CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER THREE
Eden stared up at the man standing in front of her, her fingers clamped around the handle of her purse, her heartbeat silenced, shock and disbelief flooding her veins. And then a shiver that had nothing to do with shock or disbelief scampered over her skin because it was him. It was the guy from the bar.
Only in some ways seeing him again shouldn’t have been a shock. For the last couple of weeks, she had been thinking about him continuously. And not just thinking. She had found herself looking for him too.
And she had finally found him. Or maybe he had found her?
Waking that morning in the hotel, she had greedily watched him sleep, wanting, needing to remember him. But now he was here and the sheer randomness and impossibility of that was making her feel as if she were floating outside her body. She almost reached out to grip his arm to see if he was real. Behind her, she was aware of his PA’s slightly stunned gaze, probably because nobody in history had left his boss standing there with his arm frozen in mid-air, but she couldn’t move or speak.
Harris Carver recovered first.
‘Ms Fennell. Thank you for meeting me,’ he said, his voice sending a hard shiver down her spine.
I wasn’t meeting you, she wanted to say. I was supposed to be meeting a billionaire CEO with a reputational crisis.
* * *
She knew the name, of course, and him by reputation or should that be reputations? Because he had two now. The first was low-key and immaculate, a bit like that expensive suit he was wearing.
Her eyes flicked over the dark fabric. Sleek lapels, trouser hems hitting the tops of his shoes, the jacket moulding to those broad shoulders and chest. Subtle details that elevated what were essentially the by-products of sheep and silkworms into the perfect example of quietly luxurious amour for a business titan who preferred to stay out of the limelight.
A frontrunner in the field of space exploration, Harris Carver was known to be hardworking, detail-driven and discreet. He never spoke out of turn, never made waves, except in the financial markets where shares in his company kept rising as if they too wanted to reach the stars.
In other words, he was not supposed to be potential client material for her.
But that had all changed a couple of days ago.
Now he was being linked, not openly, but the clues were there, to claims of IP theft and industrial espionage; only the brief she had been given was so carefully worded it was impossible to identify him as the client.
And even when she’d signed the NDA, she still hadn’t connected his name with the man who had unravelled her so completely.
Beneath her feet, the floor started to shake as she felt the memory of that night swirl inside her, warm and dark and honeyed. But she couldn’t leave him standing there any longer and, stiffening her shoulders, she reached out and shook his hand. ‘Mr Carver.’
His grip was warm, and firm, and she could feel the hard calluses on his fingers. It was all too easy to remember them sliding over her naked belly as he stared down at her with hot, hungry eyes…
She felt his hand tighten around hers and her breath jerked in her throat as she met his gaze head-on. There was nothing warm in his eyes now. Instead, there was a cool anger and the fading aftershocks of a surprise that made no sense because, unlike her, he must have known who he was going to meet today.
She knew how these things worked. His people would have given him some kind of synopsis of her career to date, and all the pertinent facts would be accompanied by a photo. Which meant that either he hadn’t been curious enough about who he’d hired to check them out or he hadn’t recognised her from the other night.
Given his earlier reputation as a meticulous, detail-driven workaholic, the former seemed unlikely. But thinking that she had slipped his mind stung. Not that she would ever admit that to anyone, him most of all.
She pulled her hand loose. Working as a reputation manager at this level had taught her a lot about herself. She knew she was resilient. Smart. Adaptable and ambitious. But it had also taught her a lot about wealthy, powerful people. What she’d learned was that showing weakness was a taboo.
And they didn’t get much more wealthy or powerful than this man.
‘I think we’ll take that coffee after all, Sean,’ he said, but his eyes stayed on her because it was simply an excuse to get his PA out of the room, she realised a moment later, her stomach somersaulting as Sean retreated. She heard the door click behind him. Harris Carver did too because his pupils swelled, the black eclipsing the grey of his irises, and she felt the effects of it stampede through her body.
They were alone.
The air stretched around them and, for a fraction of a second, she thought he was going to lean forward and fit his mouth to hers as he had done in the street.
