‘Bella, this isn’t a war,’ he said softly, and she felt horrible.
‘Sorry. It’s just... I don’t want to be in your debt. And I don’t mean just you—I mean in anyone’s debt,’ she clarified.
‘The dry-cleaning bill wasn’t much, and the taxi firm is one I use a lot so they were pretty accommodating. And,’ he added, ‘I’m not exactly a church mouse.’
‘Church mouse?’ she asked, not following. Then she remembered the proverbial phrase. ‘Oh. Of course.’
‘Take the money,’ he said softly, ‘and it’s all forgotten. As far as I’m concerned—and everyone else at Insurgo, for that matter—today’s the first day we’ve met. And I’m notorious in the office for not being a Monday morning person. Nobody usually talks to me until lunchtime on Mondays because I’m so horrible.’
That made her feel better. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and took the envelope.
‘Have a nice day,’ he said, and that smile made her feel warm all over.
‘You, too,’ she said. But this time she lost her cool and fled before she could drop herself in it any more.
EVEN THE IDEA was crazy.
Asking Bella was completely out of the question. She was practically a stranger; and she worked for him. Two huge reasons why Hugh knew that he should put this whole thing out of his mind.
Hugh paced up and down his living room. The problem was, now the idea was in his head, it had taken root. And he knew why. He could tell himself that asking Bella to play the role of his unsuitable new girlfriend was simply because she was vivacious enough to make it convincing. It was true enough. But he knew that the real reason was a little more complicated than that. Spending the weekend together in Oxford would give them a chance to get to know each other better. See where things took them.
Crazy. Stupid. Insane.
He knew better than to mix work and pleasure. Last time he’d done it, the whole thing had gone so badly wrong that he’d nearly lost Insurgo—letting down his business partner and the people who depended on them for their jobs. Only the fact that Roland, his other best friend, had bought into the business as a sleeping partner had saved him from having to shut the business down. He’d worked stupid hours and he’d managed to stabilise everything, but he would never take that kind of risk again.
Strictly speaking, he knew this wasn’t quite that kind of risk. Bella wasn’t Jessie. She was part of the team, not one of his artists. She’d signed a contract with him rather than making a verbal agreement she could back out of because it would be her word against his. Getting to know Bella wasn’t going to put Insurgo at risk.
But it still made him antsy. Since Jessie, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t trust anyone with the battered remains of his heart. He’d keep an emotional distance. So why couldn’t he get Bella Faraday out of his head? Why did he keep remembering that frisson of awareness when she’d kissed his cheek in the taxi? Why did her smile make him feel as if the room lit up?
And, more importantly, what was he going to do about it?
By Thursday morning, Bella felt as if she’d been working at Insurgo for ever. The rest of the team turned out to be total sweethearts, and they all shared a love of music, cinema and art. Everyone pitched in with ideas and suggestions, and nobody minded if theirs was passed over for a better one. And she absolutely loved working there.
The previous afternoon, they’d had a discussion in the office about which song fitted them, so that evening she’d made little name-cards for everyone’s desk with a quick caricature of them and the title of ‘their’ song in place of their name.
It seemed mean to leave Hugh out just because he was upstairs rather than in the open-plan office with everyone else, so she made a card for him as well. ‘I Don’t Like Mondays’ fitted him to a T, she thought.
That morning, as the rest of the team filtered in to the office and saw the name-cards on their desks, there was much hilarity.
Then Hugh walked into the office—clearly not in a good mood, again—and Bella rather wished she hadn’t done a name-card for him after all.
‘Ms Faraday—a word?’ It was more of a command than a question, and his expression was completely impassive.
‘Yes, Mr Moncrieff,’ she said, and followed him meekly up to his office.
Even though he didn’t say a word to her on the way up, she had a pretty good idea what this was about. He hadn’t been amused at all by his name-card.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said as soon as he closed the door. ‘We were messing about yesterday—’ Then she stopped as she realised how incriminating her words were. ‘Over lunch, that is,’ she said swiftly, hoping that she’d saved the situation. She didn’t want to get her new colleagues into trouble. ‘We were talking about the song title that could be used instead of your name to describe you, and I drew the cards last night at home. It was just a bit of fun and I didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘You picked an appropriate one for me,’ he said.
Though every single day seemed to be Monday, where his mood was concerned. He really wasn’t a morning person. She winced. ‘Sorry. Are you very cross with me?’
‘No—and, just for the record, I don’t mind a bit of messing about in the office. It helps creativity, and I know everyone on the team puts the hours in. As long as the job gets done on time and within budget, I don’t actually care how it’s done.’
‘Then why did you want to see me?’ Bella asked, now completely mystified. If he wasn’t about to haul her over the coals for unprofessional behaviour, then what?
‘Your hair.’
She frowned. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘You were blonde, yesterday. Platinum blonde.’
‘Ye-es.’ She still didn’t follow.
‘And today your hair’s red.’
A tiny bit brighter red than she’d intended, because she’d been so busy making the name-cards the previous evening that she’d left the dye in for a few minutes longer than she should’ve done, but she liked it. ‘Yes.’ Where was he going with this? ‘Is there a problem with my hair colour?’ she asked carefully.
‘No, not at all.’
She really didn’t understand. ‘Then why did you call me into your office?’
‘Do you have a boyfriend?’
Apart from the fact that you weren’t supposed to answer a question with a question, what did that have to do with anything? She frowned. ‘You’re not supposed to ask me things like that. My relationship status has nothing to do with my job.’
‘I know. I’m not asking you as your employer.’
She caught her breath. Did that mean he was asking her out?
No, of course not. That was totally ridiculous. Just because she had a secret crush on him, it didn’t mean that her feelings were in any way returned. And in any case her boss was the last man she’d ever date. It would cause way too many problems, and she really couldn’t afford to give up her new job. There was no guarantee that the receivers dealing with her former client would give her any of the money owing to her, because she’d be way down the pecking order in the list of creditors. And, with Kirk having cleaned out their joint bank account so she no longer had any savings to her name, she was stuck. ‘Why