Stephanie went pink. ‘Oh.’
‘And, because I think you keep an eye on her,’ he said, ‘I’m pretty sure you’re the one who actually makes her take a break at lunchtime, even if it’s just five minutes for a sandwich at her desk.’
‘Well—yes,’ Stephanie admitted.
‘So today I brought the sandwich instead of you having to do it,’ he said, gesturing to the picnic basket he was carrying.
‘I really can’t—’ she began.
‘Stephie, is there a prob—?’ Angel asked, walking out of her office. Then she stopped as she saw Brandon. ‘Oh. You.’
‘Yes. Me,’ he agreed with a broad smile.
‘What do you want?’
‘I brought us some lunch.’ He focused on charming her PA. ‘Stephanie, if you’d like to join us, you’re very welcome.’
‘I, um...’ Stephanie went even pinker.
‘Don’t try to use my PA as a pawn,’ Angel said grimly. ‘And I don’t have time for lunch.’
‘The same as your diary’s allegedly fully booked, but there’s nobody actually sitting in your office right now having a meeting with you?’
She frowned. ‘You really are persistent, aren’t you?’
‘We’ve already discussed that. Persistence is a business asset.’
‘Wasn’t it Einstein who said the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?’ she asked coolly.
‘That’s been attributed to quite a few other people, from ancient Chinese proverbs to Rita Mae Brown,’ he said, enjoying himself. Sparring with someone with a mind like Angel McKenzie’s was fun. ‘Actually, I’m not doing the same thing over and over again. This is lunch, not breakfast.’
* * *
If Brandon had driven to Cambridgeshire from his family’s factory near Oxford, that would’ve taken him at least a couple of hours if the traffic was good, Angel thought. He’d made an effort. Maybe she should make a little effort back. If she talked to him, maybe she might get him to understand that she was serious about not selling her company. ‘Do you want some coffee?’
‘Thank you. That would be lovely.’
And his smile wasn’t in the least bit smug or triumphant. It was just...nice. And it made her spine tingle.
‘I’ll make it, if you like.’
Had her hearing system just gone wrong? The man was used to women hanging on his every word. He hadn’t even been invited here and yet he’d walked in. And now... She blinked. ‘You’re offering to make coffee?’
‘Is there something wrong with the idea of a man making coffee?’
Ouch. She’d just been sexist and he’d called her on it. Fairly. ‘I guess not.’
‘Don’t make assumptions,’ he said softly. ‘Especially if you’re basing them on what the press says about me.’
Was he telling her that he wasn’t the playboy the press suggested he was? Or was he playing games? Brandon Stone flustered her. Big time. And she couldn’t quite work out why. Was it just because he was so good-looking? Or did she see a tiny hint of vulnerability in his grey eyes, showing that there was more to him than just the cocky, confident racing champion? Or was that all just wishful thinking and he really was a shallow playboy?
What she did know was that he was her business rival. One who wanted to buy her out. She probably shouldn’t even be talking to him.
On the other hand, if Triffid didn’t get that contract to her and the bank carried out its threat of calling in her overdraft, she might be forced to eat humble pie and sell McKenzie’s to him, no matter how much she’d hate it. Short of winning the lottery, right now she was all out of ideas.
‘So where’s the coffee machine?’ he asked.
‘The staff kitchen’s next down the corridor on the left as you go out of the door,’ Stephanie said. ‘The mugs are in the cupboard and so are the coffee pods.’
‘Thank you.’ He smiled at her, and turned to Angel. ‘Cappuccino, no sugar, right?’
She nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘How do you like your coffee, Stephanie?’ he asked.
His courtesy made Angel feel a little bit better about Plan C. If he treated junior staff well rather than ignoring them or being dismissive, that was a good sign for the future if he did end up taking over McKenzie’s. Maybe he wasn’t as ruthless as she feared, despite his family background. Or maybe he just wanted her to think that.
‘I’m not drinking coffee at the moment,’ Stephanie said, and rested her hand briefly on her stomach.
Angel could see from the change in Brandon’s expression that he’d noticed the tiny gesture, too, and realised what it meant. Stephanie was pregnant. Was it her imagination, or did she see pain and regret flicker briefly over his expression? But why would a pregnancy make him react like that?
None of her business, she reminded herself.
‘What can I get you, Stephanie?’ Brandon asked.
‘Fruit tea, please. There’s some strawberry tea in the cupboard.’
He smiled. ‘Got you. Is it OK to leave my basket here on your desk for a second?’
‘Sure,’ she said.
As he walked out, Stephanie mouthed to Angel, ‘He’s nice.’
Yeah. That was the problem. He wasn’t just an arrogant playboy. There was another side to Brandon Stone—a side she could let herself like very, very much. Which made him dangerous to her peace of mind.
* * *
Brandon returned to Angel’s office, carrying three mugs. He put Stephanie’s strawberry tea on her desk, then picked up the picnic basket. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to join us, Stephanie?’
She went very pink again. ‘No, but thank you for asking.’
‘Is it OK to put the coffee on your desk?’ he asked when he followed Angel through to her office.
‘Sure.’ She looked surprised that he’d asked. Did she have a downer on all men? That would explain why Gina hadn’t been able to find any information about Angel dating anyone. But she was reportedly close to her father, so maybe it wasn’t all men. Maybe someone had hurt her badly and she hadn’t trusted anyone since.
And how weird was it that the thought made him want to bunch his fists and dispense a little rough justice to the guy who’d hurt her? Angel McKenzie seemed quite capable of looking after herself. She didn’t need a tame thug. Besides, Brandon didn’t settle arguments with fists: there were much better ways to sort out problems.
Angel made him feel slightly off balance, and he couldn’t work out why.
He scanned the room. Her office was super-neat and tidy. There were photographs on the walls; some were of cars he recognised as being iconic McKenzie designs, but there was also a picture on her desk of a couple who were clearly her parents, and one more on the wall of someone he didn’t recognise but he guessed had something to do with the business—maybe her grandfather?
He unpacked the picnic basket, put the bread on a plate and cut a few slices, then handed her a plate and his other sharp knife. ‘Help yourself to cheese.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s not much of a choice, but I wasn’t sure if you were a vegetarian,’ he said.
‘No, though I do try to