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Billionaire, Boss...Bridegroom?
Kate Hardy


The boss’s proposalGorgeous, rich, CEO Hugh Montcrieff might be his office’s reluctant heartthrob, but he does not date employees! Until he needs a fake date for an upcoming engagement, and decides his quirky new graphic designer Bella Faraday is the perfect candidate…Except Bella is anything but the unsuitable girlfriend she’s supposed to be playing! Bella’s life might have been shattered by her ex, but with Hugh she feels all the pieces starting to fit back together…









Billionaires of London


Finding love in the world’s greatest city!

Billionaire bachelors Hugh Moncrieff and Roland Devereux may not be searching for love, but when the Faraday sisters walk into their lives, they’ll pay a price far greater than their wealth to live happily-ever-after … they’ll lose their hearts.

Billionaire, Boss, Bridegroom …? Meet gorgeous CEO Hugh Moncrieff and the charming and quirky Bella Faraday in this whirlwind office romance! Available March 2016

&

Look out for Roland and Grace’s story,

Coming soon!


Billionaire,

Boss…

Bridegroom?

Kate Hardy






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


KATE HARDY always loved books and could read before she went to school. She discovered Mills & Boon books when she was twelve and decided this was what she wanted to do. When she isn’t writing, Kate enjoys reading, cinema, ballroom dancing and the gym. You can contact her via her website, www.katehardy.com (http://www.katehardy.com).


For Charlotte Mursell and Sheila Hodgson—with love and thanks for letting me have so much fun with this story x


Contents

Cover (#uac1615fa-6321-5468-be09-b1f90e12a39a)

Introduction (#u39b01f6b-4ad9-5e6e-8b85-229c05fa1872)

Title Page (#u200183e2-faad-5c6b-9f48-a186aa5a6842)

About the Author (#u1bb86422-3e68-5794-8ae7-2565e4d36010)

Dedication (#u1937b0d8-4450-506c-ae7b-c2c13efde06f)

CHAPTER ONE (#ubfdf9f7d-ea87-5251-a281-04e43b78b466)

CHAPTER TWO (#uad828f4c-7496-5274-979e-34776598f993)

CHAPTER THREE (#u1d702a71-165e-5f37-8624-25164abefb43)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_cc87232b-2fe0-58c2-bfdc-e025bd861920)

I’m coming to get you, Bella texted swiftly. Hold on.

For once, it looked as if she was going to be the rescuer instead of the rescuee. With her new job to boost her confidence, she thought she might just be able to handle it. For once she would be the sister who was calm, collected and totally together instead of the flaky, ditzy one who always made a mess of things and needed to be bailed out of a sticky situation.

She glanced around and saw a black cab waiting at the kerbside. Relieved, she rushed up to it and jumped in.

‘Can you take me to the Bramerton Hotel in Kensington, please?’ she asked the cabbie.

There was a dry cough from beside her, and she whipped her head round to discover that there was already a passenger sitting in the back seat.

She’d been so focused on getting to Grace that she hadn’t even noticed the other passenger when she’d climbed into the taxi.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude. Look, I realise that you were here first, and technically I ought to leave right now and let you get on with your journey, but I really do need to get to the Bramerton as quickly as possible. Would you mind finding another taxi and...and...?’ She waved a desperate hand at him. ‘Look, I’ll pay for your cab.’ It’d mean extending her overdraft yet again, but what were a few more pounds if it meant that she could return the favour for once and help Grace? Besides, she was about to start a new job. Next month, her cash-flow situation would be a bit better.

‘Actually, I’m heading towards Kensington myself,’ he said. ‘I’ll drop you off at the Bramerton.’

Relief flooded through Bella. She’d found the modern equivalent of a knight on a white charger: a man in a black cab. She wouldn’t have to let her sister down. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’ She gave in to the impulse, leaned forward and kissed him soundly on the cheek. ‘You have no idea how much I appreciate this.’

‘What’s so urgent?’ he asked as the taxi drove off.

‘It’s a family thing,’ she said. It wasn’t her place to tell anyone about her sister’s situation, let alone tell a complete stranger.

‘Uh-huh.’ He paused. ‘Did I see you just come out of Insurgo Records?’

She looked at him, surprised. The man looked like a businessman on his way home from a late meeting, and he was hardly the target market for an independent record label—even though Insurgo’s artists were a real mixture, from folk singer-songwriters to punk and indie bands, with a few oddities thrown in. ‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Are you one of their acts?’

In her black jeans and matching plain T-shirt, teamed with a shiny platinum-blonde bob, Bella knew that she probably looked as much like an indie musician as she did a graphic designer. ‘No,’ she said.

But the man had been kind enough to let her share his taxi, so she didn’t want to be rude to him. Besides, making small talk might distract her enough to stop her worrying about whatever had sent her normally cool and capable big sister into meltdown. She smiled at him. ‘Actually, I’m a graphic designer, and I’m starting work at Insurgo next week.’

‘Are you, now?’

Something about the way he drawled the words made alarm bells ring in the back of her head. But he was a total stranger. She was making something out of nothing. ‘Yes, and I’m really looking forward to it,’ she said with a bright smile. ‘I’ll be designing website graphics, album covers and band merch. Actually, I’m still trying to get my head round the fact that I’ve just been offered my dream job.’ In an ideal world she would’ve preferred to have Insurgo as a client rather than as her employer, but working for someone full-time again meant that she’d have a regular income for a while—and right now she needed a regular income rather more than she needed her freedom.

‘You don’t know who I am, do you?’ he asked.

‘Other than a stranger who’s been kind enough to let me share his taxi? No,’ she admitted.

‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ he said, leaning forward out of the shadows and holding out his hand.

Bella caught her breath. He was gorgeous. Dark hair that was brushed back from his face, cornflower-blue eyes, and the kind of jawline that would’ve made him a hit in any perfume ad. She really had to resist the urge to reach out and trail her fingertips down his clean-shaven cheek. And that mouth. Almost pouting, the sexiest mouth she’d seen in a while.

Almost in a daze, she shook his hand, noting how firm his handshake was. And she studiously ignored the fact that her palm was tingling; after the way Kirk had let her down, she was officially off men. Even if this one was very easy on the eye and was wearing a beautifully cut designer suit, what looked like a handmade white shirt, a silk tie and highly polished Italian shoes.

No involvement.

Full stop.

Because she was never going to let anyone make her feel as foolish and useless as Kirk had made her feel, ever again.

‘Hugh Moncrieff,’ he said, and he waited for the penny to drop.

It took five seconds.

‘Hugh Moncrieff—as in Insurgo’s Hugh Moncrieff?’ Bella asked in horror.

‘That would be me,’ he said. And he looked as if he was enjoying her reaction.

He was her new boss? ‘But—you can’t be.’ Even though it would explain why he’d asked her if she was one of the artists; he must’ve thought that his second-in-command had signed her up in his absence.

‘Why not?’

‘Because you—you—’ She gestured to his suit. ‘You don’t look like an indie record label owner. You look like a stockbroker.’

‘The bank always likes the company’s MD to wear a suit,’ he said mildly. ‘If I’d turned up to the meeting in ripped jeans and an avant-garde T-shirt, with funky hair, they’d have seen me as less of a professional and more of a risk.’

The bank? That nasty feeling got a lot worse. If he’d been to the bank for a meeting, all dressed up, at this time on a Friday evening, did that mean the company was in trouble and her job would be over before it had even started?

Her fears must’ve shown on her face, because he said, ‘It’s our annual review, and I went for a drink with a business contact afterwards. Don’t look so worried. So you’re my new graphic designer?’

‘Bella Faraday,’ she said. ‘And I’m very good at what I do.’

‘I expect you are, or Tarquin wouldn’t have hired you,’ he said dryly.

