Jessica Gilmore - His Reluctant Cinderella

Something was wrong, Raff could dimly tell, but he fixed on the positive.

‘So you can help me?’

‘Normally it’s the bored wives that ask for something extra. Someone to help clean out the guttering, trim the borders .’ She put a peculiar emphasis on the last few words. ‘I do like to help them when I can. I usually send Dave round. He might be seventy-three but he’s steady up a ladder. They don’t ask again.’

Raff tried to sort out her meaning from her words. He was quite clearly missing something. ‘Do the gutters need doing?’ he asked. ‘Surely that’s your preserve, not mine. Do what you think best. Look, it’s been a long day, a long week. Can you help me or not?’

She looked at him levelly but to his astonishment there was a cold anger in her eyes. ‘Not. This is a concierge service not an escort service. Now please leave. Now.’

‘What?’ Raff shook his head in disbelief as her words sank in. ‘I don’t want... I didn’t mean. For crying out loud, Clara, what kind of man do you think I am?’

‘I don’t know,’ she retorted, eyes hot with fury now. ‘The kind of man who walks away from his family, the kind of man who doesn’t have to work for anything worth having! The kind of man who wants to rent a girlfriend—’

‘Yes! A girlfriend. Not an escort or a call girl or whatever your dirty little brain has conjured up.’ Now his anger was matching hers, the righteous fury waking him up. ‘If I was looking for someone to sleep with I could find them, don’t worry your pretty little head about that, but that’s not what I’m looking for. I need someone to come to a few functions with me, to gaze lovingly into my eyes and to convince an autocratic old man that I might just settle down with her. Now, is that something you can help me with?’

If he thought his words might make her feel guilty, get her to back down, then he rapidly realised he was wrong. She uncoiled herself from her seat, rising to her feet to look up into his face, her eyes fixed on his, full of righteous anger.

‘This is about fooling your grandfather? Why? So he doesn’t cut you off? I have had it up to here with poor little rich boys who live their lives according to who holds the purse strings. I wouldn’t help you if I had a hundred suitable girls working for me. Now please leave.’

Raff choked back a bitter laugh. ‘I don’t have to justify myself to you, Miss Castleton, but for your information my grandfather is ill. He’s in the hospital and I am under strict orders not to upset him. So I either start dating one of the unfortunate women on the shortlist he drew up for me, fake a relationship or be responsible for yet another dangerous rise in blood pressure.’

He smiled over at her, sweet and dangerous. ‘Tell me, Miss Know-it-all, which do you recommend?’

‘A shortlist?’

That had stopped Miss Judgemental in her tracks.

Raff didn’t want to let go of the anger and frustration, didn’t want to try and tease a responsive grin from that pursed-up mouth, coax a glint out of those hard emerald eyes.

Especially as her words had cut a little deeper than they should. No virtual stranger should have the power to penetrate beneath the shield he so carefully erected yet her words had been like well-aimed arrows piercing straight into his Achilles heel.

Whether it was the lack of sleep, the taut tension in the room or the craziness of the situation, he didn’t know but, despite his best intentions, a slow smile crept over his face.

‘Do you want to see it?’

Clara’s eyes widened. ‘You have it with you?’

‘I needed something to read on the train. Here.’ He pulled the sheaf of papers out of his coat pocket and held them out. ‘Names, pedigrees, biographies and photographs.’

She made no attempt to take them. ‘Thorough.’

‘He means business,’ Raff agreed, letting the papers fall down onto the desk with an audible thump. It felt as if he had put down a heavy burden. ‘Now do you understand?’

She still wasn’t giving an inch. ‘Couldn’t you just talk to him?’

Raff laughed. ‘No one just talks to Charles Rafferty. We all tug our forelock and scuttle away to do his bidding. Or run away. Both Polly and I took that route.’

He sighed and picked the papers up again, shuffling them. ‘I owe you an apology. It doesn’t matter even if you do know where Polly is...’ she opened her mouth to interject and he held up his hand ‘...but I’m sure you don’t. She’s covered her traces well and I don’t blame her.’

The only person he could blame right now was himself. They were so estranged she couldn’t, wouldn’t confide in him.

Concern was etched onto Clara’s face. ‘Is she okay?’

Raff shook his head. ‘I doubt it. It turns out that great profits and great PR aren’t enough. My grandfather showed his gratitude for an another excellent year’s trading by telling Polly he was never going to make her CEO, and he is going to sign the company over to me.’

‘Ouch.’

Clara sank back into her seat, a sign the battle was over. Thank goodness. Raff had been through enough emotional wars in the last few days. He leant against her desk, grateful for the support. ‘That was just the start of it.’ Raff ran a hand through his hair. Damn, he was tired. What a ridiculous mess. ‘We owe him a lot, Polly and me. It’s hard to stand up to him. But this was so wrong I had to say something.’ His mouth twisted as he pictured the scene. ‘I managed to stay calm but he got completely worked up and ended up collapsing in the most dramatic fashion.’

Raff was aware that he was making light of the situation, but the moment his grandfather had clutched his chest and collapsed was branded in his mind. ‘I thought we’d lost him.’

