Page 16 of Taming the Beast (Fairy Tales of New York)

Agh. She was going round in circles. Driving herself nuts. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand it. And she was drinking orange juice now so she couldn’t even drown her sorrows in alcohol. Not that that was ever a good thing because, well, look at Zel, but still. She could do with some help here.

“Are you all right?” asked Zelda in response to her sigh, which had evidently been deeper, longer and more noticeable than she’d thought.

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been very quiet,” said Faith.

Yes, well, who wouldn’t be? “Things on my mind,” she muttered. “Questions.”

And she wanted answers, she realized suddenly. Maybe she’d be prodd

ing a hornet’s nest. Maybe she ought to just leave things well alone, concentrate on her studies and leave the ground clear for Seb and Zel to muddle their way through the train wreck of their relationship without interference. But generally she wasn’t good at letting things lie. And she wouldn’t get a moment’s peace until she knew.

“Would you mind if I went to see Seb and got some answers?” she said to Zelda, her heart beginning to pound because maybe that wasn’t all she was asking permission for although she really didn’t want to think about what else she might want from him.

Zel shook her head and smiled. “Go.”

Chapter Four

‡

Seb was staring at his computer screen when the phone on his desk rang, although really, he didn’t know why he was bothering. He’d been putting in twelve hour days at the office for the last three or so weeks, ostensibly working on the Foundation’s spending strategy for the next five years, but for all that he’d achieved he might as well not have turned up at all. His concentration was shot and his productivity was at an all time low, and it was all because of Mercedes bloody Hernandez, who, contrary to all his expectations at the time had turned his life upside down because he didn’t know whether to be grateful to her for provoking him into talking to Zelda or furious that she’d meddled in the first place and caused him the kind of emotional grief he’d managed to avoid for so long.

Stifling a sigh of the weary exasperation that had dogged him for days now he picked up the receiver. “Yes?”

“I have a Mercedes Hernandez in reception for you.”

For a second Seb froze, then he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose because, oh, well, this was just great. As if she hadn’t been on his mind pretty much constantly recently, now she was here? At his office? Why? What did she want this time?

Well, he was going to find out, wasn’t he, because one of the many conclusions he’d had no choice but to reach lately was that ignoring things didn’t make them go away. It merely buried them until one day someone, perhaps one gorgeous, sexy and irritating as hell Argentinian, decided to dig them up. Facing up to whatever was thrown at him was what he was going to do from now on, he’d decided, and if tonight that was to be Mercy then so be it.

“Thanks, Linda, send her up,” he said, cutting the call, getting to his feet and walking round to the other side of his desk against which he intended to lean in a ‘My turf, I’m in charge’ sort of way. Which he most definitely was because Mercy might have blind-sided him the other night but he was more than ready for her now.

And it was just as well, he thought five minutes later, because a weaker, less-prepared man might lose his head over the woman who was now once more sashaying towards him, looking undeniably hot in some kind of short flowery flippy dress thing that emphasized her show-stopping curves and her long toned legs, a short denim jacket and a pair of surprisingly sexy cowboy boots. But not him. Never him.

“Seb,” she said, the natural huskiness of her voice grating over his senses nevertheless.

“Mercedes,” he said, ignoring it.

She came to a stop a couple of feet in front of him and for some reason his entire body tensed and his fingers automatically tightened around the edge of the desk. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

“No problem,” he said, meaning it because none of this was a problem – at all – and forcing himself to relax.

“I went to your house. They said you were here.”

“As you can see.”

“You work late.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Nice office.”

“Thanks.”

“It looks as though it hasn’t changed for years.”

“Apart from the addition of technology, it hasn’t.” His great-great-great grandfather, brand new oil dollars weighing him down, had ordered the construction of the building from where over the years the Madison empire had expanded into property, banking and hotels. This office had remained pretty much untouched ever since, hence the wood panelling, the massive mahogany leather-topped partners’ desk and the giant chandelier. He liked it, but even if he hadn’t, it wasn’t his to change.

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