carefully. This was her first public outing as a professional woman since Bea’s birth, and she wanted to look elegant and…well, professional. A smart suit and stylish shoes would create the perfect impression. Mary knew; she had read all the magazines.
Sadly, the magazines didn’t tell you what to do when you realised, five minutes before you were due to go out, that you were a good two sizes larger than you had been the last time you put on your best suit. Nor did they remind you what agony it was standing around on high heels, and that was before you tried walking on what some bone-headed architect had decided was cutting edge flooring, apparently forgetting that a glassy sheen was more appropriate to an ice rink than an office building.
Mary sighed and switched shoes, giving her right foot a break. As so often in her life, she reflected glumly, there was a huge gap between imagination and reality. She had pictured herself charming the assembled employers of York, so impressing them with her professionalism that they were queuing up to get her to solve their recruitment problems, but it hadn’t worked out like that. Oh, everyone had been very pleasant, but they had all wanted to talk about Tyler Watts, not business, and while no one had been rude enough to point out that her jacket was straining across her ample bust, no one had offered her any work either, and she had been burningly aware that professional was the last thing she had looked.
All she had got out of the evening was pinched toes and a sore back.
Mary took a slug of champagne, put down her glass and squeezed her poor foot back into its shoe. She would make one last effort to meet the Human Resources director of Watts Holdings, she decided, and then she would give up.
It was at that point that she detected a ripple of interest around her and looked up from her shoe to see none other than Tyler Watts bulldozing his way across the room, groups parting and stepping back sycophantically to make way for him.
Not that he noticed or acknowledged them, Mary noted sourly. That was typical of him. In her brief meetings with him in the past he had struck her as the most arrogant and ruthless person she had ever met and she was in no hurry to renew her acquaintance with him. She might want a contract with Watts Holdings, but she had no desire to deal with the man at the top, thank you very much.
Extraordinarily, he seemed to be heading straight towards her. Mary glanced around her, in case there was someone interesting standing behind her shoulder, but she was momentarily isolated.
If she didn’t do something about it sharpish, he would be on top of her and there would be no avoiding him.
Picking up her glass from the table beside her, Mary turned to slink behind the group on her left, but she was too hasty and hadn’t reckoned on the slippery floor. The next thing she knew, one of her wretched heels was skidding out from beneath her and she pitched forwards.
There were indrawn breaths around her as everyone anticipated an almighty crash, but she never hit the floor. A hard hand caught her under her elbow, swivelling her up and round until she was upright once more. More or less upright, anyway. One of Mary’s arms was still flailing madly as she tried to regain her balance, and the polished floor wasn’t helping at all.
Mortified, she managed to stand on two feet once more. ‘Thank you so—’ she began breathlessly, and then the words died on her lips as she looked up and found herself staring into Tyler Watts’s glacial blue eyes.
Her first thought was that he must have moved at the speed of light to reach her in time, her second was that he was incredibly strong. She was not exactly a lightweight, but he had caught her and hauled her upright with a single hand.
It was only then that she noticed the stain on the front of his shirt. Somehow, in all her skidding and flailing, she must have knocked the glass in his hand.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said nervously.
She didn’t want to be nervous, but there was something about Tyler Watts that made you feel edgy. You had to admit, the man had presence, and it wasn’t anything to do with looks, although the dark, beetling brows and grim lines of his face were intimidating enough on their own. He exuded a restless, driven energy that reverberated around him and left people half thrilled, half mesmerised by a mixture of awe and apprehension when he was around.
Not a man you would choose to knock drink all over.
Good move, Mary, she thought with an inward sigh. She had thought her aching feet were the low point of the evening, but apparently not.
Tyler’s fingers were still gripping her arm just above the elbow, but as Mary’s eyes dropped to them he released her.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked brusquely.
‘Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.’ She managed a nervous laugh and resisted the urge to rub her skin where he had held her. Her whole arm was tingling and throbbing from his grip and it was making her feel a bit odd.
‘This floor is lethal in heels,’ she tried to explain in case he thought she’d been over-indulging in the free champagne. ‘But that’s trendy designers for you,’ she said, conscious that she was babbling but too rattled by his nearness to think sensibly. ‘What clot thought a floor like this would be a good idea?’
‘That would be a clot like me,’ said Tyler Watts with a sardonic look.
If a black hole had yawned at Mary’s feet at that moment, she would gladly have jumped into it and disappeared. How could she have said anything so stupid? Criticising the design of the building that marked the culmination of a spectacularly successful career to a man whose business she desperately needed was not a good move.
‘You’ve obviously never tried walking on it in high heels!’ she said, deciding that her only option was to make a joke of it, but Tyler was unamused.
‘The other women seem to be managing to stay upright,’ he pointed out. ‘Perhaps it’s your shoes that are the problem, not my floor?’
They both looked down. The shoes were Mary’s favourites—or had been until they had started hurting so vilely—and she had chosen them deliberately because they reminded her of her days in London when she had been slim—well, slimmer—and sharp and successful. They were black with white polka dots, so you could get away with wearing them with a suit, but the peep toes and floppy bow were fun when you didn’t want to be too serious.
Maybe the heels were a bit high, Mary conceded to herself, but what kind of office floor was designed without stilettos in mind?
Tyler looked down at the shoes, noticing in passing that she had surprisingly nice legs, and shook his head at their impracticality.
‘I suggest you wear something more sensible next time.’
Mary opened her mouth to say that being sensible was good advice coming from a man who had chosen a floor like an ice rink, but she managed to stop herself in time. She was supposed to be drumming up business, not alienating potential clients.
‘I’ll do that,’ she said instead, and if there was a suspicion of gritted teeth about her smile, she didn’t think Tyler Watts would notice.
She hadn’t really wanted to talk to him but, since he was there, she had better make the most of the opportunity. Somehow she had to convince him that she was a competent businesswoman and not just a tactless idiot in silly shoes. If he were to be impressed enough to recommend her to his Human Resources director, her problems would be over.
Her most pressing ones, anyway.
Summoning a bright professional smile, Mary held out her hand. ‘I’m Mary Thomas,’ she said.
The name didn’t ring a bell with Tyler, but then it wasn’t a particularly memorable one. In fact, there was nothing particularly memorable about her now that he had a chance to study her more closely. She had beautiful skin and intelligent grey eyes, but her round face was quirky rather than pretty, with eyebrows that didn’t quite match and features that all seemed to tilt upwards, giving her a humorous look.
None of which explained why she seemed so familiar.
Irritated