‘So what are you doing in a taxi, when you own a record label? Why don’t you have your own car, or a limo or something to drive you around?’ The question was out before she could stop herself and she groaned inwardly. Way to go, Bella, she thought. Just grill your new boss, two minutes after you insulted him by saying he didn’t look like the owner of an indie record label. Carry on like this and you’ll be picking up your cards on Monday morning instead of starting your job.

So much for never letting herself feel foolish again. Right now she felt like a prize idiot.

‘That’s an easy one.’ He smiled. ‘My car happens to be in the local garage, having something fixed. I’d rather put my money into the business than waste it by hiring a flashy limo to do little more than wait around for me all day. Hence the taxi.’

Bella could feel the colour swishing through her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry. It’s not my place to question you. Look, um, please ask the cabbie to pull over and drop me off, and I’ll get out of your way and find myself another taxi.’

‘You said it was urgent—a family thing.’

‘It is.’

‘Then let me get you to the hotel. Tarquin obviously overran with the interviews and made you late in the first place, so it’s Insurgo’s fault.’

‘No, it’s not,’ she said. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. But right at that moment she was more worried about Grace than about making a good impression on her new boss, so she’d accept the offer. ‘But thank you for the lift. I really appreciate this.’

‘No problem.’

She texted Grace swiftly.

In taxi now. Wait for me in Reception.

Finally the taxi driver pulled up outside the Bramerton Hotel.

‘Thank you again, Mr Moncrieff,’ she said politely. ‘How much do I owe you for the cab fare?’

‘Nothing. You’re practically on my way,’ he said.

‘Thank you. Really. And I’ll work late every night next week to make up for it,’ she said, and left the taxi before she could say anything else stupid.

When she walked into the reception area, Grace was waiting there, white-faced and silent. And there was no sign of Howard. Why wasn’t Grace’s fiancé waiting with her? Had something happened to Howard? No, of course not, or Grace would’ve said something in her texts. Not just that single word: Help, followed by rejecting Bella’s call and sending a second text: Can’t talk now. And now Bella was seriously worried. What on earth had happened?

But Grace had been right about one thing. They couldn’t talk about it here. Not with Howard’s parents’ golden wedding anniversary going on in one of the function rooms. Whatever it was, Bella had her sister’s back. And they were leaving. Now.

‘Come on. Let’s get out of here,’ Bella said softly, put her arm round Grace and led her out of the hotel.

Back in the street, she looked around for a taxi.

Then she realised that the taxi that had dropped her off was still waiting at the kerb, exactly where she’d left it. And Hugh Moncrieff was still there too, though he’d moved seats so that his back was to the cabbie. He wound the window down and beckoned them over. ‘Can I give you a lift somewhere?’

‘But—’ she began.

‘Everything’s clearly not OK,’ he said softly, looking at Grace, ‘so I’ll drop you and...your sister, I presume?’ At her nod, he continued, ‘I’ll drop you where you need to go. What’s the address?’

Bella definitely didn’t want to leave Grace alone tonight, and her own flat wasn’t big enough for two. Biting her lip, she gave him Grace’s address. ‘Thank you so much,’ she said. ‘We both really appreciate this. Especially as you didn’t have to wait.’

‘No problem.’

She helped Grace into the car. Grace still hadn’t said a word. Worried, Bella took her hand and squeezed it; but Grace didn’t return the pressure. And this time nobody seemed disposed to make any small talk. With every second, Bella felt more and more awkward.

Then, just as the taxi turned into Grace’s road, Grace threw up. All over Hugh’s posh Italian shoes and suit trousers.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she mumbled.

She looked almost as mortified as Bella felt—and Bella had no idea what to say. What could you say when your sister threw up over your new boss? Apart from an equally apologetic, ‘I’m so sorry.’

Hugh brushed it aside. ‘These things happen. Do you need help getting her indoors?’

‘Thank you, but no—I think you’ve done more than enough to help us, this evening.’ Bella took a deep breath. ‘Look, I’ll pay for valeting the taxi and I’ll pick up the bill for dry-cleaning your suit and replacing your shoes.’

‘We’ll sort it out later,’ he said. ‘Are you sure you can manage?’

‘I’m sure,’ Bella fibbed. At least she had Grace’s spare door key, so actually getting into the flat wouldn’t be a problem. ‘And thank you. And sorry. And—’

‘Just get your sister safely inside,’ Hugh cut in. ‘We’ll sort out everything later.’

‘Thank you. And I’m sorry,’ Bella whispered again, and helped Grace out of the taxi.

* * *

This really wasn’t how Hugh had expected to spend a Friday evening. Or how he’d expected to meet the newest member of his team.

The poor woman had looked horrified when her sister threw up everywhere.

Did Bella often rescue her sister like that? he wondered. Funny, the other woman had been dressed so soberly, in a navy linen dress and sensible shoes. Looking at them together, most people would’ve guessed that the younger woman was the one who partied too hard and would be most likely to throw up in the back of a taxi and need looking after.

Or maybe Bella’s sister hadn’t been drunk. Maybe she’d been ill. But then surely Bella would’ve said that her sister was ill, or even called an ambulance?

But it was none of his business. He should just take a step back and ignore it.

‘I’m sorry about all that,’ he said to the driver. ‘If you can drop me home, I’ll pay for the cost of valeting the taxi and lost fares.’ He gave the driver the address.

Though he still couldn’t get Bella Faraday out of his head. Especially the moment when she’d kissed his cheek; it had felt as if he’d been galvanised. And then, when she’d shaken his hand, every nerve-end had been aware of the feel of her skin against his.

Hugh was definitely attracted to her. More attracted than he’d been towards anyone in a very long time.

But.

After the whole fiasco with Jessie, he’d learned his lesson well. Hugh would never, ever mix work and pleasure again. As Tarquin had just hired Bella as their new graphic artist, it meant that she came firmly under the category of work. So he’d have to just ignore the pull of attraction in future and treat her just the same as he did every single one of his colleagues—by keeping her at a professional distance.

Even if she did have the sexiest mouth and sparkliest eyes he’d ever seen.

No involvement.

No risks.

This time, he’d stick to the rules.

* * *

‘I’m so sorry I was sick everywhere,’ Grace said once they were sitting down inside her flat.

Bella frowned. ‘Didn’t you eat anything to line your stomach before you started knocking back whatever it was that made you throw up?’

‘Champagne. No,’ Grace said miserably. ‘My stomach was tied in too many knots to eat.’

And Grace hardly ever drank. It wasn’t a good combination. Not to mention really worrying—what had been so bad that Grace had had to get drunk? She took a deep breath. First things first. She needed to get Grace sober. ‘Right. First of all you’re having water—lots and lots of water,’ Bella said. Then she looked through Grace’s cupboards. Please let there be something that she could actually cook. Or, failing that, cereal to soak up all that champagne.

Then she spied the box of porridge oats. Perfect. Even she could follow the instructions on the box and make porridge in the microwave.

While the porridge was cooking, she took a banana from Grace’s fruit bowl and chopped it up. She added it to the finished cereal and put the bowl in front of Grace, who immediately pushed it away.

‘I can’t.’

‘Eat it,’ Bella said firmly. ‘Your electrolytes are all over the place and bananas are great for sorting that out, and oats will help because they’re bland carbs which will raise your blood sugar without upsetting your stomach.’

‘How do you know all this stuff?’ Grace asked, looking bemused.

Bella smiled. ‘Remember I dated a doctor a couple of years back? He gave me the lowdown on the best food to eat for a hangover.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Grace said again. ‘Was the taxi driver very angry?’

‘Don’t worry,’ Bella said airily. ‘My boss is sorting it.’

Grace did a double-take. ‘Your boss?’

