Let's Pretend (Romantic Comedy, Contemporary, Second Chance, Sensual) (15 page)

That was the only way she would be able to move on from the mistake of falling in love with him, the only way she could forge a new relationship and have the children she wanted.

The mid-July sun glinting off the London Eye reminded her of her life—revolving in circles, never going anywhere. Up to now, she hadn’t managed to even look at another man, much less consider entering another relationship with the possibility of marriage and children.

She would have to start soon if she stood a chance of having a child before it was too late.

Michelle took a shuddering breath and tried to suppress the sudden nervous flip-flop in her stomach at the mention of Andrew. “Stop that,” she muttered when another calming breath failed to do its job. “He’s only a man, not a god, despite what he believes.”

Three more deep breaths.

A waste of time.

“He’s my ex-husband, Tiffany, which line?” She gave up with the deep breathing and held her breath.

“Sorry. Three.”

She lifted the handset and pressed the button to connect Andrew’s call. “Yes, Andrew, what can I do for you?” she said on a rush of exhaled air.

“You and I need to talk. Meet me for lunch.” The deep voice edged with impatience ricocheted in her ear. This was typical Andrew. He snapped a couple of fingers and expected people to drop whatever they were doing and jump to whatever task he threw at them.

She stopped being one of his jump-to-its a long time ago, and if he thought he could pick up a phone and order her around, he was so, so wrong.

“I’m busy.” She banged down the phone.

Her mouth dropped open the second the handset went down as she realised what she’d done. No one dared to hang up on Andrew Boston. She snatched up the handset, fumbled it back to her ear. There was only dial tone.

She replaced the phone. “That’s going to cost.”

Immediately Tiffany buzzed again, and her voice, along with the distant sound of phones ringing and the whirl of a photocopier, flowed through the intercom. “Mr. Evans is on line one.”

Michelle sighed and dropped her head in her palms. Just what she needed. She was too busy to worry about Andrew’s reaction.

The handset felt uninviting against her hand as she reached for it, pressed the button to connect her with William Evans, and took a deep breath. “Good morning, Mr. Evans,” she said with forced cheer.

“Good morning, Michelle.” His scratchy voice irritated her ear. Every time he spoke, she wanted to clear her throat. “I wonder if you’ll have lunch with me today.”

She silently groaned and dug her fingers into her hair, dislodging the clip holding it in the casual messy
updo
she usually wore for work. As her hair fell about her shoulders, she vaguely noticed the pencil she’d stuck in it earlier fall to the floor at her feet. The man’s persistence was remarkable. He was married and hitting on her every opportunity he got.

“How nice of you to think of me.” She switched the phone to her other ear, kept it in place with her shoulder while she resumed making notes on her legal pad. “But I already have a lunch date.”

After a silent moment, he responded, “You sound on edge. Is something wrong?”

“No, I’m fine.” She scowled at the door in front of her. Did Andrew contact her today on purpose? Just to rile her?

“I’m glad to hear that.” William’s voice sawed through her thoughts. “Can I ask who you’re having lunch with?”

She tightened her shoulder against the phone and told herself to be nice. He was the most bothersome man she’d ever met, but if he decided to take his business elsewhere, she’d be the one Kirkham and Hull would hold responsible. He’d retained the corporate law firm to launch a takeover bid for a small but profitable electronics company he wanted to add to his portfolio. Why he insisted on this particular one, she didn’t know, only that she’d been appointed to help him get it.

If she weren’t careful, she’d end up losing the firm his business. And her job along with it. She loved her job. She wanted to keep it, but she had morals, and they were strict. It was bad enough she’d hit him in self-defence after only knowing him two weeks. When she’d subtly reminded him of his marital status the second time she’d encountered him, he’d waved a dismissive hand, winked and said, ‘We’re both adults here. This can’t be the first time you’ve done something like this. Besides, the old girl and I have an understanding, if you know what I mean?’

She had to think of something that would send him a clear message without causing offence or jeopardizing her position at Kirkham and Hull.

The intercom buzzed, and she nearly fell off the chair. “Excuse me one moment, Mr. Evans.”

When Michelle clicked on the intercom, Tiffany’s voice sounded hesitant and a little frazzled. “I’m sorry, Ms. Boston, but your
hus
—I mean, Mr. Boston is—”

Michelle quickly leaned forward and pressed the button to interrupt her. “Thank you, Tiffany, can you tell my husband I’ll call him right back?”

Heavenly Father, please forgive me for lying, Michelle silently prayed, but this was her weapon against William Evans. She’d be stupid not to use this wonderful opportunity.

“But—” Tiffany began, and Michelle cut her off by simply turning off the intercom.

“I’m having lunch with my husband, Mr. Evans.” She gnawed her thumbnail.

“I thought you were divorced?”

“Uh,” Michelle floundered, turning her chair so she backed the door. “We were, but we’ve reconciled now.” She grimaced at the blatant lie.

“I see...Boston...” he said at length, mulling over the name as if to jog a memory. “Your husband wouldn’t be the Andrew Boston, of Boston Bauman Steel, would he?”

“That’s him.” One of the best turnaround experts in the world, and in high demand.

“I see...” He sounded uneasy as he coughed, then finally cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t want to tread on his toes, but perhaps we can have dinner sometime—your husband and my wife included, of course.”