Clara reached a tentative hand across the desk, then pulled it back, seemingly unsure how to react. ‘Is he okay?’

‘Angina. Apparently he’s kept that a secret along with his plans. He’s to be kept quiet and not allowed to get worked up, which is a little like telling a baby not to cry. And he is taking full advantage of the situation.’ Despite himself Raff grinned. He had to admire his grandfather’s sheer bloody-mindedness.

‘As soon as I walked through the hospital-room door today he handed me this list.’ He held up his hands. ‘I know I should have told him the truth right then but seeing as the last time I upset him he collapsed, I didn’t. I admit I panicked—next thing I knew I was telling him I had a girlfriend already, it was pretty serious and I was agreeing to bring her along to meet him on Sunday. Two days isn’t a long time to find a convincing fake girlfriend, you know.’

Clara leant back in her chair and regarded him solemnly but Raff could swear those cat’s eyes of hers were sparkling. ‘You seem to be in somewhat of a predicament.’

‘I am.’ He nodded, trying his best to look downcast as hope shot through him. He needed someone cool, someone professional, someone who understood the rules. She would be perfect, if he could just make her see it.

‘I don’t understand why you lied in the first place. A few dates isn’t going to kill you, is it?’ She was looking stern again.

Raff sighed. It was so hard to explain without sounding like an arrogant idiot. ‘I have no intention of sticking around and raising expectations would be unfair.’

‘Presumptuous.’

‘Hardly.’ He laughed but there was little humour in it. ‘These women aren’t the sort to get carried away, at least not where their futures are concerned. The Rafferty name and fortune is old enough and big enough to put me on several “most eligible bachelor” lists. Why do you think I stay out of the country?’

‘Is marriage and a family really so terrible?’ For a moment Raff thought he saw sadness shimmering in her face but one blink and it was gone, replaced by her usual cool professionalism.

‘No,’ he admitted. ‘But not for me, not yet. There’s a lot I need to do before I’m ready for that kind of commitment.’

If he ever was. He’d seen firsthand just what marriage could do. He still didn’t know what was worse: his grandmother staying put out of martyred duty or his mother fleeing as soon as things got tough. Either way it had been hard for Polly and him.

Not that any of his school friends had fared much better. Outside gravy adverts, he still wasn’t entirely sure that happy families existed.

‘Look, I appreciate that I approached this all wrong but I could really use your help.’

She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t feel right.’

‘Clara, please.’ He wasn’t too proud to beg. ‘You would be perfect: you own your own business, know Polly. My grandfather will adore you.’

‘Me!’ Was that panic on her face? But there was something else too. She was trying to hide it but she was intrigued.

Raff pressed the point home. ‘Look, I’ll pay you by the day, even if I only need you for a couple of hours, and I’ll owe you. There must be something I can do for you. Don’t you need an eligible date at all? Wedding, christening, bar mitzvah?’

‘My diary’s empty.’ But her lush mouth was tilted up into a smile. ‘Socially at least.’

‘Even better,’ he said promptly. ‘I’m promising you fine dining, glamorous parties and a clothes allowance. Think of me as a particularly masculine fairy godfather whisking you away to the ball.’

‘I can’t just drop everything.’ But, oh, she looked tempted. ‘I have a business, a daughter. What’s she supposed to do whilst I’m out gallivanting with you?’

‘Gallivanting and drumming up business,’ Raff said slyly. Bullseye. Temptation was giving way to interest. ‘Think of the contacts you’ll make.’

‘Contacts in London,’ she demurred.

‘With your talents it wouldn’t matter if they lived in Antarctica,’ he assured her. ‘You’ll be soothing out the wrinkles in half of London’s lives in no time. And it won’t be for long. I’m hoping to get everything sorted out within a month, six weeks tops. I’m sure your parents won’t mind babysitting.’

‘No.’ She looked down at her computer screen, shielding her expression from him. ‘I don’t know, Raff. I’d have to call in a lot of favours, for work and Summer. I need to think about it.’

‘I’ll pay you double your daily rate and cover all costs. And if we’re successful a bonus. Ten thousand pounds.’

‘That’s the second time this week you’ve offered me ten thousand pounds.’ Clara smiled sweetly at him. ‘Burning a hole in your pocket?’

* * *

Ten thousand pounds. Small change to someone like Raff Rafferty but not to her. Add the daily double rate and this job looked as if it could be pretty lucrative.

A much-needed cash injection. Sure, things were ticking along nicely, turnover was healthy. But so were her outgoings. She chose her staff carefully and paid them well, used the best products, made sure she had people on call at all hours. She had a brilliant reputation but maintaining it cost money. It made it hard to save enough to expand and she was wary of borrowing.

If this extra job lasted six weeks she could make fifteen thousand pounds more than she had budgeted for. Enough for recruitment and advertising in a wider area, another small van. Maybe she could even engage a part-time PA for the office? She handled so many of the emails and calls whilst she was out and about. Keeping the office open and staffed in business hours would be fantastic.

It would be added security. For her and for her daughter.

But it would mean spending those next six weeks with Raff Rafferty. A man who unnerved her, flustered her. Could she handle it?