But this was reality, not some fantasy.
He took a step towards her. ‘What is this? What are you doing here?’ The tension in his voice rippled through her.
She frowned. ‘You know what I’m doing here. You hired me.’
He shook his head. ‘Right, so I’m supposed to believe that this is all just one big coincidence, you and me in that bar and now you here.’
Her eyes clashed with his. ‘Is that a question?’
‘I’m asking you if that was a coincidence?’
His voice was all serrated-edge consonants and clipped vowels. Did he think she had somehow engineered their hook-up? That she’d slept with him because she thought it might give her an edge over her rivals?
No, that was ridiculous. He couldn’t think that. For starters, the timings were all wrong, and, anyway, his people had reached out to her.
‘I don’t go hunting for clients in bars, if that’s what you’re implying. Sorry to dent your ego but I didn’t recognise you that night, and it’s not as if we exchanged names and contact details.’
When you worked with a high-profile, high-net-worth individual, discretion was mandatory. Potential clients often used a go-between in the first instance who would outline a ‘theoretical’ reputation crisis event and request a strategy, but client anonymity was common practice up until an NDA was signed. Today was no exception.
Sure, Harris Carver’s name had been in the news over the last few days, but he was one of a number of notable people currently facing down a reputational crisis. And as she’d just told him, she’d had no idea who he was that night.
She did now.
It was still making her head spin that this man and the man who had been stalking through her dreams every night were the same person.
Her pulse twitched as she thought back to the moment they’d met. He’d been wearing jeans and a T-shirt and that battered leather jacket and she’d assumed he was just an ordinary guy meeting up with mates to watch the big fight. And when he’d taken her hand, his skin hadn’t been smooth and soft like the hands of some pampered billionaire. She’d assumed he was a mechanic or a carpenter.
Wrong assumptions.
‘And that’s my fault?’ His voice was an explosive mix of anger and frustration, and he was staring at her as if she were an intruder he’d caught opening his safe.
Which was not only deeply unnerving but unjust.
‘It’s not mine. None of this is my fault. I didn’t even get told who I was meeting today until your PA came and got me. But you knew who I was. If you had a problem with that, why didn’t you—’
‘I’m so sorry I’m late.’
They both turned as a middle-aged woman in a pale grey trouser suit hurried into the room, accompanied by the PA carrying a tray of coffee.
‘There was an accident out on—’
‘It’s fine, Avery.’ Harris Carver cut across her explanation. ‘We’ve literally just started.’
He turned back to Eden, his expression flat and unreadable. ‘Ms Fennell, this is my head of Comms, Avery Williams. You have her to thank for your being here today. She championed you from the start.’
In other words, had he played a part in the selection process, he wouldn’t have chosen her, she thought. But he didn’t have to say it out loud. The taut twist to his mouth did that for him.
She held out her hand to the head of Comms. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Ms Williams.’
The older woman smiled as they shook hands. ‘So, where are we up to? Obviously, you’ve been introduced.’
Eden nodded. ‘I was just saying how surprised I was that Mr Carver agreed to hire me given what he knew about me.’
The other woman’s face froze momentarily. ‘Why? Have you met before?’
‘No.’
They both spoke at once, Harris’s deeper voice overlapping hers in a way that felt oddly intimate and exposing.
Eden smiled stiffly. ‘I just meant that I’m a bit of a new kid on the block.’
‘But you do remind me of someone,’ he said after a moment.
Obviously, he wasn’t expecting her to tell the truth. Quite the opposite in fact. He was treading quietly but heavily on her toes. Which of course made her want to shout it from the rooftops because after Liam she had sworn never to be any man’s dirty little secret.
In the months after their split, she had wondered why she hadn’t realised the truth.
With hindsight it all seemed so glaringly obvious. For starters, he’d always been having to rush off. But she hadn’t understood then that it wasn’t just teenagers who had curfews. Married men had them too.
Then there were the other glaringly red flags like the fact that he’d never invited her back to his place. He’d always had an excuse. The boiler was broken. The neighbours were having work done and the builders were just so loud. And despite dating him for a year she had never met any of his friends or family.