“I’m sure that would be nice, Mr. Evans. I really must take my husband’s call.”

“Yes, of course.”

The brush of hair against her face reminded her she needed to rescue her hairclip from under the desk and tidy her hair before someone saw her with it all over her head in an untidy mess.

She blindly routed around under the desk with her foot. “Goodbye, Mr. Evans.” Without waiting for his reply, she ended the call, dropped to her hands and knees and crawled beneath the desk.

She had problems.

For starters, she was sure she’d just started a rumour that she and Andrew were back together. While she may be able to look back on this with humour one day, it certainly wasn’t funny now.

Grabbing the hairclip and pencil from the plush blue carpet, she started to back out when a deep male voice sent a ripple of awareness through her. “So, we’re back together, are we?”

Startled, she banged her head against the desk as she let out a choked scream. Scrambling from underneath, she popped up to find Andrew standing in the doorway. His athletic body, dressed in a dark business suit, leaned lazily against the doorframe, arms folded across his wide chest. He filled the room with his presence.

His eyes—a grey-blue that made his gaze smoky—swept over her, making her excruciatingly aware of her dishevelled appearance.

Tiffany stood next to him, a pained expression on her pretty copper-brown face, while Michelle rubbed her head.

This is what you get for lying.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Boston. I tried to warn you.” Tiffany’s brown gaze flicked from her to Andrew with way too much curiosity.

Michelle raised her hand in a halting gesture as Andrew pushed away from the doorframe and strolled toward her, his dark hair slightly tousled, his penetrating gaze locked with hers. Her breath caught somewhere in her chest as she watched this specimen of masculine perfection who used to be her husband. “It’s okay, Tiffany,” she choked out, hating the frantic way her heart picked up speed on seeing Andrew. “You can get back to work. I really need those figures before lunchtime.”

“Yes, Ms. Boston.” Tiffany closed the door behind her.

Michelle finally broke eye contact to let her gaze drift over his handsome face. He had perfect features, symmetrical, but saved from being too beautiful for a man by high cheekbones and a stubborn square jaw line.

Her gaze lingered on the shallow cleft in his chin.

Her stomach bottomed out. The truth was, no matter how much she told herself she would soon start husband hunting, she hadn’t been able to look at another man since she first fell in love with Andrew. Even ending her marriage to him hadn’t freed her.

She couldn’t summon enough interest to want to look at another man because she compared every man with Andrew and found him inadequate.

She breathed an ill-tempered sigh. “What do you want?”

His sensual mouth curved in an amused half smile. “Are you going to stay down there?”

Michelle gave him a fierce look. Of all the places she could have been when encountering her ex-husband again, on her knees with crazy hair had to be the worst.

She scrambled to her feet, smoothed her jacket and close-fitting skirt over her hips before gathering her hair and twisting it between her fingers. “How did you get here so fast?”

“I was on my way up when I phoned you from my mobile.”

As she tidied the thick, unruly curls, she suddenly realised how intimate it was to have Andrew watch her fix her hair. The gesture brought back memories of his fingers tangled in it as he made love to her with more passion than she knew was possible.

She pushed the thought from her head, hurried through the task and scrambled onto her brown executive chair. Grabbed the edge of the desk and pulled up to it. “Why are you here?”

“We need to talk.” He moved across the room and stood next to her desk. His stance emphasised the force of his thighs and directed her attention to his trim hips.

She jerked her gaze away. “We’ve said everything we had to say to each other. I doubt there’s anything new to add.”

“I disagree. You’ve said everything you needed to say. I never said a word.”

Because he didn’t care. He didn’t protest when she’d walked away from him, and he certainly didn’t care when she filed for divorce. He was more than happy to end their stupid three-month marriage.

She reached for a pen and began to make random notes on the legal pad sitting on her desk, as if she wasn’t totally focused on his lean body towering above her.

Only an idiot, like herself, thought a marriage would last after only three weeks of knowing someone. It had been asinine to make such a commitment without taking the time to get to know him properly.

Andrew picked up the conch shell she used as a paperweight and turned it over in his hands. “I got a call from Patrick Lydell of Lydell Electronics this morning.”

How well could someone know another person after only three weeks, anyway? She really had no idea what he wanted from life. Nor did he know what she wanted. They hadn’t known each other. Barely knew each other now.

Michelle looked up. “So?”

“I want to talk to you about that call, and I’m not doing it here.” He stood far too close. She could smell the faint scent of his expensive cologne; feel the heat radiating off his body. It did strange things to her insides.

But that was only physical. There was a big difference between knowing a person through physical intimacy and knowing them emotionally.

Michelle was pragmatic and understood that. And, unlike some of her divorced friends, Michelle wasn’t bitter.

Why should she be? They’d made a mistake, which they’d both acknowledged and rectified. It had provided her with a life lesson, even if she missed the torrid nights of incredible lovemaking.

If she ever remarried, she was going to insist on a very long engagement. Or, at least as long as her medical circumstance would allow. “I’m busy, Andrew. This is not a good time. I’m sure whatever he had to say to you doesn’t concern me.”

He replaced the creamy-pink shell on the desk. “It definitely concerns you, Michelle.”

The touch of irritation in his deep voice made her look up. “What do you mean it concerns me?”

“You’re working on the acquisition of Lydell Electronics, and you need to stop.”