‘Uh-huh.’ Bella flashed her sister a grin. ‘Guess what? I got the job.’

‘I—oh, my God. Are you telling me that I just threw up over your boss before you even started the job?’ Grace asked, looking horrified as Bella’s words sank in. ‘Oh, no. I’ll talk to him and explain, so he doesn’t sack you or—’

‘Gracie, it’s fine,’ Bella cut in.

‘It’s not fine at all! I’ve messed things up for you. Look. I’ll pay for the dry-cleaning.’

Bella smiled. ‘I already told him I’d do that, and I said I’d pay for valeting the taxi as well.’

‘My mess, my bill,’ Grace said. ‘I’ll pay.’

‘Gracie, just shut up and eat your porridge. I don’t want to hear another word from you, young lady, until that bowl is empty.’

‘You sound like Mum,’ Grace muttered.

‘Good,’ Bella retorted. Usually Grace was the one who sounded like their mother and Bella was the one hanging her head in shame.

She made Grace eat every scrap and drink two more glasses of water before she resumed her interrogation. ‘Right. Now tell me—what happened?’

‘I can’t marry Howard.’

It was the last thing Bella had been expecting. Her older sister had been engaged for the last four years. OK, so Howard was a bit on the boring side, and his parents were nightmares—Bella had dubbed them Mr Toad and Mrs Concrete Hair with good reason—but if Grace loved him then Bella was prepared to be as sweet as she could to them. ‘What? Why not? Don’t you love him any more?’ And then a nasty thought struck her. ‘Is there someone else?’

‘Of course there isn’t anyone else.’ Grace shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t do that to him.’

‘Not deliberately, no, but you can’t help who you fall in love with,’ Bella said. She’d fallen for Mr Wrong enough times, and Kirk had shattered her trust for good. She’d never trust another man with her heart again, no matter how attractive he was. It had taken her six months to rebuild her life—and she was still angry with herself for being so naïve and trusting. Why hadn’t she been able to see that he was stringing her along?

‘I love Howard, but I’m not in love with him,’ Grace said. ‘There’s a difference.’

‘I know.’ Bella squeezed her hand. ‘And it’s a big difference. A deal-breaking difference.’

‘He’s never made me feel breathless and dizzy, as if he’d swept me off my feet.’

Not surprising: Howard was cautious and sensible. Which wasn’t a bad thing, Bella thought, but the occasional bit of spontaneity wouldn’t have hurt. And it might have made her sister’s world complete—which clearly hadn’t happened. On paper, Grace and Howard were the perfect match—both sensible and cautious—but there was a little thing called chemistry. Without that, life would be miserable. ‘You can’t spend the rest of your life with someone who doesn’t make your world light up.’

Grace bit her lip. ‘I think you’re about the only person who’d understand that. Mum’s going to be so disappointed in me.’

‘No, she’s not, and neither is Dad—they both want you to be happy, and if marrying Howard wouldn’t make you happy then you definitely shouldn’t marry him,’ Bella said firmly.

‘I’m not sure if he was in love with me, either,’ Grace said.

‘Of course he was—you’re gorgeous and you’re clever and you’re nice. What’s not to love?’ Bella demanded, cross on her sister’s behalf.

‘I think we both loved each other,’ Grace said softly, ‘but not enough. I mean, we’ve been engaged for ever—who stays engaged for four years in this day and age?’

‘A couple who’s saving up the deposit for a house?’ Bella suggested.

‘Apart from the fact that we already have enough money for that between us, you know what I mean—if we’d really wanted to be together, we’d have got married years ago rather than waiting. We don’t even live together,’ Grace pointed out.

‘Mainly because Cynthia of the Eagle Eyes and Concrete Hair wouldn’t let her little boy shack up with someone,’ Bella said. ‘Is that why you got drunk tonight?’

‘No. That was the cartoon you drew for me,’ Grace said. ‘Fifty Shades of Beige.’

Bella winced. ‘Sorry. I meant it as a joke, to make you laugh and relax a bit. I knew you weren’t looking forward to the golden wedding party.’

‘But it was so accurate, Bel,’ Grace said. ‘I was the only woman there not dressed in beige.’

Bella couldn’t help laughing. ‘Ouch. I didn’t think it’d be quite that bad.’

‘Oh, it was,’ Grace said feelingly. ‘I really didn’t belong there. I drank three glasses of champagne straight down to give me courage and I didn’t even feel them, Bel.’

Which was really un-Grace-like. She always stopped after one glass. Sensible, reliable Grace who looked after everyone else and was usually the one mopping up, not the one throwing up.

‘I was just numb. And that’s when I realised,’ Grace said, ‘that I was walking into a life I didn’t actually want. In fifty years’ time, I don’t want to be sensible Grace Sutton, whose heart has never once skipped a beat, and whose mother-in-law directed the whole of her marriage.’

‘If anyone could live until well past the age of a hundred, marbles intact and with an iron fist, it’d be Mrs Concrete Hair,’ Bella said feelingly. ‘You’ve done the right thing, Gracie. It’s much better to call a halt now than to wait until after you married Howard and then have all the mess of a divorce to go through.’

‘Really?’ Grace didn’t look convinced. She looked guilty and miserable and worried.

‘Really,’ Bella said firmly, ‘and Mum and Dad will back you, too.’

‘I just feel that I’ve let everyone down—all the work that’s gone into arranging the wedding.’ Grace swallowed. ‘Not to mention the money.’

‘But you haven’t let anyone down,’ Bella said. ‘Well, except you should have told me all this a lot sooner, because I’m your sister and of course I’m going to support you. I hate to think that you’ve been miserable all these months when I could’ve listened to you and made you feel better. You’re doing the right thing, Gracie. And cancelling the wedding won’t be that hard.’ This was slightly surreal; it felt almost as if she and Grace had swapped places and it was her turn to be the sensible, super-organised one instead of the one who needed rescuing. ‘Just give me a list of the names and contact details of the people you’ve invited and your suppliers, and I’ll ring them all and explain the wedding’s off.’

‘I can’t make you do that!’ Grace protested.

‘You’re not making me do it. I’m offering. That’s what sisters are for.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Have you told Howard?’ Was that why her no-longer-future brother-in-law had been so conspicuously absent?

‘No. I’m going to do that tomorrow.’

A nasty thought struck Bella. ‘Does he actually know you’ve left the party?’

Grace nodded and winced. ‘I told him I had a migraine and was going home.’

‘And he didn’t even offer to take you home? That’s atrocious!’

‘How could he leave? It’s his parents’ golden wedding anniversary party.’

‘OK, so he probably had to stay there with the Gruesome Twosome,’ Bella allowed, ‘but he still should’ve made sure you were all right first and at least arranged a taxi to take you home.’

‘I’m sure he would’ve done, but I told him you were coming to collect me,’ Grace explained.

‘Hmm,’ Bella said, though she wasn’t mollified. What on earth was wrong with the man? Howard had been Grace’s fiancé for four years and he hadn’t even made sure that she got home safely when she’d told him she felt ill—whereas Hugh Moncrieff, a man Bella had met only a few minutes ago, had not only come to the rescue, he’d offered to help them indoors. So her new boss had a good heart as well as a gorgeous face.

Not that she should be thinking about that right now. Or ever, for that matter. Even if she wasn’t officially off men, her boss was completely off limits. She needed this job, to get her finances back on an even keel. ‘So what are you going to tell Howard tomorrow?’ she asked.

‘The truth—that I can’t marry him.’ Grace closed her eyes for a moment. ‘And that means I’ll lose my job and my home, too, Bel. No way can I go back to work at Sutton’s, not when I’ve just split up with the boss’s son—and in the circumstances I can hardly ask them to give me a reference to work anywhere else. Plus I’ve already given my landlord notice on my flat. I know he’s already found my replacement and signed a contract, so I can’t ask him just to ignore my notice and renew my lease.’ She blew out a breath. ‘I’ve really burned my bridges, Bel—and who knows how long it’ll take me to find another flat?’

