When He Was Bad... Page 4

  She lifted her shoulders, avoided his eyes.

  ‘How long?’ he demanded.

  ‘It’s a trial shift.’ She pushed up. For once she had the height advantage and her eyes met his, bright with defiance. ‘And your babysitting duties do not extend to telling me where I should or should not engage in paid employment. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a kitchen garden to be getting on with. Since I’m already here, I’ll work out today’s shift.’

  She pushed the chair beneath the table with a sharp scrape. ‘And in case you’re wondering, I use the outside loo, I brought my own packed lunch and can let myself out the gate when I’m through for the day. I’m sure you have work too. Lots of work. So if you want to go to the office and catch up with Yasmine…or whatever, don’t let me spoil your day.’

  Sparks, he noted. Promising. Where there were sparks there was emotion. Passion. Possibilities. He felt a smile kick up at the corners of his mouth. ‘My day’s going just fine, thank you.’ Even better when he saw her fingers tighten around the back of the chair as she glared at him.

  ‘Before I leave, there’s still the matter of what went on between us Saturday night,’ he said, unable to resist looking at her lips one more time. ‘As I said, ignoring it won’t change things.’

  She sucked in a breath, studied her hands. ‘It was just a kiss….’

  A snort escaped him. ‘Hey, I was there, remember?’

  ‘Okay, it was more than a kiss.’ Cheeks blazing, she lifted her gaze. ‘It was a mistake. You’re Belle’s nephew, Belle’s my employer and—’

  ‘So you are going to reconsider working here.’

  She shook her head and continued. ‘I don’t want, nor do I have time for, anything complicated.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be complicated. You and me and a mutual attraction. It doesn’t come much simpler than that.’

  ‘Good times—is that all you’re about?’ She shook her head again. ‘Of course you are. Men like you always are.’

  ‘Men like me?’

  ‘Attractive, arrogant, ego as wide as the blue Aussie sky.’

  He studied her. The you-don’t-fool-me-for-a-moment-McGregor stance, the nervous way her fingers played over the back of the chair. ‘You’re a contradiction, do you realise that? You say you don’t want complicated, yet you’re rejecting simple. What do you want, Ellie?’

  Her mouth flattened and she swept to the door, yanked it open. Then she turned and glared back at him from the safety of distance. ‘With you, Matt McGregor? Nothing. Not a thing.’

  Uptight young lady, he mused. Damned if he wasn’t going to enjoy finding out why. ‘You know, Ellie Rose, I’m going to prove you wrong about that, and believe me, it’s going to be a pleasure.’

  He grinned as the door shut firmly behind her. ‘Yes, a real pleasure,’ he murmured. ‘For both of us.’ He was in for an interesting week.

  Matt rode the glass elevator to the Melbourne offices of McGregor Architectural Designs, watching a rain shower draw a grey curtain across the cityscape. He never failed to feel the thrill of the ride up to his office on the forty-second floor. The award-winning precinct of glass and brass and green, with its unique interior-walled gardens cascading over half a dozen floors down towards a pool in the main lobby, was his first major achievement. Proof that one could turn possibilities into something real.

  And his rapidly expanding Sydney branch was proof that success bred success. He’d worked bloody hard for it. In a roundabout way he had Angela to thank. His ex-lover was the reason his was one of the top architectural firms in Australia. After she’d given up trying to make something of their relationship and eventually walked out on him, he’d put his heart and soul into building his dreams.

  Not that he blamed her for leaving. She deserved better than a guy who was incapable of the everlasting love and long-term commitment she’d obviously been looking for. And no-one could tell him he wasn’t pleased to know she’d found it with an accountant in rural Victoria.

  The current Sydney project was nearing completion. He trusted his hand-picked team of specialist engineers to handle it for a couple of weeks, enabling Matt to think about relocating back to Melbourne in the near future. The city he’d been raised in. Home.

  The elevator slid to a soundless stop and he stepped out. Light spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows and over miles of pearl-grey carpeting and polished wood.

  Joanie Markham, the first face the public saw, glanced up from the sleek polished reception desk as he approached, her middle-aged smile sparkling at him over her slim reading glasses.

