her to go back to Hopeford before returning to work. But then Charles Rafferty had never actually taken a holiday—his bucket list probably read ‘spend more time in the office’.
Her grandfather merely grunted. ‘Hope you’re ready to get down to some serious work after your little holiday.’ Polly bit back the obvious retorts; it hadn’t been a holiday, she had left the company after barely taking a long weekend off in the last five years.
But what was the point? Words wouldn’t change him.
‘Have you met Beaufils yet?’
Polly couldn’t stop her eyes flicking towards the cloakroom door. ‘I’ve seen him,’ she said drily. ‘Confident young man.’
‘He’s Vincent’s boy, Gabriel. You know Chateau Beaufils of course, we’ve been their exclusive UK stockist for decades. He’s the only son.’
‘That doesn’t explain why he’s here.’ Her voice was sharper than she had intended.
She didn’t want her grandfather to know how much Gabe’s presence had shaken her.
‘Oh, he’s not here because of the vineyard although that’s a good connection of course. Man did some great things at Desmoulins, which is why I snapped him up. Thought he’d be good balance for you.’
‘Good balance for me?’ Polly wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. Balance or replacement? If he couldn’t have Raff did her grandfather want this young man instead? Just how much did she have to do before he finally accepted her? ‘I really think I should have been consulted.’
‘No.’ Her grandfather’s answer was as sharp as it was unequivocal. ‘Vice CEO is a board decision. We need someone with different strengths from you, not someone you can ride roughshod over.’
Talk about the pot and the kettle. Polly glared at the phone.
‘He knows the European markets and is very, very strong digitally, so I want him in charge of all e-commerce. Oh, and Polly? It’s going to take a few weeks before his apartment is sound again. It won’t bother you to have him at yours until then? You barely spend any time there as it is.’
Despite her best intentions Polly found her attention wandering back to the moment she had first seen Gabe sprawled on her chaise. The line of his back, the strong leanness of him, the delicacy of that intricate tattoo spiralling up his spine.
Thank goodness her grandfather wasn’t here to see the flush on her cheeks.
Her first instinct was to demand they find Gabriel Beaufils alternative accommodation a long, long way from her house and home. And yet...it might be useful to keep him close. What was that they said about friends and enemies?
‘I can’t imagine there’s much to excite him in Hopeford,’ she said sweetly. ‘But of course he can stay.’
The more she could find out about Gabriel Beaufils, the easier it would be to outmanoeuvre him. She was in charge of Rafferty’s at last and no smoothie-drinking, bare-chested, charming Frenchman was going to change that.
GABE FINISHED TOWEL-DRYING his hair and grabbed the clean shirt Rachel had brought him. Pulling it on, he began to button it up slowly, once again running the morning’s unexpected events through his mind. What had he been thinking?
He hadn’t been thinking, that was the problem, he’d been reacting. A sure sign he’d allowed himself to mix business and pleasure that bit too often. Not enough sleep and too many office flirtations.
What a first impression! Although he wasn’t sure what had thrown her more—the kiss or the news of his appointment.
He couldn’t blame her for being less than pleased with either but he was here and he was staying put. Unlike Polly Rafferty he didn’t have the advantage of bearing the founder’s name, but he was just twenty-eight, already the vice CEO of Rafferty’s and his goal of running his own company by thirty was looking eminently doable.
Things were nicely on track to get the results he needed, to learn everything he could and in two years look for the opportunity he needed to achieve his goal. Because life was short. Nobody knew that better than Gabe.
He pushed the thought away as he strode out of the bathroom and along the passage that led to the office. It was time to eat some humble pie.
‘Nice shower?’
Gabe came to a halt and stared at Polly Rafferty. Was that a smile on her face?
‘Rachel tells me you’ve been working all hours,’ she continued. ‘I just want to thank you. Obviously it was less than ideal that I wasn’t back before Raff left but it’s such a relief that you were here to help out.’
‘I was more than happy to step in.’ Gabe leant against the door frame and watched her through narrow eyes.
Polly seemed oblivious to his gaze. She was leaning back in his chair—correction, her chair—completely at her ease. She had taken off her jacket and it hung on the hat stand in the corner, her bag tossed carelessly on the floor beneath it. Her laptop was plugged into the keyboard and monitor, his own laptop folded and put aside. Several sheets of paper were stacked on the gleaming mahogany desk, a red pen lying on top of one, the crossed-out lines and scribbled notes implying great industry. It was as if she had never been away.
As if he had never been there.
Polly looked up, pen in hand. ‘You haven’t had breakfast so I suggest you take an hour or so while I get to grips with a few things here, then we can discuss how it’s going to work moving forward. Starting with a permanent office and an assistant for you.’ She couldn’t be more gracious.
In fact she was the perfect hostess. Gabe suppressed a smile; he couldn’t help approving of her tactics. Polly was throwing down the gauntlet. Oh, politely and with some degree of charm but, still, she was making it clear that absence or no absence this was her company and he was the incomer.
‘You don’t want your grandfather’s office?’ he asked. ‘I assumed that you would want to move in there.’
A flicker of sadness ran over her face disturbing the blandly pleasant mask. ‘This room belonged to my great-grandfather. The furniture and décor is just as it was, just as he chose. I’m staying here.’
But she wasn’t going to offer him the bigger room either; he’d stake his reputation on it.
‘I don’t need an hour.’ He pushed off the door frame. ‘I am quite happy to start in fifteen minutes.’
‘That’s very sweet of you, Gabe.’ The smile was back. ‘But please, take an hour. I’ll see you then.’
The dismissal was clear. Round one to Polly Rafferty.
That was okay. Gabe didn’t care about individual rounds. He cared about the final prize. He inclined his head as he moved towards the door. ‘Of course, take as long as you need to settle back in. Oh and, Polly? Welcome back.’
Polly held onto the smile as long as it took for the door to close behind the tall Frenchman then slumped forward with a sigh. It had taken her just a few minutes to reclaim the office but it still didn’t feel like hers. It smelt different, of soap and a fresh citrusy cologne, of leather and whatever was in that disgusting green drink Gabe had tossed down so easily. She’d sniffed the glass when he was in the shower and recoiled in horror—until then she didn’t think anything could be as vile as the look of the smoothie, but she’d been wrong.
Her coffee smelt off too. It must be the jet lag and all the travelling she’d done in the last week—nothing smelt right at the moment. Her stomach had twisted with nausea at the mere thought of caffeine or alcohol and even the eggs she had tried to eat at the airport.
Polly pushed the thought away. Whining that she was tired