She felt it beneath her ribs. Not anger, but a cool slippery shame, squatting there like a toad. Liam had always had excuses for that too. And for why all his calls went to voicemail.
The truth had been there in huge letters that would have been visible from space to anyone else on the planet. But she had been young, straight out of college and desperate to prove that she was immune to the same curse as all the other women in her family. That she would be able to attract that most mythical of men: the one that didn’t want to get away.
Which was why nobody from her family had known about their ‘relationship’ either. She hadn’t wanted to jinx it by telling her mom and grandmother. She had wanted to hold it close, to keep it precious and unsullied because she’d been so convinced that she was different from them, so determined that she would be the exception and not the rule.
‘I have that kind of face,’ she said coolly. ‘People are always thinking I look like somebody they know. It can be a bit confusing sometimes.’
Those mesmerising grey irises were steady on her face. ‘That must be it, then.’
But it was she who’d got confused. Back in the bar, she had sensed something raw about this man, something intensely male, primitive almost. And it was still there, that same compelling sensual masculinity. Only now it was sheathed, not just in a suit that flattered every hard contour of muscle but with the indisputable authority of someone who was used to getting what he wanted. And no doubt casting it aside when it no longer served a purpose.
Her eyes darted around the quiet luxury of the lounge. This was his natural habitat. This exclusive private members’ club with its deferential staff and expensive furnishings. Because he wasn’t anything like the other men who’d been in the bar.
They were all interchangeable. Easy to read.
Easy to forget.
She felt a cool, silvery shiver like liquid mercury tremble down her spine as his eyes met hers.
Even without a name Harris Carver was not someone you could ever forget.
‘Take a seat.’
The command in his voice whipped at her senses and she sat down in one of the leather club chairs, wishing she had worn trousers instead of a skirt as his eyes grazed her legs. She had dithered over what to wear but ended up going for a navy pinstripe pencil skirt because coupled with the heels it made her look like one of the grown-ups.
Sometimes she was so jaded with life and people and all the stupid, mean stuff they did that she felt as old as the Sphinx. But she knew that, to clients, she looked young, and they equated youth with inexperience.
It didn’t help that like all the women in her family she was petite. Unfortunately, and unjustly, taller people were perceived as more authoritative, which was why she’d picked her highest heels for today’s meeting.
Also, she liked the silhouette of the skirt. All that time in the gym had given her quads and glutes. Yes, it was a cliché, but at the time, when she had been reeling and wounded from Liam’s betrayal, a revenge body had felt like a kind of win.
It still did. Walking into the club today, she had flexed her muscles on purpose because it reminded her that she was a survivor. That power was always there for the taking and that she was a powerful woman who had walked through fire and survived.
Looking up, she shivered inside as her eyes clashed again with his molten silver gaze. But some fires burned brighter and hotter than others.
She watched, her nerves twitching as he opened his laptop and scrolled slowly down the screen, taking his time, flexing his will as she had flexed her muscles. ‘You come highly recommended, Ms Fennell.’ Now he lounged back in the chair, his eyes roaming over her face, then stopping abruptly to pin her gaze just as he had in the bar.
And in the bedroom.
And in the mirror as he’d held her shoulder and watched her shudder to a climax as he’d thrust powerfully inside her.
Her skin felt hot and tingly, and she glanced away. Did he remember it too? Was she imprinted on his brain in the same way? Had he spent the last two weeks chasing shadows across the city trying to assuage that sharp, relentless ache that wouldn’t soften and fade by itself?
It was impossible to tell just by looking. His face was as impenetrable as a brick wall.
‘Thank you.’
He smiled but it was a smile that remained on his lips. His eyes stayed cool and hard. ‘It wasn’t a compliment, Ms Fennell. Just an observation.’
Her chin jerked up. Right, so that was how this was going to go.
