Downtown Girl (Lipstick Red #1) (2 page)

In Leeds, Taylor set her phone map, walking the route to find out where David Burton’s building was in relation to her hotel.  It was only a ten minute walk.  She wouldn’t have to get up too early. 

International Shipping Company
, she snorted to herself as she stood below its five storey high office and warehouse building.  She wondered if he still dabbled in drugs, and if his company was an excuse to launder money.  It would certainly explain why he’d achieved such wealth and power in such a short time.  She also knew that Kevin would be disappointed in her for even
thinking
it, as he was a great believer in successful rehabilitation of hardened criminals.

Turning away from the building, she swung round swiftly, intending to return to her hotel and prepare for the next morning.  Flinging her leather satchel bag over her shoulder, she felt it strike something behind her, hearing an instant grunt, as if she'd slugged someone with the force of a hurricane.

Her hands flew to her mouth in shock as she whipped round to find a man with blood seeping from a split top lip.

'Oh, I am sorry.....I'm such a klutz.  Honestly, I shouldn't be let out in public.'  She dropped her bag to the ground as she bent over it, pulling out tissues to dab at his mouth, pressing them firmly in her haste to make amends for slugging a stranger.

Shame brought bright spots to her cheeks, and specs of blood dripped onto her old and comfy travelling jeans.  For a second, she was irrationally annoyed to have spoiled them, but realized she was being selfish.

'American, I presume,' he said as his hand caught her wrist, removing the pressure from his mouth.  'It's not every day I get slugged by a pretty girl, I have to admit,' he said, touching the spot where his top lip was swelling impressively.

She'd concentrated on the bleeding lip, but as he held onto her wrist for that few seconds too long, she raised her gaze and caught his eye.  His sapphire eyes met her blue grays with surprise, and a hint of laughter.  His dark hair ruffled in the light breeze and her heart skipped a beat as she stood open mouthed, staring at him.

Flaming Nora, he's hot
, she thought.  Her cheeks flushed again at her instant attraction.  She would have to be wearing her travelling jeans with her below the shoulder length hair loose and natural, falling in wild waves and billowing out in all directions.  She knew she looked a mess.

His mouth twitched as she pulled her wrist from his lingering grasp.  'Sorry again,' she said, flustered and nervous, as she bent down to pick up her bag.

'Yours, I presume?'  He quirked a single brow while picking up the hotel receipt that had fallen from her bag.  'And, the pleasure's all mine, I assure you,’ he said, narrowing his eyes as he dabbed at the congealing blood on his lip with her tissue.

A black limousine pulled up slowly alongside him, a driver jumping out to open the door.  'Sorry I'm late sir, traffic held me up.'  The driver picked at the seam of his jacket, nervous and unsure, his hands shaking.

'You're new,' David said, smiling at the quaking chauffeur and easing his guilt.  'It can't be helped.  If I could predict traffic, I'd be the richest man on earth.'  The driver visibly relaxed and managed a grin as his passenger slid into the back seat.  'Can I drop you anywhere….Taylor,' his deep tone asked before he closed the door.

'It's not far, I can walk,' she gushed, before watching him pull away.  As the car turned the corner, she saw him glance back, catching her standing and watching.  Bloody hell, he knows my name, she thought as his use of her name registered and she realized he'd seen her receipt.  He knew where she'd be staying!

###

Racing up the steps to her hotel room, she tried to convince herself that it was to stay fit, but she knew it was to release the tension from meeting a sexy stranger.  She
had
to tell someone, and Amber was the only person she could talk to.  She frowned to herself, realizing that in six months of working in London, she’d not made any close friends.  Annabel was a friend, yes, but not a
friend
you could spill your innermost secrets to.

‘Met sexiest man alive when I slugged him with my handbag!  Honestly, he’d rate a hundred and ten on a hundred point scale…’

‘You slugged him! What did you do then?  Tie him up and have your wicked way?  I didn’t know you were into all that…’

‘Calm down, it was an accident!  He was a hottie though!’