  ‘Good morning, Joanie.’

  ‘Mr McGregor, good morning. We weren’t expecting to see you today. Didn’t Miss McGregor have something she wanted you to take care of?’

  An image of Ellie shot into his mind with the force of a blowtorch. And not the image he should be focusing on—Ellie in cap and sexless khaki overalls wielding a gardening fork. Instead, he saw Ellie not in her little black dress and toothpick heels. He could almost taste that soft skin just below her jaw, her spiced berry scent….

  She was something to be ‘taking care of’, all right. He pinched the bridge of his nose, concentrated on bringing his wayward libido under control.

  ‘Mr McGregor…are you okay?’

  ‘Fine. Fine.’ Amazed that his eyes had closed—not surprising with the lack of sleep he’d had over the past few nights—he blinked them open and pasted a reassuring smile on his lips. ‘All under control, Joanie.’

  Moving past reception, he skirted desks, design boards, pot plants, greeting staff along the way. ‘Matt.’

  He turned at the familiar sound of Yasmine’s voice. As usual, she looked stunning in a slim grey suit with a modest scrap of white lace at her cleavage, her raven-black hair tied back in a tidy knot. He admired her clean-cut lines from an architectural viewpoint.

  As a friend, he valued her inner qualities. ‘Hi, Yasmine.’

  The love of Yasmine’s life worked as a geologist at the Mount Isa mines in Queensland and was sometimes away from home for weeks at a time. She and Matt often found themselves unattached at work functions and had forged a friendship. If either had a problem, they used each other as a sounding board.

  Didn’t mean he wanted to discuss his current problem, but he had a gut feeling he was about to be interrogated as she rounded her desk and accompanied him towards his corner office with its spectacular one-hundred-and-eighty-degree city views.

  ‘Well, aren’t you the man?’ she said with a smirk, the moment they entered.

  He closed his door. Firmly. ‘Last time I looked, yes. You have something you want to say, Yaz?’

  ‘You and that little slip of a girl against the wall on Saturday night,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Then dashing after her that way. Hmm.’

  ‘I wasn’t dashing.’ He felt a prickle between his shoulderblades and rolled his shoulder. He didn’t pursue women. Didn’t have to. ‘I was making sure she got away safely.’ Hell. He set his laptop on his desk with a thunk, discarded his jacket and laid it carefully across the back of his leather chair. Was it him or was the thermostat set too high in here? ‘No law against that, is there?’

  She slid her elegant backside onto the corner of his desk. ‘No. But…you? You’re usually so—’ she waved an airy hand ‘—totally cool and sophisticated and together with women.’

  When he didn’t reply—because right now he really couldn’t think of a comeback—she cocked her head. ‘So, what’s her name?’

  ‘Ellie.’ He switched on his laptop, drumming his fingers on the desk while it booted up. ‘Fancy a coffee? It must be break time.’

  ‘Just had one, thanks. Are you seeing her again?’

  He shot her a dark look. ‘As fate would have it, turns out she works for Belle, so the answer’s yes, I’m going to be seeing her again.’

  ‘Fate.’ She arched a smooth dark brow at his choice of words, eyes twinkling. ‘Serious stuff.’

  He shrugged it off.
‘Not at all. Just one of life’s quirky coincidences.’

  ‘Of all the nightclubs in all of Melbourne…’ she purred, leaning closer. ‘Yep. Has to be fate.’

  ‘For heaven’s sakes, Yaz, give it a rest.’

  As always, undeterred by his scowl, Yasmine swung one long leg while she twirled her fingers through a container of paperclips. ‘Are you bringing her to the staff do?’

  ‘Staff do?’

  ‘Have you forgotten? You approved the idea. Twenty-first of June—next Monday night for those who forget to look at the calendar. Formal or fancy dress or Celtic, yet to be decided. A money raiser. Charity to be determined by the boss.’ She tapped his chest. ‘That would be you.’

  He grunted. Someone had come up with the idea in February for a winter solstice celebration as a morale booster, he remembered, but he’d been working in Sydney for most of this year and it had slipped his mind.