She glanced over to where he was seated, his long legs stretched out casually. But she knew he was still furious because her turning up here had taken away his control. Here with his staff, he was the big boss. A rich, powerful, smooth-shaven, hard-talking CEO lounging like an emperor in his handmade suit and shoes. Why would he ever want them to know that there was another hungry-eyed version of him who had anonymous sex with strangers?
Was that what he usually did?
It hurt more than it should, thinking that she was just one in a long line of nameless women he’d hooked up with. It hadn’t felt like that at the time. They might not have known each other’s names, but there had been something there, an ease and a friction that was both contradictory and yet true. She shivered inside. That was dangerous thinking. But he had been so tempting, and she had been so tempted.
Which was why she’d left without waking him. She hadn’t been sure she could resist him, and she couldn’t be that needy even for a moment. Not any more.
Only it was hard, because just like every other woman in her family she craved security and certainty above all else. It was that craving that had driven her into Liam’s arms, and, like moths to a flickering flame, they got burned every single time.
Her brain hiccupped as a new thought suddenly occurred to her, one that might explain why Harris was radiating such intense displeasure at her presence. Because she had left him sleeping in that hotel room, which she was pretty sure didn’t happen to him very often, possibly never.
Tough! She wasn’t here to manage his male pride.
Sitting up straighter, she leaned forward slightly. ‘For me it’s a compliment to be recommended by any of my clients,’ she countered. ‘Why wouldn’t it be? They’re all demanding, successful people with high standards.’
She felt the atmosphere in the room quiver to attention as his fingers tightened on the arm of his chair and she remembered again how they’d gripped her hip. That moment of need and recognition—
‘Your client list is impressive,’ he admitted begrudgingly as if he regretted admitting it. He glanced down at the screen. ‘Given your age.’
She blinked.
Wow, that was condescending, and it was so tempting to tell him that. But she was too ambitious to get mouthy with clients, even one as vexing as Harris Carver. She couldn’t afford to be labelled as stroppy or difficult or thin-skinned, because all it would take was one or two stray remarks and suddenly she would have a reputation and there would be no new clients coming in.
That was the thing about human beings. They all had opinions about one another, but if enough people thought the same thing, then those opinions became your reputation.
Take her family. With her short shorts and flirty smile and paint-splattered tank tops, her mum was nothing like her friends’ mothers, and her grandmother was definitely not some apple-cheeked little old lady sitting in a rocker on the porch.
But just because they ran life-drawing classes and drank beer and laughed and dated unsuitable men didn’t mean they deserved to be called names.
Even as a child, when she hadn’t fully understood the meaning of those names, she had wanted to make it stop. Maybe that was why she’d ended up in this job and why it felt less like a job and more a way of life.
She caught a glimpse of silver and steel and, looking up, she found Harris Carver watching her. Holding his gaze, she nodded. ‘Almost as impressive as the fact that most of my clients have come to me through word-of-mouth recommendations, including those in Europe.’
Her pulse dipped as his eyes dropped to hers.
‘I saw that you started out in London. An odd decision to quit the States so early in your career. Was the pond too big for you to get noticed here? Or were the other fish just that much bigger than you that you couldn’t compete for food?’
Screw you , she thought, resentment surging through her.
‘First off, I didn’t quit, Mr Carver, and secondly, even in a capitalist economy, bigger doesn’t always mean better. Sometimes “bigger” can be a disadvantage. It can encourage complacency, which in turn can lead to a stifling of imagination. That’s not a criticism,’ she added coolly, holding his gaze. ‘It’s just an observation.’
Okay, that was pretty mouthy, but he was pushing her hard, too hard.
His head of Comms smiled minutely and nodded.
Harris Carver didn’t smile or nod. He just stared at her and for so long it felt as though they were in some kind of staring competition.
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
She lifted her chin. ‘I moved to London before I started the business. My father is English, so I have dual nationality. I wanted a change and also a chance to connect with that side of my heritage.’
It was more than that. Still raw from Liam’s rejection and from losing their baby, she had needed to put an ocean between herself and her memories. Moving to England had been a chance to put some literal distance between herself and her past mistakes and the pain that kept catching her unawares whenever she saw a couple with a baby. When she was surrounded by strangers her pain and shame were invisible, and that was what she’d wanted.