‘HOW HOT?’

‘Hot enough to blister your skin with a touch!’

‘What are you telling me for?  Why aren’t you shagging him, or shagging yourself with a great stonking dildo?’

‘I’ve no idea who he is, and that’s your scene, not mine!’

‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it girl.  You don’t know what you’re missing…Gotta go, we can’t all swoon over the hottest man in England!’

On a whim, Taylor decided to use the hotel dining room.  She’d usually eat in her room, but tonight she was secretly hoping he’d come and find her.  If he did, she’d make an exception to her self-imposed celibacy. 
No harm in a bit of fun now and then
, she thought.  Quickly fixing her hair and slapping on some make-up, she ran to reserve a table with a good view of the front door.  She raised her eyes each time the door opened, but each time she was unreasonably disappointed. 

‘You're being stupid Taylor,' she muttered to herself under her breath, finishing her meal and retiring to her room with a glass of wine for company. 

###

In the shadows, a figure had watched as she ate, tapping the side of his glass with his index finger, deep in thought as he sipped through a straw, avoiding touching the glass with his swollen lip.

###

The next morning, Taylor grumpily pulled out her clothes, to press her suit before the meeting.  What had she expected?  As if anyone would bother showing up for her.  It’s not as if English men were throwing themselves at her feet.  When she’d finished, she tossed the blood spattered jeans and t-shirt in her case, noticing that a few specks had seeped through her t-shirt to her bra.  She'd forgotten to take a spare, and had no time to buy new lingerie, even if she could afford it.  Good quality clothes were so expensive compared to America.  She'd have to do without, but her jacket would cover up her lack of a boob hammock.

Her white shirt with a thin gray pinstripe had fashionably wide lapels.  It was one of her favorites.  She wore her shirt open at the neck, in a nod to the warm weather and scooped her hair up into a top knot, with tendrils hanging down at the side and framing her long curly lashes.   

You'll have to do
, she thought, picking up her case and walking to the door.  When she was almost at the Burton building, she remembered that she’d left Kevin’s questions on her dresser. 
Damn. 
Walking back as fast as her high heeled shoes would take her, she grabbed the sheaf of notes before slipping out again, now already ten minutes late for her meeting.

Shit
, she thought.  Kevin would be furious.  He'd specifically said that David Burton would blow her off if she was late.  She ran breathless into the building, not taking much in. 

'Taylor Griffiths for David Burton,’ she panted, breathless from rushing, to the relaxed and friendly receptionist.  The receptionist tilted her head in surprise.

'You're in luck; he's cancelled his appointments for today.  All apart from you.'

'Is that unusual?' she asked, intrigued.  Perhaps he was more interested in the case than she imagined he would be.

'Very,' the naturally attractive blonde said, bobbing her head and clacking away on her keyboard at the same time, pausing for only a second to jab the intercom and call David’s office.  Her multi-tasking skills were incredible.  If she could get Annabel to be so efficient, Taylor would finish her work far more quickly than she did at Willgox.

David Burton’s male personal assistant escorted her from reception to his personal suite of offices on the top floor.  The building was a warren of identical corridors, each one indistinguishable from the last, if it wasn’t for the artwork adorning the walls.

‘Who’s that?’ she’d asked as they passed a large photograph dominating a wall.  It was an abstract portrait of a bleeding man, downtrodden and despondent.

‘Who knows?’ The PA shrugged his shoulders, not caring who or what adorned the wall, before turning a sharp right and opening a plain door to an outer office with no sign.

She heard muted angry voices coming from one of the rooms inside.  One voice was becoming increasingly heated.  Her hands began to shake as she imagined his tattoo and shorn hair instilling terror into everyone who crossed his path. 

