Page 13 of How to Get Even

Alison’s words rushed out and Bella affectionately surfed the tsunami of enthusiasm.

‘I was going to offer to make you coffee, but…’

‘I brought you all some instead,’ Bella said, holding up the tray. ‘Thank you though, Alison.’

‘Oh, please call me Ali. Everyone else does.’

Maurice hmmed.

‘Well,almosteveryone else,’ Ali confided with an eye roll.

‘Perhaps we could have the coffee at the meeting,’ Bella hedged, looking to Maurice who confirmed her thought with a nod. ‘There are some extra shots and some hot milk, in case I got the orders wrong.’

‘Kind of you,’ Maurice replied in clipped tones that still conveyed his Martinique heritage.

‘The last comms director wouldneverhave?—’

‘Alison Burberry,’ Maurice exclaimed with such outrage Bella had to bite her lip to stop from laughing.

Alison blushed prettily but the need to gossip filled her fit to burst. Maurice’s frustration was as harmless as it was affectionate – and who could blame him. Alison was like a golden retriever puppy, all happy and excitable.

She turned to see Chase stalking through the offices with a natural authority that felt like an afront to Bella. But even she couldn’t deny that he commanded attention. This time, he was dressed in a long dark wool coat, collar upturned with a dark orange scarf draped around his neck. A navy blue knit jumper clung to his torso and even the frosted glass failed to mar the dark blue jeans that clung lovingly to thighs she remembered from the day before yesterday.

She could understand how Astrid had been taken in. There was no doubt about it, Chase Miller had looks. But looks were deceiving and Bella was glad that she’d been on her guard from the very beginning.

‘And so it begins,’ Maurice proclaimed ominously, before tapping his watch to remind them of the meeting.

And so it begins, indeed.

* * *

Chase stalked into the office at 9.29, already in a mood. He’d hoped to have seen Bella in the apartment block but she had remained elusive. And while the last place he’d ever wanted to have this conversation was in the office that they now both shared, it was all he had. He knew he needed to apologise and this time he wouldn’t let her shake him off.

At least he’d done a little more research on Bella Carmichael, including reading her CV, and while it still remained to be seen whether she was, in fact, a pampered princess socialite, she certainlywasqualified for the role. At least, more qualified than the last one.

He removed his jacket and hung it up, dropping his bag beside his desk and turning on the computer. For a moment, he saw himself from outside his body, this smart clothed stranger, settling into a near enough nine-to-five job with a pension and healthcare.

Not once in his childhood had he ever wanted this, or anything like it. It certainly wasn’t what his mother had imagined for him. And somewhere deep inside was that seven-year-old boy telling him that he still didn’t want it. That he shouldn’t be here. He should be elbows-deep in oil paints, acrylic and terps. His fingers twitched reflexively, as if in response to the absence of a paintbrush, before he shoved that thought aside as Maurice knocked on the door to the office.

He nodded and Maurice and Ali came in and sat on the sofa, leaving the two armchairs on the other side of the coffee table free.

Chase frowned, rounding his desk. ‘Is she coming?’ he asked Maurice.

‘Yes, but not because you invited her,’ Maurice replied tartly.

Chase closed his eyes and bit back a curse. It seemed that once again he was on the back foot with his new comms director.

Through the glass walls he saw her at the kitchenette. He braced himself for what he knew he needed to do. For what he should have done immediately after the incident in the lift.

‘Give me a moment,’ he tossed over his shoulder as he made his way out of his office and into the kitchen area.

She had her back to him. Cream wide-legged pants were nipped in at the waist with a gold belt. A matching cashmere polo neck jumper made her look elegant again. Gold earrings winked in the kitchen’s lighting and by the time he reached her face, he realised she’d turned and caught him staring.

Shit.

Why did she make him feel like a naughty school boy?

‘I owe you an apology,’ he said, straight out. ‘There isn’t an excuse for what you overheard in the elevator. I was presumptuous and rude,’ he admitted, ‘and I’m sorry.’

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