‘You don’t have to. Come and stay with me,’ Bella said immediately.

Grace hugged her. ‘I love you, sweetheart, and thank you for the offer, but your flat’s barely big enough for one person. You don’t have room for me to stay. I’ll ask round my friends—one of them will put me up until I can find somewhere—and I’ll sign on with a temp agency. If I explain the situation, I’m sure they’ll understand about the problem with references and help me to find a way round it.’

This sounded more like her level-headed older sister, Bella thought. Planning. Being sensible. The oats were clearly soaking up what remained of the champagne. ‘It’ll all work out, Gracie. You know what Mum always says: when one door closes, another opens.’

‘I know,’ Grace said.

‘I was going to take you out for sushi and champagne tomorrow, to celebrate my job—because I wouldn’t have got it without you—but we can take a rain check on that, because I’m guessing you won’t want to see champagne again for months.’

‘Definitely not.’ Grace winced. ‘And you might’ve lost the job, because of me.’

‘Of course I haven’t. I’ll talk my boss round,’ Bella said, sounding slightly more confident than she actually felt. ‘Go and have a shower, clean your teeth, get in your PJs, and then we’re going to snuggle under a throw on your sofa and watch a re-run of Friends.’

‘I love you, Bel,’ Grace said. ‘You’re the best sister I could ever ask for.’

Even though they were total opposites, Bella thought. And, weirdly, tonight, it felt more as if she was Grace and Grace was her.

‘You came straight to rescue me without asking any questions,’ Grace said.

‘Of course I did! You’ve done it often enough for me,’ Bella said. ‘And you’re the best sister I could ever ask for, too, and I love you to bits—even when I don’t understand you. Now go and get yourself sorted out. I’m going to raid your fridge because I’m starving, and I’m sleeping on your sofa tonight. Tomorrow, you can talk to Howard and we’ll make that list and work through it together. And then things will start to look better. You’ll see.’ She hugged her sister. ‘Nothing fazes a Faraday girl, right?’

‘Right,’ Grace said. ‘Nothing fazes a Faraday girl.’


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_a8ee7408-1965-5ede-8ed7-a611586e4551)

ON MONDAY MORNING, Bella left her flat at what felt like the crack of dawn. For the last couple of years, she’d been able to set her own working hours—meaning that she could sleep in until ten a.m. and work until late, which suited her body clock better—but she knew that she needed to make a good impression on her first day at Insurgo. Particularly given what had happened at her first meeting with the boss. She couldn’t afford to put a single foot wrong from now on, not if she wanted to keep her job and get her finances back on track.

And getting up early would take her mind off what had been a truly lousy weekend. Seeing Grace—the person she’d always looked up to as a tower of strength, someone who knew exactly what to do to sort out any given situation—fall apart had shocked Bella deeply. Right now Grace was in the almost same position that Bella had been in six months ago: recovering from a wrecked relationship, worrying about her job and her home and her finances, and feeling as if the sun would never rise again.

OK, so Grace had been the dumper rather than the dumpee, in this case, and she hadn’t lost her best friend and the contents of her bank account as well as her partner; but it was still going to be a huge change in Grace’s life. Even though it had definitely been the right decision.

Privately, Bella thought her sister had had a lucky escape. Howard was a nice enough guy, but he was completely under his mother’s thumb. Marrying him would’ve basically meant having the rest of her life run by Cynthia of the Eagle Eyes and Concrete Hair, the most cold and judgemental woman that Bella had ever met. And finding another job might just mean that Grace’s new employer would appreciate her and give her the promotion she deserved. At Sutton’s, Grace had been totally taken for granted. They’d expected her to work way more than her fair share of hours, under the guise of being ‘almost family’, but they hadn’t actually given her any of the privileges of being ‘almost family’.

Howard had barely raised a single argument when Grace had gone to see him on the Saturday morning and called off the wedding. So he clearly hadn’t loved Grace enough to fight for her. And Bella thought her sister deserved a lot better than a man who was nice enough but didn’t have a backbone and would never stand up for her.

Today was a new chapter in both their lives. And hopefully this one would be better for both of them.

Bella paused outside the Insurgo Records building. The basement was a recording studio and practice rooms that local bands could book as well as being used by the Insurgo artists; the ground floor and mezzanine comprised a seriously upmarket café—the sort that offered coffee made in a way that looked more as if it was some kind of laboratory experiment than a hot drink, but apparently brought out the floral notes in the coffee; and the top two floors were the record label’s actual offices.

‘All righty. Welcome to your new life,’ she told herself, and went inside.

She was the first member of staff to arrive in the office after Tarquin, Hugh’s second-in-command—to her relief, Hugh didn’t seem to be there yet—and Tarquin handed her a design brief, a portable CD player and a pair of headphones. ‘Welcome to Insurgo, Bella,’ he said with a smile. ‘We’re doing a limited edition of coloured vinyl for Lacey’s third single. She’s one of our singer-songwriters. I’ve given you a rundown here of our target market, her career history, and the PR schedule. What I need you to do is have a listen to the album—the song we’re releasing is the fourth track on the CD—and come up with some ideas for the vinyl cover and a promo T-shirt, based on what you hear. Or if you have ideas for other promo items, bring them along. If you’d like to have a second listen in one of the studios rather than working on headphones, just yell and I’ll sort it out. And then maybe we can talk about it, later this afternoon?’

‘That sounds fine,’ Bella said, smiling back. She was being thrown in at the deep end, but she’d always thrived on that. And this was her chance to shine and prove they’d made the right decision in hiring her.

‘This is your desk, over here,’ he said, and ushered her over to a desk by the window with a drawing board and a computer. ‘As soon as Shelley—our admin guru—comes in, we’ll get you set up with a password and username. The meeting room’s on the floor above, along with Hugh’s office, the staff kitchen and the toilets. I’m over there in the corner, and I’ll get everyone else to come over and introduce themselves as they come in.’

‘That’s great,’ Bella said, trying to damp down the sudden flood of nervousness. She was good with people. She knew she’d find her place in the pack and quickly work out how to get the best from the people she worked with. She always did. But these first few hours in a new role were always crucial.

‘Is there anything else you need before you start?’ he asked.

Yes, but she couldn’t exactly explain why she needed to see the boss without making things awkward. But she’d just thought of the perfect excuse to go up to the next floor. Hopefully Hugh wasn’t in yet, so she could leave the neatly wrapped parcel in her bag on his desk. Or, if he was at his desk, hopefully he’d be alone and she could snatch two minutes to apologise to him in person while the kettle boiled. She smiled. ‘How about I make us both a coffee?’

‘Excellent idea. Thank you.’ Tarquin smiled back. ‘Mine’s black, no sugar. I’m afraid it’s pretty basic stuff in the staff kitchen—tea, instant coffee and hot chocolate—but help yourself to whatever you want. If you’d rather have something fancier, you do get a staff discount downstairs at the café.’

‘That’s good to know. And instant does me just fine. At this time of the morning, any coffee works,’ Bella said with a smile.

To her relief, she discovered that Hugh’s office was empty. So she wouldn’t have to confront him quite yet, then. There was a pile of post set neatly in the middle of his immaculate desk; she left the package and accompanying card on top of it. Then she boiled the kettle and made herself and Tarquin a mug of coffee before heading downstairs to her desk and making a start on the design briefs. And please, please, let Hugh Moncrieff accept her apology.

* * *

Hugh wasn’t in the best of moods when he drove his car into the tiny car park behind the record label offices. His shoes had just about recovered from their ordeal on Friday night, and his dry cleaner had said that there would be no problem with his suit. But he hadn’t been able to get Bella Faraday out of his head.