'You can go in now,' his PA said, once David Burton's visitor walked out with a thunderous expression, ignoring her existence as his expensive aftershave with a strong patchouli scent left a trail behind him.

Nervously picking up her briefcase and question sheet, she stepped towards his room, knocking before entering.  'Come in,' he called.  His voice was familiar, but she couldn't place it.

Standing in front of an enormous floor to roof window, she first caught sight of his swollen lip, as her heart once again began to thud.  How could
he
possibly be the reformed thug she was here to interview?  His molten hot eyes bored into her skull as her face flushed again.  His eyebrows rose as she recognized his acknowledgment of her attraction to him.

He crossed the room in a few short steps, his hand outstretched to take hers.  'David Burton.  Officially.'

'Taylor Griffiths for Kevin Johnson,’ she replied, lowering her lashes in a bid to avoid direct eye contact.  She must be professional.  His hand took hers gently, surprising her in its warmth, which made her knees wobble. 

'How shall we do this?' he asked, his fingers running through his hair. 
I wonder how that feels, running my hand through his hair. 
She was briefly distracted by his graceful movements.  Blinking rapidly, she pulled out her notebook, clicked her pen and shuffled her list of questions. 

'Coffee?' he asked, almost grinning.  He was enjoying this.  She shook her head, while he retrieved two small bottles of mineral water with iced glasses and placed them onto a low table at the back of his office.  He motioned towards one of the chairs with an outstretched hand. 

'Sit down, please.’ His eyes settled on the pen she was clicking constantly.  She instantly stopped, appalled at her immature behavior.

He sat gracefully, with his knees apart, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the leg muscles showing through his suit trousers.  She licked her lips as their eyes met. 
Blast, she was getting this so wrong. 
She saw the raw emotion in his eyes, and knew he felt the charge in the air too.

'I'll ask questions and record the answers if that's ok with you?’ she uttered, her voice dry and raspy.  She lifted her glass to sip some water, grateful for his hosting skills. 

'By all means, Taylor.  I'm in your capable hands!'  He spread his palms upwards, apparently giving her full control.  She knew she'd only have as much control as he allowed her to have.

Flicking on the recorder, she watched as he ran a finger across his swollen lip.  For a second it threw her off guard, as she imagined kissing that rosy lip better.

'How old are you Mr Burton?'

'Surely you know that already Taylor.' He looked surprised and she was crushed.  The stupid question showed her up for the unprepared and inexperienced interviewer that she was.

'For the record, I'm twenty nine,' he said towards the recorder, a hint of a smile forming on his lips.

''How does someone so young, go from being a gang leader to head of an International Business?'

He relaxed visibly.  It must be a question he was asked often.  'I grew up in an area where opportunities were few and gang life was accepted.  The gang became my family.  They watched out for me and looked after me.  It's what any child hopes for.'

‘How does a child hope for drugs, death and murder?’ The question was out before she could stop it.  Kevin would be furious.

‘It signifies love and acceptance Miss Griffiths.  It might not be real, but to a child it
feels
real.’

'So why did you leave?'

'There comes a point in every man's life where they need to make a decision on their future.  I made mine.'

'With the help of jail?' she watched his face as his eyes saddened and his composure slipped for a fraction of a second, stung by her accusation.

'Yes, I spent time in jail.  It's a matter of public record.  There are things in my life that I'm not proud of, but they shaped me into the man I am.'

'Have you ever killed someone, Mr Burton?' She looked into his eyes, looking for signs of the tell tale body language that would help her judge his response for truth.  Would his gaze avert, or his palms sweat, or would his eye twitch while he answered.

He matched her questioning gaze.  'There were initiations.  People got hurt, but did I kill anyone?  Not that I know of.  I was jailed for my part in a drug ring Miss Griffiths, and I have no doubt that jail saved me from myself.  As far as the business is concerned, I'm a passionate man with a knack for getting the best out of people.  That, and a good deal of luck.  Being in the right place at the right time helps.'