‘Hence the accent.’
He had noticed. Not many people did. It wasn’t that pronounced but that was the difference between him and those other guys in that bar. He didn’t just hear, he listened. Bluff and bluster, charm, good looks and luck, they all got you so far. But sustaining success, preserving power, only happened if you paid attention.
Which he did, she thought, her insides tightening as she remembered the soft meditative trace of his fingers. He had known instinctively where to touch her to make her squirm because he had been listening to her body, to the stagger of her breath and the noises she’d tried and failed to hold back. But he must also have taken his eye off the ball at some point otherwise she wouldn’t be sitting here.
In short, he was that most compelling of all men. A contradiction, an enigma, a puzzle, and she loved solving puzzles.
Jigsaws. Crosswords. Sudoku. Whodunnits.
But complicated men had complicated lives. Sometimes they even had a whole other life with a wife in it.
Which was why she met men in bars. Why she didn’t learn their names. Why she left before they could leave her. And why she was going to keep ignoring the strange, shimmering thread between her and Harris that pulled taut every time she met his glittering grey gaze.
‘I do have an accent, particularly when I’ve been over in London for a while. There are certain words I mix up. Some spellings too. I forget where I am sometimes.’
Avery Williams smiled.
Harris Carver didn’t. He didn’t so much as move a muscle. Because she was watching so closely, she could see the rise and fall of his chest, but she felt something in his gaze narrow on her.
‘Does that happen often? You forgetting where you are?’
The hairs on the nape of her neck shivered to attention.
She thought back to her confusion when she’d woken up in the hotel room. But that hadn’t been forgetting. It was him. He had made all of it slide out of her head. Her past. Her fears. Her failures. His touch had opened her up and everything had spilled out until nothing remained except her hunger and a need for him to keep touching her.
Her heart thudded as his eyes met hers. ‘Not often, no.’
She tried to pretend that the silence that followed her reply didn’t get to her, but it was hard when he was watching her so closely. ‘To recap, then,’ he said finally. ‘Your agency is small, smaller than your rivals, and you have less experience and outreach than they have. So, what exactly is it that you are bringing to the table, Ms Fennell? Other than an occasional episode of amnesia and some poor spelling.’
That grated. As it was meant to. He was needling her, trying to get a rise. To get her to trip up on her anger.
Because he wanted her gone, wanted her to walk away from this job.
But she wasn’t going anywhere. This was her life. She wasn’t just piggybacking on someone else’s, and she wasn’t going to give it up for anyone.
‘I know you considered other candidates,’ she said crisply. ‘I’m guessing you were looking at the heavyweights.’ Her mind flashed to the boxing match. His did too. She could see it in his eyes.
‘And I can’t compete with them.’
‘Then why are you here?’ he said in that clipped, economical way of his, reminding her again, as if she needed reminding, that he was a man who was used to his opinions being treated not simply as commentary but as protocol.
‘If you don’t have what it takes to compete with your rivals, Ms Fennell, then I would suggest you leave now because I need someone exceptional to fight my corner.’
There was a short, sticky silence as his head of Comms stared into the middle distance. Eden felt her face grow warm.
She held her breath. Counted to ten. Then ten more.
‘You misunderstand me, Mr Carver. What I was trying to explain is that I can’t compete with those other agencies. Then again, I’m not trying to. I’m not criticising them. They are strategic and well connected and expert.’
She inclined her head towards Avery Williams. ‘But I think it’s worth pointing out that your people considered and discounted them. As they should have done, in my opinion. You see, those agencies have a reputation too. And that can be an advantage. Sometimes in situations like these just hiring the right firm can shut down the rumour mill—’
‘But not in this case?’ He eyed her across the room, his slate-coloured gaze as demanding as his question.
She paused. ‘No. Not unless you’re looking for a hard-charge, high-profile litigation—’
‘I’m not.’
