Page 25 of Arrogant Heir

‘No problem,’ I say. We move to lighter topics, and he tells me which family members are involved with which divisions of the business. He looks visibly relieved to be talking ‘business’ again and even cracks a proper smile. For the first time, I notice he has an adorable dimple. I bite my tongue to stop myself from commenting.

‘Sebastian, as he’s probably already told you, heads up our hotels, and Caspian runs the property division. Oh, and Marian is the head buyer of the women’s lines for the department stores. She has a degree in fashion.’

‘What about your younger brothers?’

‘Christian and Max are both being mentored in the department store division. That’s where we all do our basic business training after leaving uni.’

‘That’s Max for Maximillian?’

He nods. ‘Correct. And Lillian, my baby sister, is still at uni and works part time at the London flagship store in the holidays. That’s where it all begins and from there, we decide what we’ll specialise in.’

‘Fascinating,’ I say. ‘You’ve also got the New York cousins. What do they do? He tells me a bit about how his uncle moved to New York, charged by Arthur to duplicate UK operations and launch a similar Rochester empire over there.

I laugh. ‘No one can accuse your grandfather of thinking small.’

‘Quite,’ he says, dryly.

And just like that, he’s relaxed his armour and lain down his sword. It’s one of those rare moments where I glimpse the real Damian behind the emotionless mask.

‘Now, have you wrung enough information out of me for one day?’ he challenges me, his tone teasing.

I roll my eyes as a reflex.

‘Am I trying your patience, Ms Jackson—Jamie?’ His eyes sparkle and I see he’s amused by my reaction.

‘No, no, not at all. Whatever would make you think such a thing?’ I fire back. ‘You’re probably the easiest author I’ve ever worked with.’

And there it is again. A genuine smile.

This time I can’t stop myself, and before I think through the consequences, I say, ‘It suits you when you smile. You should do it more often.’

He just stares at me, his mask slotting firmly back in place, and one eyebrow arching.

I gather my stuff and make for the door. ‘Thanks for your time, Mr Rochester. Always a pleasure. Same time tomorrow.’

And I’m gone, letting the door swing closed gently behind me.

CHAPTER18

Damian

She’s a few minutes late, which is unlike her, and I check my watch again and tap my foot. She’s never been late, which is one of her qualities I like. I’m not so keen on her relentless probing questions, but I deflect her any time she gets too close. We play a game of cat and mouse, but at this stage I’m not sure who’s the cat and who’s the mouse.

Something is happening between us, no matter how I resist. I’ve never been this close to a woman where I spend one-on-one time with her every day and talk about everything from business to family and offer my opinions on everything that she throws at me. When she listens so intently, her caramel-coloured eyes widen and I’m ten-foot-tall. She makes me feel as though I’m the only person in the world, and it’s addictive.

I’ve read what she’s written of the manuscript so far, and I have to give her credit. It reads well and Grandfather is raving about the piece she wrote about how he left Yorkshire and started the first department store in London. He’s even warmed to the idea of doing more sessions with her to continue his story, so that’s some of the pressure off me.

It’s turning out just as I wanted, with my grandfather more involved and me taking a step back. But now it’s happening, I miss our daily sessions. She’s got the foundation of the book down and said she needs to interview other members of the family too, and the most intense part is done now.

Like I say, I should feel relieved, but for some reason, I don’t. I’ve grown used to her company, and I enjoy watching her perch opposite me with her fiery red hair in a flicky ponytail, her reading glasses on her pert nose as she types up notes and stops and starts the recording when I’m not giving her what she says she needs for the book.

The days are long and dull when we don’t have a session and I find myself looking for her around the estate. The trouble is Greystone is so huge, I rarely see her if we haven’t planned a meeting. I was looking forward to today, but now I’m irritated that she’s late.

I jump up from my chair behind my desk and stride out the door and out the house onto the path towards her cottage. It doesn’t take me more than a few minutes to reach her door and I’m struck by the beauty of the scene with the pretty cottage nestled in the dip by the pond. Spring is in full force. Flowers are in bloom and the foliage is thick and the trees dense overhead. Sparks of sun shimmer on the leaves and dance across the quiet surface of the water.

I arrive at her door and ask myself what the hell I’m doing. Since when do I go in search of hired help? And yet here I am, hand poised to knock. My phone pings, and I see a text. It’s from her, apologising for running a little late.

As I’m here now, I suspend my chaotic whirling thoughts about it being a mistake to come over and knock firmly on the door. No reply. Nothing moves and all I can hear is the beating of my heart, which sounds so loud I wouldn’t be surprised if she heard it in the cottage. Still no reply, and I turn to leave. Perhaps she had to go out, and that’s why she’s late. I curse, not checking if her car is still here. I hate wasting time and I’m never inefficient. I’ve spotted her whizzing in and out of the estate in her red Mini. It suits her firebrand image and reinforces my nickname for her: Red. I’m walking back along the path, clouds of dust around my shoes as they disturb the gravel, when I hear my name. I turn and see her peering out of the door, so I retrace my steps.

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