Five Exotic Fantasies: Love in Reverse, Book 3 (5 page)

Next to him, she chewed her red lip before deciding on a bran and banana muffin.

“Do you buy lunch from here?” he asked.

She took a cup from the cooler by the cart and poured herself a glass of cold water. “No, I usually grab something in town.”

He studied her profile, thinking how elegant she was, how beautiful. He loved the fact that everyone in the office thought she was cold and haughty. He felt like a medieval peasant who’d been allowed to see behind the rood screen in church, like Dorothy peering behind the wizard’s curtain. Was he the only one who knew she wasn’t like that inside?

One day, Felix knew he’d settle down—the memories of Lindsey and those nightmare days in London when he’d first heard of her death would eventually fade and he’d be able to love again. But he wasn’t there yet, and every time he slept with another woman, he was unable to shake off the feeling of guilt, as if he were cheating on her.

He’d remained single for the first year after she died, moving back to New Zealand under the gentle pressure of his parents, which in the end had been a good move, because he stopped seeing Lindsey around every corner and in every bar and restaurant he visited, and instead she just visited him at night, in his dreams.

He hadn’t wanted to sleep with another woman, too full of guilt and unhappiness at his loss. But he’d also realised he couldn’t stay single for the rest of his life. He’d only been twenty-two when she died, and she’d have laughed at the thought of him becoming a monk. He loved sex and had a high sex drive, and being celibate was not his natural state.

So he’d finally let his brother, Toby, arrange a date for him with a girl, and he’d gone out with her a few times and eventually they’d slept together, and after that it had been easier, although he’d still yet to give his heart to anyone. He wouldn’t have called himself a womaniser. A serial monogamist, maybe—working his way through a succession of short-term relationships that usually lasted around four to six months before things grew too serious and he felt the urge to move on. But it had been almost a year since his last girlfriend—he’d been too busy concentrating on his work to worry about playing the dating game—and he felt out of practice.

However, the prim office manager’s assurance that she was hoping for sex for Christmas made him want to make her wish come true. He’d spoken the truth—he wasn’t a man who usually indulged in one-night stands and he’d been especially careful not to have affairs with the women he worked with. He respected women and thought flirting in the office put pressure on working relationships and was unfair to both sexes. But he was only human, and now he’d hopefully made it clear that he didn’t normally flirt at the office he could possibly push things a little further.

“Perhaps you could show me a good place to eat?” he suggested.

She hesitated, watching Rob glancing up at them with alarm, as if Felix had asked Attila the Hun out for lunch. “Oh,” she said breezily, “I often just go into the supermarket, not to a café or anything.”

“Fine,” he replied. “I could do with some supplies.”

She sipped her water. “Supplies?”

“I’m staying in a hotel, but it’s nice to be homely and they don’t have everything I need there. Their instant coffee’s appalling.” His eyes met hers as she took another sip. “And I love hot cocoa in bed.”

She coughed into her cup. Rob stared and the others at the cart turned and looked at them curiously, but Felix managed to keep a straight face, even though he was laughing inside. He’d guessed correctly—Coco was obviously her nickname.

“Everything all right?” Rob asked her.

“Fine.” She wiped underneath her bottom lip delicately and met Felix’s steady gaze. He could see her wondering whether his words were pure coincidence, or whether he did indeed know her name.

“Let’s finish the tour,” she said eventually. “Come on.”

He followed her, allowing himself a secret grin.

She took him in to see the partners he hadn’t yet met, and he was interested to see that they all spoke to her deferentially. She was obviously well-respected in the office.

She introduced him to Ted Hoyle, a bluff old lawyer who’d been there donkey’s years, the same solicitor on whose letter the young typist had made the mistake. How would she react if the lawyer mentioned the slip-up? Would she lay the blame on Sam and drop her in it?

“Please to meet you.” Ted shook Felix’s hand, then turned to Coco. “I’ve just read the letter to Mrs. Parkinson. Are you aware of the error in it?”

“Yes, Mr. Hoyle,” she said. “I do apologise.”

“What if I hadn’t picked it up? Mrs. Parkinson is one of our biggest clients, and it was quite an insulting mistake.”

“Yes, Mr. Hoyle, I do understand. I had seen the error myself, but you are good to point it out in case I missed it.”

“It’s not good enough, Miss Stark.”

“Absolutely it’s not, Mr. Hoyle.” Her calm voice soothed without being sycophantic.

“It was Sam, wasn’t it?” Ted pressed. “I’m sure she took the dictation.”

Felix knew the young secretary’s initials would be in the reference at the top of the letter, indicating that it was definitely she who had mistyped the phrase. Coco, however, smiled and said, “I’m not sure, Mr. Hoyle. Rest assured I’ll find out and let them know their mistake.”

Hoyle gave her a wry look. “You’re sweet talking me. That’s not the first potentially disastrous error Sam’s made, and we both know it won’t be her last.”

“We’re working on her accuracy, sir, and I’m sending her on a secretarial skills course next week. She’s a good girl, Mr. Hoyle—she’s just very young and trying a little too hard. She’ll improve.”

“Hmm.” Hoyle looked both mollified and exasperated. He glanced at Felix. “You can never get your own way in this place. This one always manages to talk me out of whatever I want to do.”

“I’m beginning to understand that,” Felix said, amused and impressed by her loyalty.

“Thanks, Mr. Hoyle.” She backed out of the office, and Felix—casting a last sympathetic grin at the old man—followed her.

“What?” she asked as they walked along the corridor and he drew alongside, casting glances at her.

“I can see why Christopher’s impressed with you.”

Clearly she wasn’t used to compliments. Her cheeks stained a faint pink and her lids lowered over her green eyes.