‘Again, because you understand that it can backfire. Fan the flames of something you want extinguished.’
His gaze had sharpened, that fascinating mouth of his pursing in a facsimile of a kiss. The memory of that kiss in the rain immediately slid into her head, unprompted and intrusive, and it took a moment of concentrated effort to recover her train of thought.
‘And because, like I said before, bigger is not always better. In this instance, it could actually be damaging. You’re a very wealthy, powerful man but those big-name agencies have better brand recognition and that will make you look small and subservient. Never a good look, particularly when it comes to defending one’s reputation,’ she added, giving in once again to that childish urge to goad him as he had been goading her.
His nostrils flared, eyes locking with hers, narrowing above his uptilted chin.
‘So, you’re saying you’ll be subservient to me.’
There was a rough edge to his voice that made her body loosen and heat bloomed low in her pelvis as she replayed the moment when he had caught her wrists and held her captive.
‘I’m saying that I won’t be the story here. And by the time I’ve finished, you won’t be a story either. You talked earlier about having someone in your corner. I will be that someone. I will always be that someone because, unlike those other agencies, I only work with one client at a time. My attention will be entirely on you, twenty-four hours a day.’
She tilted her chin, mirroring his stance.
‘As for all this talk of fighting—it’s just a distraction. It’s noise. My success will be measured by the absence of events, the absence of headlines and chatter. So, in answer to your question, what I’m offering is the quiet elevation of your reputation.’
For a moment he didn’t react but then he nodded slowly and her heart lurched. To cover her reaction, she reached for her laptop.
‘Out of interest, is the timing of this story in any way significant?’
‘Significant in what way?’ he asked, grey eyes boring into her face.
‘Someone has targeted you. I just wonder why and why now. What are they getting out of it?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Does there need to be a reason? I’m in the public eye. Isn’t this just what happens sometimes?’
‘Yes, it is. Only it doesn’t happen in a vacuum, and, more importantly, it has never happened to you before.’ Holding his gaze, she turned her laptop. ‘I’ve just typed in your name and nothing controversial or contentious comes up except this one story. Which is odd, don’t you think?’
‘What I think is that it’s one of those distractions you say I don’t need in my life.’
‘So, you have no opinion as to who might have started these rumours? Because, for example, if it’s a disgruntled employee we can—’
He held her gaze. ‘It’s not a disgruntled employee.’
‘A rival, then? Someone who stands to gain in business terms.’
‘There is Tiger McIntyre,’ Avery Williams said quietly. ‘He’s HCI’s closest competitor.’
‘What difference does it make who’s behind the story?’ He was still staring at her, and she had to stiffen her neck to stop from turning her head just to escape his gaze.
‘It tells us if this is a warning shot or just a stray bullet.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Look, I understand that it’s hard for someone in your position, Mr Carver, to lose control of their narrative but, if I am going to help you, I need you to commit, and that means being honest with me. I’m not your priest, I don’t need to hear your confession, but if there is anything that could impact on your character, anything that might come to light which is pertinent, then I need you to tell me asap because further down the line it will be a far greater challenge to make it go away.’
There was a silence that made her feel as though she’d been jettisoned into space.
‘There’s nothing to tell.’ His pupils flared as he spoke and, too late, she realised that he’d thought she was talking about what had happened between them in the hotel.
Her heart squeezed as he got to his feet abruptly.
‘Thank you for coming in, Ms Fennell.’ He held out his hand again and she took it reluctantly, but this time his fingers barely grazed hers before he was pulling away. He waited, impatience pulsing from every pore as she shook hands with Avery Williams, then— ‘Sean, take Ms Fennell next door and arrange her security clearance.’
She watched him turn away, feeling oddly flattened.
But his PA was already on his feet, and, collecting her things, she turned and followed him out of the room. It felt like a minor triumph that she managed to do so without glancing back once. Although, really, she had more to celebrate than that. She had survived what was probably the trickiest meeting of her career. The contract was signed. All the i’s had been dotted and the t’s crossed.
Why, then, did everything still feel so unfinished between her and her new boss?