  ‘So are you going to bring her?’ she asked again.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Because…? He preferred the idea of something more intimate for their first date, not a roomful of colleagues garnering Ellie’s attention. When he and Ellie got together—and they would—he didn’t want an audience. ‘We’re not involved.’

  ‘Yeah, I noticed,’ Yasmine said dryly. ‘Bring her anyway. Make Belle happy.’ It would be a way to keep his word to Belle that he was looking out for Ellie. ‘We’ll see,’ he muttered, more to shut Yasmine up than any promise on his part. But for now… He clicked open a folder on his computer. ‘Moving on to more important matters,’ he said, ignoring Yasmine’s grin. ‘Bring me up to speed on the Dalton project.’

  ‘Six beers, two tequilas, one rum and Coke,’ Ellie recited to herself, sliding the requested drinks order onto her tray. She started towards the table of rowdy guys, wishing her black skirt was a few centimetres longer.

  The atmosphere inside the club oozed sweat, cheap aftershave and testosterone. A lone pole-dancer was doing her thing to bad music over a poor sound system. According to Ellie’s fellow waitress, Tuesday night wasn’t usually busy, but an entire football team had turned up after training and were jostling for viewing space.

  Her throat felt scratchy with the constant strain of having to raise her voice over the noise. They were one staff member short. Sasha, who’d arranged the shift for Ellie and was supposed to be here to help her through the first night, hadn’t turned up. Ellie suppressed her annoyance. Perhaps Sasha was sick, but she should have phoned.

  Well, she was doing just fine tonight without her help, thank you very much. Only a few more hours with Sleazy in the cheap business suit mentally undressing her from his corner table and she was out of here.

  She offloaded the beers, carried the rum and Coke to Sleazy’s table.

  ‘How about a nightcap when you finish up here?’ he asked her breasts as she set the glass down.

  ‘No, thanks.’ Booze had made him more obnoxious than he’d been an hour earlier.

  ‘Come on, babe. We’d make a good team, you and me.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ She turned to leave but he grasped her wrist. She wrenched her arm away, toppling his drink. Liquid splashed the table, sloshing over the edge and onto his shiny polyester trousers.

  ‘Everything okay, here, Ellie?’ A familiar deep voice behind her.

  She darted a look over her shoulder, glimpsed Matt and groaned inwardly. With relief, with embarrassment. ‘How long have you been here?’ And how come she hadn’t seen him arrive?

  ‘Long enough.’ Then to Sleazy, he leaned low and murmured, ‘I suggest you leave while you still can.’

  Sleazy glared at Ellie a moment as if deciding to make something of it, then rose. ‘You’ll pay for this,’ he muttered, swiping at the damp patch on his leg. He didn’t give eye contact to Matt, she noted, but he sent Ellie a final glare, then pushed his way towards the bar.

  ‘You okay?’ She felt Matt’s hand at her back but shrugged it off before she did something stupid—like arch against it and purr. ‘I’m fine. Please let me get on with my job.’

  He stepped back. ‘Fine. Get on with it.’

  His clipped reply reminded her that she’d been prickly and ungrateful—a survival mechanism, but rude nonetheless—so she followed up with, ‘Would you like a drink? On the house.’

  He nodded. ‘Mineral water. Thanks.’

  She watched him return to an empty table on the far side of the room, away from the tables she was serving, and flick open a folder he’d left there. His dark eyes met hers again, sending ripples of awareness down her spine.

  Smoothing her skirt, she headed to the bar to place his order and paid for it herself. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had bothered to come to her rescue. Even if she hadn’t needed it. She reminded herself she didn’t need anyone, particularly Matt McGregor, stamping all over her independence.

  So when she came by with his drink a few moments later, she couldn’t help herself. ‘There are much better strip clubs in town, as I’m sure you—’

  ‘Yes. I know.’ He studied her a moment, an almost-grin lurking around his mouth. Then picked up his glass, raised it to her, took a long slow swallow. ‘But the evening’s young yet.’

  Something hot quivered low in her belly, prompting her to say, ‘Unless the stripper’s a personal friend of yours?’ She saw his eyes narrow and leaned towards him a fraction. ‘You’re checking up on me,’ she accused. ‘Did you think I was lying to you this morning?’