Worse still had been the slew of texts and emails and answering machine messages over the weekend from his mother, his brothers and their partners, all reminding him that his brother Nigel’s engagement party was coming up and they couldn’t wait to see him. Which meant that Hugh was in for another bout of familial nagging. Why was he still messing about with his record label? When was he going to treat it as the hobby it ought to be and get himself a proper job?

He knew what the subtext meant: he was the baby of the family, so they’d let him have his dream and do his degree in music instead of economics. Now he was thirty, they all thought it was about time he gave up his financially risky business and joined the long-established family stockbroking firm instead. Which was why Bella’s comment about him looking like a stockbroker had really touched a raw nerve on Friday night.

He happened to like his life in London, thank you very much. He loved what he did at Insurgo—finding promising new talent and polishing their rough material just enough to make them commercially viable without taking away the creative spark that had caught his ear in the first place. Insurgo had made a name for itself as an independent label producing quality sound, from rock through to singer-songwriters, with a sprinkling of oddities who wouldn’t fit anywhere else. Hugh was proud of what he did. He didn’t want to give it up and be a stockbroker like his older brothers Julian, Nigel and Alistair.

But the question that drove him really crazy was when his family asked when he intended to find a nice girl and settle down. That wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Jessie had cured him of that particular pipe dream. He knew his family meant well, but couldn’t they see that they were still prodding a bruise?

His business, his heart and his music had all taken a battering. And finding a new, suitable girlfriend wasn’t going to repair any of the damage. Sheer hard work and some quiet support from his best friends had rescued his business, but nowadays his heart was permanently off limits. And the music that had once flowed from his fingers and filled his head had gone for good. He didn’t write songs any more. He just produced them—and he kept a professional distance from his artists.

He ran through a few excuses in his head. None of them worked. Even being in a full body cast wouldn’t get him a free pass. He was just going to have to turn up, smile sweetly at everyone, and metaphorically stick his fingers in his ears and say ‘la-la-la’ every time his career or his love life was mentioned. Which he knew from experience would be about every seven minutes, on average.

He collected a double espresso from the café on the ground floor—on a morning like this one, a mug of the instant stuff in the staff kitchen just wasn’t going to cut it—and stomped up to his office, completely bypassing the team. What he needed right now was music. Loud enough to drown out the world and drown out his thoughts. A few minutes with headphones on, and he might be human enough again to face his team without biting their heads off even more than he normally would on a Monday morning.

And then he stopped dead.

On top of the post he’d been expecting to see, there was a neatly wrapped parcel and a thick cream envelope. It wasn’t his birthday, and the parcel didn’t look like a promo item. It was the wrong shape for a CD or vinyl, and in any case most unsigned artists pitching to him tended to email him with a link to a digital file on the internet.

Intrigued, he untied the ribbon and unwrapped the shiny paper from the parcel to discover a box of seriously good chocolates.

Whoever had sent them had excellent taste. But who were they from and why?

He opened the envelope. Inside was a hand-drawn card: a line-drawing of a mournful-looking rabbit with a speech bubble saying ‘Sorry’. Despite his bad mood, he felt the corner of his mouth twitch. Whoever had sent this was saying they knew he wasn’t a happy bunny—and Hugh had a very soft spot for terrible puns.

He opened the card to find out who’d sent it, and a wad of banknotes fell out.

What?

Why on earth would someone be giving him cash?

He scanned the inside swiftly. The writing was beautifully neat and regular, slightly angular and spiky—the sort you’d see on hand-drawn labels in an art gallery or upmarket bookshop.

Dear Mr Moncrieff

Thank you for rescuing us on Friday night and I’m very sorry for the inconvenience we caused you. I hope the enclosed will cover the cost of valeting the taxi, dry-cleaning your suit and replacing your shoes. Please let me know if there’s still a shortfall and I will make it up.

Yours sincerely

Bella Faraday

He blinked. She’d said something on Friday evening about reimbursing him, but he really hadn’t been expecting this. Since the parcel and the card had been hand-delivered, that meant that their new graphic designer must already be at her desk. Most of his team didn’t show their faces in the office until nearly ten, so she was super-early on her first day.

And, although he appreciated the gesture, it really wasn’t necessary. His shoes had survived and the rest of it hadn’t cost that much. He really ought to return the money.

He picked up his phone and dialled his second-in-command’s extension. ‘Can you send Ms Faraday up?’

‘Good morning to you, Tarquin, my friend,’ Tarquin said dryly. ‘How are you? Did you have a nice weekend? What’s new with you?’

Hugh sighed. ‘Don’t give me a hard time, Tarq.’

‘Get out of the wrong side of bed, did we? Tsk. Must be Monday morning.’

Hugh knew he shouldn’t take out his mood on his best friend and business partner. Particularly as Tarquin dealt with all the stuff Hugh didn’t enjoy, and with extremely good grace, so Hugh could concentrate on the overall strategy of the label and actually producing the music. ‘I’m sorry. All right. Good morning, Tarquin. How are you? Did you have a nice weekend?’

‘That’s better. Good, and yes, thank you. I’ll send her up. And be nice, sweet-cheeks—apart from the fact that it’s her first day, not everyone’s as vile as you are on Monday mornings.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Hugh said, but he was smiling as he put the phone down again.

* * *

Bella was leaning back in her chair, eyes closed, listening to the music. Lacey, the singer, had a really haunting voice, and the song was underpinned by an acoustic guitar and a cello. The whole thing was gorgeous, and it made Bella think of mountains, deep Scottish lochs, forests and fairies. Maybe she could design something with mist, and perhaps a pine forest, and...

She yelped as she felt the tap on her shoulder; reacting swiftly, she sat bolt upright, opened her eyes and pulled off the headphones.

Tarquin was standing next to her, his face full of remorse. ‘Sorry, Bella. I didn’t mean to give you a heart attack.’

Bella’s heart was galloping away. ‘You did give me a bit of a fright,’ she said. ‘I was listening to the CD—it’s really good.’

‘Yeah, we think so, too.’ He smiled. ‘Lacey’s a bit of a character. She always performs barefoot.’

‘Like a fairy.’ The words were out before Bella could stop them. ‘Sorry. Ignore me. Did you want something?’

‘Yes. Hugh just called down. Can you go up to his office?’

Uh-oh. This must mean that Hugh had seen her parcel and her card. And she had absolutely no idea what his reaction was going to be. ‘Um, sure,’ she said.

‘Don’t look so worried. The boss knows it’s your first day, so he probably just wants to say hello and welcome you to Insurgo,’ Tarquin said kindly.

Bella wasn’t so sure. If that was the case, why hadn’t Hugh come down to the open-plan office? She had a nasty feeling that she wasn’t going to be hearing a welcome speech but a ‘goodbye and never darken our doorstep again’ speech. Clearly the parcel she’d left on her new boss’s desk hadn’t been anywhere near enough of an apology.

Her fears must have shown on her face because Tarquin said, ‘His bark’s worse than his bite. He just isn’t a Monday morning person, that’s all. Whatever he says, don’t take it to heart, OK? Everyone else in the office will tell you the same—and if he does say something horrible to you, he’ll come and apologise to you in the afternoon when he’s human again. It’s just how he is.’

‘Right,’ Bella said, forcing a smile she didn’t feel. ‘I’ll, um, be back in a minute, then?’ She switched off the music, scribbled the word ‘mist’ on a pad to remind herself what she’d been thinking about, and then headed for Hugh’s office, her stomach churning. Hesitantly, she rapped on the closed door.

‘Come in,’ he said, sounding brusque.

Tarquin obviously hadn’t been joking when he’d said that the boss wasn’t a Monday morning person.