They arrived at his new office, and she walked in. “And we’re back where Christopher put you. One of the best views over the quay.”

“It’s lovely.” He placed his muffin next to his briefcase, walked over to the window and looked down at the ferry slowly making its way in after crossing the Cook Strait from the South Island.

She came to stand beside him. He could smell her subtle perfume, something sweet and flowery that stirred his senses. Her hair, although scraped tightly in its bun, shone in the early morning sunlight, and he had the feeling it would slip through his fingers like silk.

“You never told me what your first impressions of the Wellington branch are,” she said.

He hesitated, not wanting to be rude. But he would have to discuss Peter Dell with her at some point, and being in charge of the secretaries, she would have a good insight into Dell’s behaviour toward the women of the office.

He glanced around the room. “It’s very…old school. It reminds me of Oxford in many ways—which I loved, I hasten to say.”

“You went to Oxford?” She blinked with surprise, her eyebrows raised.

He looked back out of the window, not seeing the water but instead remembering the beautiful buildings made out of the distinctive warm amber stone. “Yes. I won a scholarship there. It was so different from growing up in the Bay of Islands, I can’t tell you. Every building was older than the Stone Store here, and I loved the traditional, antiquated feel of the place. As if I was just one of many, many lawyers who’d studied there in the past, along with famous statesmen and even kings and queens.”

He glanced back at her. She was smiling.

“What?” he said, somewhat defensively.

“You’re an old romantic,” she teased.

He grinned. “Maybe.” The grin faded at the memory of Lindsey lying in his bed in the flat in London, scattered in rose petals from the bouquet he’d bought her, telling him
You love romancing me, don’t you?
His breath caught in his throat. How could it still hurt, after all these years?

Coco tipped her head, a frown narrowing her eyes. “Bad memories?”

He ran a hand through his hair, surprised at her astuteness. “A bit.” He shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about Lindsey. “Anyway, over there that old-fashioned, conventional atmosphere seemed right—Oxford couldn’t be any other way, you know? But here…” He looked around again. “It feels outmoded. Outdated. Like maybe the partners are trying to cling hold of a time long gone.”

“It’s traditional,” she agreed. “But I thought customers liked that. They expect lawyers to be conservative and old-school.”

“Maybe some customers do—the older clientele who grew up in the fifties and sixties. But times are changing. We’re dealing with the children of the seventies and eighties now, who have Kindles and widescreen TVs and who read John Grisham and watch
Boston Legal
. They understand the law better than their forebears did, and they have different expectations. They don’t want deals to be done in the squash room and over long lunches—they want results as quickly and efficiently as possible with minimal cost.”

Coco said nothing, her eyes thoughtful.

“Did you know Auckland’s overheads are thirty percent less than Wellington’s?” he asked.

That made her stare. “Truly?”

“And we have more office space.”

She shook her head, puzzled. “So why, then? Is it much cheaper to rent in Auckland?”

“Not at all. But we are completely digitised. We do have paper files but they are only for copies of essential documents. Everything is done online.”

“What if there was a fire?”

“We back everything up to Dropbox on a daily basis. Our stationery costs are minimal. So are our expense accounts. We no longer take clients out for expensive lunches. Work is expected to be carried out in the office, or we go to the client’s place of work, or we have online conferences.”

Once again she said nothing, but he could see her brain working behind her eyes like the engine inside a sleek sports car.

“So you don’t like it here,” she said eventually.

He shrugged. “I’ve only been here five minutes—I’m loath to make sweeping statements.”

“It’s a nice place to work.”

“I’m sure it is.” He studied her curiously. “Does it not bother you though—as a modern woman—that there are so few female lawyers and associates? And only one female partner?”

She looked bemused. “I’ve always believed it’s wrong to give a woman a job just because she’s a woman. The best person for a job should be the best person, otherwise it becomes tokenism.”

“True. But do you think the best people have always got the positions here? Or do you think the partners have engineered it so it’s male-heavy?”

She frowned. “Are you asking me off the record, or is this part of your investigation?”

He’d made her suspicious, and he didn’t want to turn her into an enemy. He’d learned from being in court about the importance of timing, and how to change tack if the conversation wasn’t going the way he wanted.

He patted down his suit. “No recording devices. Want me to strip and prove it?”

Chapter Six

Coco’s eyes widened at the thought of this gorgeous lawyer stripping for her and gradually revealing the muscular, tanned body she was certain would be underneath. “Goodness.” Her heart pounded and for a moment her thoughts and emotions spun like a centrifuge. “That won’t be necessary. I have to go. Please let me know if there’s anything you require.”

“Anything?” He was definitely teasing her now. She pursed her lips, and he laughed. “You’re going to tell me off now, aren’t you?”

“Mr. Wilkinson…”

“Call me Felix, please.” He leaned on the desk, arms folded, smiling.

“Are you going to say that every time I call you Mr. Wilkinson?”

“Yes.” He studied her, paused, and then said, “Are you married?”

She blinked, thrown by his comment. “Um, no. Hence the ‘Miss’.”

“Engaged?”

“No. But—”

“Living with anyone?”

She gave a frustrated sigh. “No.”

“Gay?”

She rolled her eyes. “No. But, also, I never date anyone at the office.” She made her voice firm. “We’ve discussed how unprofessional that is.”

“True,” he said. “Good job I don’t work in Wellington, then.” His eyes twinkled.

She glared at him. “I meant that I don’t date anyone I work with. And that includes temporary staff.”

“I can see Miss Stark is a woman of strict principles.”

“Very,” she agreed. His lips curved.
Strict principles.
Why did that make her think of handcuffs and erotic torture? Oh dear God, why did this man keep making her think about sex?

His gaze fell to her mouth again. “And is Coco as prim and proper as her counterpart?”