  ‘Would you lie to me, Ellie?’ His gaze slid to her lips. ‘About how you feel, for instance?’

  Her pulse jumped up a notch and she took a swift step back. Away from the incredible aura he seemed to exude. ‘Why would I?’

  ‘Only you can answer that.’ Still watching her, he took another swallow from his glass.

  ‘Listen, I don’t need a minder—’

  ‘Belle’s idea.’

  She huffed an impatient breath. ‘I’m sure she didn’t mean for you to intrude on my private life.’

  ‘I have a moral obligation since I don’t consider this a safe working environment. And hasn’t that been proven justified?’

  She looked away, only to catch the disapproving eye of the bar manager. So it seemed it was okay to be sexually harassed and threatened but chatting with the customers was frowned upon. ‘I need to get back to work.’

  He set his glass down, flicked an eye over his folder, then drew out his phone. ‘And I need to make a call.’

  She knew Matt was there, was conscious of his eyes following her for the next couple of hours, even though whenever she glanced his way he had his nose buried in his folder or was speaking into his mobile phone. At one point he was smiling while he talked and she just knew he wasn’t talking business—unless it was funny business. And that, she told herself, was none of her business.

  It was sometime after midnight when the manager paid her at the end of her shift and told her that her services were not required. He told her there’d been a complaint, that she’d come on to a customer, then deliberately spilled his drink when he’d knocked her invitation back. So the manager had docked her the cost of the drink for the damage that the customer had caused.

  Resentment spiked through her bloodstream. ‘That’s not how it was and you know it.’ Giving him the best evil eye she could manage, she stuffed what was left of her night’s pay into her bag, buttoned her coat with quick jerky movements. ‘You can take your lousy job and stick it in a very dark place,’ she snapped out on her way to the nearest exit.

  Ellie was accustomed to people expecting her to be an easy walkover. Usually she fought back. She could have argued her case; she was the injured party here. Tonight, as she manoeuvred her way through testosterone city, all she wanted to do was get out of this pit and lay her throbbing head on a pillow and sleep for a week. Was she coming down with a bug?

  She shook it away. Not going to happen. She had to rise and shine early tomorrow. At this poin
t she really, really needed Belle’s part-time job. And now it came with an additional problem… Speaking of which, did she say goodbye to Matt or what? Would he think she was angling for a lift home? Or more? She glanced to where he’d been sitting moments earlier but he’d left. Without a word.

  Good, she told herself as she veered back towards the exit. One less problem. Tomorrow morning was way soon enough to be interacting with him. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with complications. And despite his views about their non- relationship, Matt McGregor was complication in flashing lights. Big red warning ones.

  Doing his gentlemanly duty as he saw Ellie preparing to leave, he exited the bar and waited for her outside.

  She’d told him she wanted to be left alone, but safety concerns aside, knowing where she’d be this evening had been too much of a temptation for Matt to ignore. He’d wanted to see her again, simple as that. He stepped towards her the moment she appeared. ‘I’ll walk you to your car.’

  Her head swivelled towards him and her eyes widened. ‘Why are you still here?’

  The damp air teased her hair so that it curled in wisps around her face. She must have washed it again because it was lighter—honey blonde with only a streak or two of pink—but the austere light from the street lamp turned it silver-white, making her appear smaller, more fragile.

  ‘You think I’d leave you here at this time of night without ensuring your safe journey home?’ Wherever that might be.

  She pulled her coat tighter, straightened her spine, hitched her bag higher. ‘I can take care of myself.’

  ‘Yeah, right. Alone, past midnight, in this seedy area. Where’s your car?’

  ‘I don’t own a car. And I happen to live in this seedy area.’ He didn’t miss the light of contempt in her eyes.

  Along with her list of criticisms, did she think him prejudiced? He couldn’t decide whether it amused or annoyed him. ‘How are you getting home?’

  ‘Public transport.’

  ‘My car’s across the road. I’ll drop you off.’

  ‘It’s—’

  ‘Non-negotiable.’ He placed a silencing finger against her lips.