And then her jaw almost dropped when she walked in. The last time she’d seen Hugh Moncrieff, he’d been clean-shaven and wearing a formal suit. Today, he was wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt with the Insurgo Records logo on it, and his dark hair looked as if he’d dragged his fingers through it instead of combing it. Teamed with the shadow of stubble on his face, it made him look as if he’d just got out of bed. He should’ve looked scruffy and faintly disgusting. But the whole package made him seem younger and much more approachable—not to mention sexy as hell—and her mouth went dry. Oh, help. She really had to remember that he was the boss, not just another one of the team. That made him totally off limits. And, besides, she didn’t want to risk her heart again. Which gave her a double reason not to act on the desire flickering through her—even if he was the most gorgeous man she’d ever met.

He indicated the box of chocolates sitting on his desk. ‘Why?’

Hugh was clearly a man of few words when it came to work. Or maybe it was his Monday morning-itis. ‘Why the gift? Or why chocolates?’ she asked.

‘Both.’

‘The gift is to say thank you, because you went way beyond the call of duty on Friday night. They’re chocolates, because I can hardly buy a man flowers,’ she said. ‘Did I give you enough money to cover everything, or do I still owe you?’

He handed her the envelope, which felt thick enough to contain most—if not all—of the money she’d enclosed with the card. ‘My shoes survived, and the taxi and dry-cleaning bill weren’t much,’ he said.

She knew that wasn’t true. The taxi firm would’ve charged him for valeting the cab and for lost earnings while the cab was out of action, being cleaned. ‘I’d rather you kept it,’ she said, putting the envelope back on his desk. ‘To cover the inconvenience.’

‘No need,’ he said firmly. ‘Is your sister OK? She looked terrible.’

Bella was grateful he hadn’t mentioned the ‘incident’. ‘Grace barely even drinks, normally,’ she said, not wanting him to think badly of her sister. ‘Friday was totally out of character for her. She’s the sensible and together one who sorts everything out; I’m the flaky and unreli—’ She stopped mid-word, realising what she was about to blurt out. ‘Not when it comes to my job, obviously. I’m very together where my work is concerned,’ she added swiftly.

‘But in your personal life you’re flaky and unreliable?’ he asked.

‘Not unreliable, even—just the one who opens her mouth without thinking things through,’ she said ruefully. ‘As you’ve just heard.’

‘But you rescued your sister when she needed your help,’ he said softly. ‘That definitely counts in your favour. Is she OK?’

‘She will be,’ Bella said. ‘I’ve never known her to drink three glasses of champagne in a row, let alone on an empty stomach. I think that’s why... Well. What happened, happened,’ she finished, squirming slightly.

‘Thank you for the chocolates. They’re appreciated,’ he said. ‘And you have good taste.’

‘I have good taste in a lot of things.’ And then, when she saw the momentary flicker in those amazing blue eyes, she wished the words unsaid. ‘I wasn’t flirting with you,’ she added quickly.

His expression said, much. ‘Take the money,’ he said. ‘I don’t need it. Use it to take your sister out to dinner or something.’

‘Just no champagne, right?’

This time, he smiled. ‘Right. Welcome to Insurgo, Ms Faraday.’

‘Thank you, Mr Moncrieff.’ Formality was good. It put distance between them. And it would stop her getting crazy ideas about a man with a mouth that promised sin and eyes that promised pleasure. Ideas she most definitely couldn’t let herself act upon.

‘Are you settling in all right?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Tarquin’s given me my first brief and I’m working on it now. The limited edition single.’ She paused. ‘He said it was coloured vinyl. I have to admit, I don’t know that much about how records are physically made. Can the vinyl be any colour you like?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you could do clear vinyl with little wisps of mist running through it?’

He looked surprised. ‘Yes. Would that tie in with your design?’

‘It’s what the music makes me think of. Obviously it’s just an idea at this stage,’ she said swiftly, not wanting to put him off. ‘I’ll do some rough mock-ups of three or four ideas, and then I’m discussing them with Tarquin this afternoon.’

‘Good. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.’

She blinked, surprised. ‘You’re going to be in the meeting as well?’

‘Not that one,’ he said. ‘But when you and Tarquin have agreed which one to work on, then you come and convince me.’

‘Challenge accepted.’ The words were out before she could stop them. Oh, for pity’s sake. This wasn’t about a challenge. This was about...about...

Why had her brain suddenly turned to soup?

He smiled, then, and it felt as if the room had lit up. Which was even more worrying. She didn’t want to start feeling like this about anyone, especially not her new boss.

‘I think I’m going to enjoy working with you, Bella Faraday.’

There was a faint trace of huskiness in his voice that sent a thrill right through her. This was bad. She could actually imagine him saying other things to her in that gorgeous voice. Things that would turn her into a complete puddle of hormones.

No.

This was work. She was really going to have to keep reminding herself that her relationship with Hugh Moncrieff was strictly business. Maybe she’d ask her friend Nalini to put a temporary henna tattoo on her hand saying ‘work’—written in Hindi script, so Bella would know exactly what it meant but anyone else would think it was just a pretty design. The last thing she needed was for anyone to guess how attracted she was to her new boss.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘I’ll get back to it, then.’ She gave him what she hoped was a cool, capable smile, and forced herself to walk coolly and calmly out of his office. One foot in front of the other. One step at a time. She could run once that door was closed behind her.

She’d just reached the doorway when he said softly, ‘Bella. I think you’ve forgotten something.’

Oh, help. She had to suppress the surge of lust. ‘What’s that?’ Oh, great. And her voice would have to be squeaky. She took a deep breath and turned to face him.

He waved the envelope at her.

‘Keep it.’

He coughed. ‘As your boss, I’m pulling rank.’

If she was stubborn over this, she could lose her job.

If she took the money back, she’d be in his debt.

Caught between a rock and a hard place. Or maybe there was a way out. ‘Then I’ll donate it to charity,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you can suggest a suitable one.’

‘Bella, this isn’t a war,’ he said softly, and she felt horrible.

‘Sorry. It’s just... I don’t want to be in your debt. And I don’t mean just you—I mean in anyone’s debt,’ she clarified.

‘The dry-cleaning bill wasn’t much, and the taxi firm is one I use a lot so they were pretty accommodating. And,’ he added, ‘I’m not exactly a church mouse.’

‘Church mouse?’ she asked, not following. Then she remembered the proverbial phrase. ‘Oh. Of course.’

‘Take the money,’ he said softly, ‘and it’s all forgotten. As far as I’m concerned—and everyone else at Insurgo, for that matter—today’s the first day we’ve met. And I’m notorious in the office for not being a Monday morning person. Nobody usually talks to me until lunchtime on Mondays because I’m so horrible.’

That made her feel better. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and took the envelope.

‘Have a nice day,’ he said, and that smile made her feel warm all over.

‘You, too,’ she said. But this time she lost her cool and fled before she could drop herself in it any more.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_4dde4fbf-36bb-5f31-9bb0-b5537c079246)

EVEN THE IDEA was crazy.

Asking Bella was completely out of the question. She was practically a stranger; and she worked for him. Two huge reasons why Hugh knew that he should put this whole thing out of his mind.

Hugh paced up and down his living room. The problem was, now the idea was in his head, it had taken root. And he knew why. He could tell himself that asking Bella to play the role of his unsuitable new girlfriend was simply because she was vivacious enough to make it convincing. It was true enough. But he knew that the real reason was a little more complicated than that. Spending the weekend together in Oxford would give them a chance to get to know each other better. See where things took them.

Crazy. Stupid. Insane.

He knew better than to mix work and pleasure. Last time he’d done it, the whole thing had gone so badly wrong that he’d nearly lost Insurgo—letting down his business partner and the people who depended on them for their jobs. Only the fact that Roland, his other best friend, had bought into the business as a sleeping partner had saved him from having to shut the business down. He’d worked stupid hours and he’d managed to stabilise everything, but he would never take that kind of risk again.

