingly he chuckled, and the husky sound sent shivers cascading up and down her spine like sparks from a firework.
‘Because if you are, Layla, then I think I might have just met my match …’

CHAPTER THREE
SHE was half an hour late.
Having already been into his secretary’s office twice to see if Layla had left a message, Drake now found himself in front of the coffee machine on the landing outside his office, pressing the button for yet another cup of strong black Americano he didn’t really want.
Time had moved through the day like silt through reeds—slowly and painfully and laboriously, going nowhere fast. Whenever he thought about seeing Layla his insides were seized by alternate sensations of excitement and disagreeable anxiety. And several times that day a couple of colleagues had enquired if anything was wrong.
He hated the idea that they could see he was unsettled by something. Usually he endeavoured to keep his feelings strictly to himself—sometimes to the point of unsettling them because he expressed none of the usual emotional ‘ups and downs’ as they did. Yet he was quick to sing their praises when they did a good job for him, or worked overtime to help meet a deadline. Having built his reputation not on just designing builds to wow his clients but also by advising on and overseeing a project right up until the finish, Drake had ensured the people he employed were trustworthy and reliable team players. He might have grown up the quintessential ‘loner’ but he couldn’t do what he did without them.
Glancing down at his watch, it jolted him to see the time. Damn it all to hell! Why hadn’t he insisted that Layla let him send Jimmy to collect her instead of allowing her to make her own way here? He hadn’t because he’d got the feeling if he had she would have cancelled their date altogether and told him just to forget it …
‘Your visitor has arrived, Mr Ashton.’
The quiet, knowing tone of Monica, his secretary, broke into his unhappy reverie. To his dismay, he knew she’d guessed that the woman he was waiting to see was no run-of-the-mill visitor … that she was in some way special. If he quizzed her she’d call this instinct women’s intuition, and Drake couldn’t for the life of him understand why women had the gift in abundance and men didn’t. At any rate, he intensely disliked people expressing curiosity or interest in his private life—and that included unspoken interest.
Monica’s announcement that Layla had arrived had him turning towards her so fast that the scalding coffee in his polystyrene cup splashed painfully onto his hand. He uttered a furious expletive.
The secretary’s smile was replaced by an immediately concerned frown. ‘You’d better get some cold water on that straight away,’ she advised urgently, stepping towards him to relieve him of the cup.
‘Where have you put her?’ Drake barked, the sting of his scald aiding neither his temper nor his impatience.
‘In your office.’
‘Well, make sure she’s comfortable and tell her I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. I’m going to the bathroom to run some cold water over my hand.’
Staring at his reflection in the mirror over the sink, and not particularly liking what he saw, Drake scrubbed his hand over the five o’clock stubble that darkened his jaw and ignored the throb of his burn with stoic indifference. Knowing he was going out to dinner, he ought to have shaved—but it was too late now. His date would just have to take him as she found him, even though he more closely resembled a dishevelled croupier who’d been up all night rather than a successful and wealthy architect. At least he was wearing one of his hand-tailored suits, with a silk waistcoat over a white open-necked shirt. That should help him pass muster.
Muttering out loud at the agitation that rendered him nowhere near relaxed, he straightened his shirt collar and spun away from the mirror. He refused to put himself through the grinder about anything else tonight. Work was finished for the day and he was going out to dinner with a woman who had rendered him dangerously fascinated the instant his gaze had fallen into hers …
As he made his way back to his office an older colleague attempted to waylay him with a query. Drake was so intent on seeing Layla that he stared at the man as if suddenly confronted by a ghost.
‘Ask me about it tomorrow,’ he muttered distractedly. ‘I’m busy right now.’
‘Sorry if I interrupted something important.’
Looking bemused, his fellow architect exited the glass-partitioned landing and Drake continued on into the executive office suite that was his private domain. Standing outside the semi-open door, he sucked in a steadying breath before making his entry. Just before his gaze alighted on the woman he’d been waiting all day to see his senses picked up the sultry trail of her perfume, and the alluring scent made his blood pound with heat. When his eyes finally rested on the slim dark-haired figure standing by his desk, dressed in a classy cream-coloured wool coat over a black cocktail dress, he could barely hear himself think over the dizzying waves of pleasure that submerged him. His little waitress looked like a million dollars.