Strictly speaking, he knew this wasn’t quite that kind of risk. Bella wasn’t Jessie. She was part of the team, not one of his artists. She’d signed a contract with him rather than making a verbal agreement she could back out of because it would be her word against his. Getting to know Bella wasn’t going to put Insurgo at risk.

But it still made him antsy. Since Jessie, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t trust anyone with the battered remains of his heart. He’d keep an emotional distance. So why couldn’t he get Bella Faraday out of his head? Why did he keep remembering that frisson of awareness when she’d kissed his cheek in the taxi? Why did her smile make him feel as if the room lit up?

And, more importantly, what was he going to do about it?

* * *

By Thursday morning, Bella felt as if she’d been working at Insurgo for ever. The rest of the team turned out to be total sweethearts, and they all shared a love of music, cinema and art. Everyone pitched in with ideas and suggestions, and nobody minded if theirs was passed over for a better one. And she absolutely loved working there.

The previous afternoon, they’d had a discussion in the office about which song fitted them, so that evening she’d made little name-cards for everyone’s desk with a quick caricature of them and the title of ‘their’ song in place of their name.

It seemed mean to leave Hugh out just because he was upstairs rather than in the open-plan office with everyone else, so she made a card for him as well. ‘I Don’t Like Mondays’ fitted him to a T, she thought.

That morning, as the rest of the team filtered in to the office and saw the name-cards on their desks, there was much hilarity.

Then Hugh walked into the office—clearly not in a good mood, again—and Bella rather wished she hadn’t done a name-card for him after all.

‘Ms Faraday—a word?’ It was more of a command than a question, and his expression was completely impassive.

‘Yes, Mr Moncrieff,’ she said, and followed him meekly up to his office.

Even though he didn’t say a word to her on the way up, she had a pretty good idea what this was about. He hadn’t been amused at all by his name-card.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said as soon as he closed the door. ‘We were messing about yesterday—’ Then she stopped as she realised how incriminating her words were. ‘Over lunch, that is,’ she said swiftly, hoping that she’d saved the situation. She didn’t want to get her new colleagues into trouble. ‘We were talking about the song title that could be used instead of your name to describe you, and I drew the cards last night at home. It was just a bit of fun and I didn’t mean anything by it.’

‘You picked an appropriate one for me,’ he said.

Though every single day seemed to be Monday, where his mood was concerned. He really wasn’t a morning person. She winced. ‘Sorry. Are you very cross with me?’

‘No—and, just for the record, I don’t mind a bit of messing about in the office. It helps creativity, and I know everyone on the team puts the hours in. As long as the job gets done on time and within budget, I don’t actually care how it’s done.’

‘Then why did you want to see me?’ Bella asked, now completely mystified. If he wasn’t about to haul her over the coals for unprofessional behaviour, then what?

‘Your hair.’

She frowned. ‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘You were blonde, yesterday. Platinum blonde.’

‘Ye-es.’ She still didn’t follow.

‘And today your hair’s red.’

A tiny bit brighter red than she’d intended, because she’d been so busy making the name-cards the previous evening that she’d left the dye in for a few minutes longer than she should’ve done, but she liked it. ‘Yes.’ Where was he going with this? ‘Is there a problem with my hair colour?’ she asked carefully.

‘No, not at all.’

She really didn’t understand. ‘Then why did you call me into your office?’

‘Do you have a boyfriend?’

Apart from the fact that you weren’t supposed to answer a question with a question, what did that have to do with anything? She frowned. ‘You’re not supposed to ask me things like that. My relationship status has nothing to do with my job.’

‘I know. I’m not asking you as your employer.’

She caught her breath. Did that mean he was asking her out?

No, of course not. That was totally ridiculous. Just because she had a secret crush on him, it didn’t mean that her feelings were in any way returned. And in any case her boss was the last man she’d ever date. It would cause way too many problems, and she really couldn’t afford to give up her new job. There was no guarantee that the receivers dealing with her former client would give her any of the money owing to her, because she’d be way down the pecking order in the list of creditors. And, with Kirk having cleaned out their joint bank account so she no longer had any savings to her name, she was stuck. ‘Why do you want to know?’ she asked, trying hard to sound polite rather than aggressive.

‘Because I need you to do something for me, and I need to know whether I’m going to have to have a conversation with an overprotective boyfriend first.’

She was still none the wiser. ‘Now you’ve really got me worried.’

He raked a hand through his hair. ‘Bella, don’t be difficult.’

That was rich, coming from him, she thought. Hugh Moncrieff was the walking definition of difficult. He was also the walking definition of sexy, but she had to keep a lid on that thought.

‘Can you just answer the question?’ he asked. ‘Are you single or not?’

‘I’m absolutely single,’ she said crisply, ‘and I intend to stay that way.’ Just so it’d be totally clear that she wasn’t trying to flirt with him—or anything else.

‘Good.’ He gave her a sweet, sweet smile. One that made a lot of warning bells ring in her head. ‘Bella, remember when I helped you out last Friday night?’

The warning bells got louder. ‘Ye-es.’

‘Good.’ He paused. ‘I need a favour.’

So much for him saying that they’d forget what had happened. Clearly there were strings attached, after all. How disappointing. ‘What sort of favour?’ she asked carefully.

‘I need you to be my date for a family event.’

That was the last thing she’d expected. Had she misheard? ‘To be what?’ she asked.

‘My date for a family event,’ he repeated.

That was what she thought he’d said. The words ‘date’ and ‘Hugh Moncrieff’ were a dangerous combination. ‘Why?’

‘A more pertinent question, in the circumstances, is “when?”,’ he said dryly.

OK. She’d play it his way. ‘When?’ she asked sweetly.

‘Next weekend.’

What? ‘As in tomorrow or as in next Friday?’

‘As in a week on Saturday,’ he clarified.

Talk about lack of notice. Did he think that she didn’t have a social life? ‘Where?’

‘Oxfordshire.’

‘Right.’ She stared at him. ‘So let me get this straight. You want me to go to a family do with you in Oxfordshire and pretend to be your girlfriend.’

‘Yes.’

She folded her arms. ‘Now I think “why” might be pertinent. And I think I deserve a proper answer.’

‘If you want to know the truth, it’s because you,’ he said, ‘will annoy my family.’

She looked at him through narrowed eyes. ‘That’s not very nice—to me or to them.’ And it made her feel as if he was using her. Just like Kirk had. Even though Hugh was being upfront about it rather than pretending he loved her, the way Kirk had, it still stung.

‘Given that you told me you were flaky and unreliable in your personal life, I think that’s a fair assessment.’

He had a point. Just. ‘It’s still not very nice,’ she said.

‘I didn’t expect you to go all Mary Poppins on me,’ he drawled.

She resisted the urge to slap him or to say something rude. Just. ‘That’s because you don’t know me very well. What do you want to achieve?’

He frowned. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You said you want to annoy your family. What do you really want to happen?’

When he still looked blank, she sighed. ‘Look, you’re at point A and you clearly want to be at point B. What do you need to do to get from A to B, and is having a fake girlfriend really the most effective way to do it?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s a bit sensible.’

‘Coming from me, you mean?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘It doesn’t come from me, actually. It’s the way my sister looks at things.’

‘Your sister Grace? As in the woman who downed three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach...?’ he said, with mischievous emphasis.

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. ‘Don’t you dare be rude about my sister,’ she warned. ‘I already told you: that was really unlike her. It was due to special circumstances—and don’t bother asking what they were, because I’m not going to tell you. It’s none of your business.’

‘Absolutely,’ he said, disarming her. ‘Actually, I like the way you stand up for your sister. And you have a point.’

‘So why you do want to annoy your family?’ she asked.

‘This,’ he said, ‘is even more confidential than anything commercial I talk to you about.’

‘That’s obvious,’ she said, rolling her eyes at him. ‘You’re my boss, so anything you say to me in this room stays in this room unless you say otherwise.’

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Since you ask, the reason is because I’m sick and tired of them nagging me to settle down. So if I turn up to my brother’s engagement party with someone who looks completely unsuitable, maybe they’ll shut up and get off my case.’

She digested this slowly. He was saying she was unsuitable because of her hair? ‘So basically you’re asking me to play the kooky wild child. You want me to turn up with a mad hair colour, wearing ridiculous shoes and a skirt that’s more like a belt?’

‘What you wear is entirely up to you,’ he said. Then he looked thoughtful. ‘But, as you mentioned it first, yes, I think you probably have the chutzpah to carry off that kind of outfit.’

She still couldn’t quite work out if he was insulting her or praising her. Instead, she asked the other thing that was puzzling her. Well, apart from the fact that he was single. Even though he tended to be grumpy in the mornings in the office, she knew he had a good heart. He’d rescued her and Grace when they’d needed help, even though at the time they’d been complete strangers—and at the time it hadn’t felt as if there were any strings. Plus he had beautiful eyes and an even more beautiful mouth. The kind that made you want to find out what it felt like to be kissed by it.

She shook herself. That was something she shouldn’t be thinking about. ‘So why does your family want you to settle down?’

When he didn’t answer, she pointed out, ‘If you ask me to design something for you, then I need a brief to know what your target market is and what you want the design to achieve. I need to understand why before I can design something to suit. This is the same sort of thing. If I don’t understand why you want me to play someone unsuitable, I’m not going to be able to deliver the goods, am I?’

‘So you’ll do it?’

‘I didn’t say that. I still reserve the right to say no.’ If saying no was actually an option. Would her job depend on this? ‘But if you tell me why and I agree with your reasoning, then I might consider it.’ She spread her hands. ‘Anything you tell me is confidential. But I would also like to point out that I do have a social life, actually, and I did have plans for the weekend.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He raked a hand through his hair, suddenly looking vulnerable. Which was almost enough to make her agree to help him, regardless of his motives.

Weird.

Hugh Moncrieff was old enough and tough enough to look after himself. You didn’t get to be the successful owner of an independent record label if you were a pushover. He didn’t need looking after by anyone. But that expression in his eyes had touched a chord with her. It reminded her of the look in Grace’s eyes when she’d confessed that she didn’t fit in with Howard’s family and didn’t think she ever could. That she’d felt trapped and miserable.

Was that how Hugh felt about his own family?

And why did she suddenly want to rescue him, when she was usually the one who had to be rescued?

‘Of course you have a social life,’ he said. ‘And I don’t expect you to say “how high” every time I ask you to jump.’

‘Good,’ she said. ‘I’m glad that’s clear.’

He gave her a wry smile. ‘And I know I’m out of order, asking you to play a part.’

‘It does make me feel a bit used,’ she admitted.

‘I don’t mean it quite like that. I need help to deal with a tricky situation.’

‘Just like I did—and you helped me, so it makes sense that I should return the favour.’ Put like that, she thought, his request was much more reasonable.

‘If it’s possible for you to change your plans for the weekend and you do agree to help me by being my date, just be yourself. That’ll do nicely.’

‘Because I’m unsuitable?’ she asked. Just when she’d started to feel OK about it, he’d made her feel bad again. Stupid. ‘That’s a bit insulting.’

‘That isn’t actually what I meant. You’re confident,’ he said. ‘You’re direct. You don’t play games.’

‘But you’re asking me to play a game. Well, play a part,’ she corrected herself. ‘Which is pretty much the same thing.’

‘I guess. I don’t mean to insult you, Bella. I apologise.’

‘Apology accepted.’ She paused. ‘So why do you need a date?’

He sighed. ‘I’m the youngest of four boys. The other three are all stockbrokers in the firm started by my great-grandfather. My family would very much like me to toe the line and follow suit.’

She winced. ‘Ouch. That’s what I called you on Friday. I said you looked like a stockbroker.’

‘I’m not one, and I never want to be one,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that it’s a bad career—just that it’s not right for me. My brothers love what they do, and that’s fine. I’d support them to the hilt, but I don’t want to join them.’ He gave her another of those wry smiles. ‘That’s why the label has its name.’

‘Got you. Insurgo’s Latin for “to rebel”.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘And, no, I didn’t go to the sort of school that taught Latin. I looked it up on the internet. The only Latin I know is “lorem ipsum”—the stuff used as filler text in a design rough, and that’s not really proper Latin.’

He smiled back. ‘Actually, “lorem ipsum” is a mash-up of Cicero’s De finibus bonorum et malorum.’

‘Trust you to know that.’ The words came out before she could stop them.

He laughed. ‘I’m afraid I did go to the kind of school that taught Latin.’ He dragged his hand through his hair. ‘I love what I do, Bella. I like hearing artists play me raw songs—and then a different arrangement flowers in my head, and I can see exactly what they need to do to make it a hit without losing their original voice. I’ve never wanted to do anything else but produce music that I love—music that makes the world a better place. But my family worries about me, because the music business isn’t exactly stable. Insurgo’s doing well—well enough for some much bigger labels to have offered to buy me out, though I’ve always refused because I’m not going to sell out my artists like that—but I’m still at the mercy of the markets. We’ve managed to weather a few storms, but all it takes is one wrong decision that loses the business a lot of money, or for a couple of my biggest customers to go bankrupt and not pay me, and we could go under.’

‘Tell me about it,’ she said feelingly.

‘I knew you’d get that bit. You’ve been there,’ he said.

So either Tarquin had told him that she’d once had her own business, or he’d read her résumé. Or maybe both. ‘Small businesses fail all the time,’ she said, ‘and I kept mine going for two years. If my best client hadn’t gone bankrupt, owing me the equivalent of three months’ salary, I’d still be a freelance designer now. But when one door closes another opens—and now I have a job I like here.’

‘I take it back about being Mary Poppins,’ he said. ‘You’re Pollyanna.’

‘I’m just me,’ she told him firmly, ‘not a stereotype. But, yes, I believe in looking for the good in life.’ She whistled the chorus from ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life’ and smiled.

‘It’s a good philosophy,’ he said.

‘You’re right—you’re perfectly capable of being a stockbroker, but it’d make you miserable. You’re doing what you love,’ she said. ‘And there’s nothing wrong with that. Why doesn’t your family see that?’

He sighed. ‘They have this little box ready for me. I’m supposed to fit in with a sensible job, a sensible wife, and two point four children or whatever it’s meant to be nowadays. A pied-à-terre in London for me during the week, and an ancient pile in the countryside for the family, where the kids can grow up until we send them to boarding school.’

Was he describing what his own childhood had been like? ‘I guess I’m lucky,’ she said. ‘All my parents and my sister want is for me to be happy and fulfilled.’

‘Are you?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘Are you?’

‘Yes.’ But she noticed that he didn’t meet her eye. So did that mean he wasn’t? And what, she wondered, was missing from his life?

Not that there was any point in asking. She was pretty sure he’d stonewall her. Getting the information so far had been like pulling teeth.

‘OK. So you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend, to show your family that you have no intention of meeting any of the criteria to fit that little box they’ve made for you. You already have a job they don’t approve of, so what you need is an outrageous girlfriend to horrify them even more. That will be the icing on the cake, if you’ll excuse me mixing my metaphors,’ she said, hoping that she’d summed up the situation without missing anything.

‘That’s pretty much it.’ He paused. ‘So will you do it?’




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