‘You made it,’ he said, low-voiced.
‘Yes. Though I don’t know why I came.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that I haven’t accepted an invitation to dinner from a man in a very long time, and I’m still not sure why I accepted yours.’
‘Well, I’m glad that you did. You look very beautiful tonight, by the way.’
‘Thanks.’
His compliment had clearly discomfited her, Drake saw.
‘I don’t normally dress like this,’ she dissembled, ‘but I didn’t know where we were going so I—Anyway, are you annoyed that I’m late? The tube was delayed in a tunnel for twenty minutes … I don’t like to think why. I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.’
‘There’s no need to apologise. Although I did recommend that my driver pick you up rather than you getting the train, remember?’
‘Recommend? Is that what you did?’ Shaking her head, Layla forgot her previous awkwardness and emitted a throaty chuckle.
Already entranced by her beauty and presence, Drake was all but undone by the sound.
‘As I recall,’ she continued with a wry smile, ‘it sounded more like a royal command. But then I expect you’re used to telling people what to do and having it done?’
He kept quiet, because what she said was perfectly true. Yet he didn’t want her to gain the impression he was insufferably overbearing and demanding and not give him a chance to display some of the less ‘insufferable’ sides to his nature … For the first time ever he was suddenly unsure of his ground with a woman. The percentages that afforded him command of any relationship were usually stacked in his favour—sixty-forty at least …
‘Anyway, I still can’t believe I’m standing here in your office.’ Sighing softly, Layla smoothed her hand down over her hair. ‘I guessed it would be impressive, but even my imagination didn’t stretch as far as a hexagonal glass building that looks like something out of a futuristic sci-fi film. How on earth do you make something like this?’
‘A hexagonal building is definitely harder to construct than a square-cornered one, but apart from its unique exterior it makes for a far more interesting interior to live and work in. I’m all for enhancing domestic and business spaces, and hopefully getting people to enjoy spending time in them. Do you like it?’
‘All this glass …’ She glanced to her right and then to her left, and then up above her at the ceiling and its breathtaking view of the twilit sky. ‘It must be so light in here during the day. I definitely like the idea of that.’
‘That’s why I had the roof made out of glass. Sometimes I work in here at night, and if the moon is full and the stars are out I switch off the lamps for a while because they’re not needed. The illumination from the sky is so bright that it’s like a shroud of magical light blanketing everything.’
His companion’s big brown eyes were so transfixed by what he said that this time it was Drake who was discomfited. He’d never admitted to anyone that he did such a thing before, and certainly not to any of his colleagues. What on earth had possessed him to be so candid?
In a bid to divert Layla from the too personal confession he smiled and said, ‘Want me to give you a tour?’
Her smooth cheeks flushed a little. ‘Maybe some other time … Aren’t we supposed to be going out to dinner?’
‘Are you telling me that you’re hungry?’
‘I am, actually. But the truth is I don’t feel at my best in offices—even one as beautiful as this. My experience of being a personal assistant robbed me of all desire to ever work in one again. The world of “shocks and scares”—as my brother Marc calls it—was like a bear pit, and to work in an atmosphere where there’s such a high level of drama and tension every day is apt to make a person permanently on edge. It’s a lot more peaceful working in the café.’
Intrigued, Drake walked behind his desk and slipped on the tailored black jacket that he’d hung almost thoughtlessly over the back of his chair. It barely registered these days that the cost of his clothing far exceeded most ordinary people’s annual salaries. But then if you wanted the best, you had to pay for the best. He’d come a long way from the boy whose father had dressed him in charity shop finds.
Frowning at the bewitching girl who stood in front of his desk, he asked, ‘Can you tell me what your boss the broker was like?’
‘I’d rather not. At least not right now. Perhaps when I get to know you a bit better?’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/maggie-cox/what-his-money-can-t-hide/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.