‘It isn’t,’ Mattie returned heavily; she might feel a little less devastated if she knew something positive had resulted from her—she admitted it now!—latest reckless action. A black eye, at least from one of the women might have made her feel her actions had been justified! ‘I absolutely hate the thought of having to go to the man and telling him what I’ve done,’ she admitted.
Her mother nodded. ‘Having met Jack Beauchamp, I can understand that. But I also have a feeling that if you don’t go and see him then he’ll be coming in to the florist’s to see you tomorrow, anyway!’
Mattie had the same feeling. And it was probably better to be at least half in charge of the situation rather than completely on the defensive. Besides, this didn’t just affect her; possibly she had also jeopardized her mother’s booking to board Jack Beauchamp’s dog over the Easter weekend.
The weekend. When he was going away to Paris with his family.
His family …
Maybe she wouldn’t have to go quite so apologetically on bended knee, after all; if Jack Beauchamp already had a wife and family, then he shouldn’t be sending flowers to other women in the first place!
She began to hope that, perhaps, she might be able to salvage her own professional reputation from this mess, after all. Jack Beauchamp could hardly make too much of a fuss over those wrongly addressed cards on the flowers without causing some domestic discomfort to himself.
Better to think positively, she told herself firmly. After all, what could the man really do to her …?
She felt rather less sure of herself the following day when she faced Jack Beauchamp across the width of the imposing desk in his equally impressive office!
She had intended going to his home the previous evening, but the address and telephone number he had given her mother were those of his offices in the City, leaving Mattie with no choice but to wait until Monday to speak to him.
She had worried all evening, and hardly slept through the night, as she imagined at least one of his girlfriends having contacted him concerning the wrongly named card attached to her bouquet.
Her mother had looked at her across the breakfast table this morning, had taken in at a glance the heaviness of Mattie’s eyes, and the strained look on her face, handed her a cup of coffee, and, without speaking a word, gone outside to feed her canine guests.
Which was just as well, because Mattie hadn’t felt like talking. Not that she felt like talking now, either, but she knew she didn’t have any choice in the matter this time!
It didn’t help that Jack Beauchamp looked much less approachable today in a dark business suit, cream shirt, and neatly knotted tie, than he had when he’d visited the boarding-kennels yesterday.
But he looked calm enough—he didn’t have the look of a man whose personal life was imploding!
Oh, well, she chivvied herself along even as she drew in a deep breath, she might as well get this over with; delaying any further wasn’t going to make it any easier.
‘Mr Beauchamp—’
‘Jack,’ he invited lightly, sitting back in his high-backed leather chair to look across at her assessingly.
Now why couldn’t he have been more friendly yesterday, Mattie thought to herself. Not that it would have made her confession today any easier, but it would certainly have been more pleasant—
‘My secretary explained that when you phoned first thing this morning you said it was urgent you see me today.’ Jack Beauchamp sat forward to rest his arms on the desk.
Of course Mattie had said it was urgent that she needed to see him—once she had told Claire Thomas who she was, because that was the only way the other woman would agree to fit her into Mr Beauchamp’s busy schedule for a few minutes before lunch. Although, Mattie had been warned, Jack Beauchamp did have an appointment at one o’clock.
As it was ten minutes to that hour now, she had better get this over with!
‘Is there a problem with Harry’s booking for the weekend?’ Jack Beauchamp frowned.
‘Not that I know of,’ Mattie dismissed hastily. ‘I—I’m not here in my capacity as my mother’s assistant.’
Dark brows rose over chocolate-brown eyes as Jack Beauchamp’s expression became speculative now. ‘No?’ he drawled, some of yesterday’s warmth returning to those come-to-bed eyes. ‘Then why is it so urgent that you see me?’
Certainly not for the reason he seemed to be imagining, Mattie thought impatiently. Really, the man was back in seduction mode again!
She had deliberately dressed in a businesslike way herself today, in a navy blue suit and pale blue blouse, in the hope that it might give her the necessary boost of confidence she needed to tell him about the mix-up with the cards. As she felt the dampness of her palms, the inner panic that made her want to turn tail and run, she knew that ploy had failed utterly!
She grimaced. ‘I don’t actually work at the boarding-kennels, Mr—er, Jack,’ she corrected herself. Try and keep this pleasant, she instructed herself firmly.
Who knew? There was always the possibility that he would see the funny side of this.
Oh, yes? she instantly taunted herself. In the same circsumstances, would she?
No, of course not—but then she would never have got herself into such a romantic tangle in the first place. But hadn’t she done exactly that—albeit unwillingly—with Richard …?
‘You don’t?’ Jonathan Beauchamp mused softly now. ‘Then exactly what is it that you do, Mattie?’
He had known her first name all the time! Well … probably not all the time, she conceded, but no doubt her mother had casually dropped it into their conversation somewhere yesterday. And yet he had insisted on continuing to use the formality of her surname … Not a good sign!
‘I actually work for you—well, not exactly,’ she amended, ‘but you are one of my clients, and—’
‘Mattie, could you stop and go back a few steps?’ he interrupted her, laughter now lurking in those warm brown eyes and around those finely chiselled lips. ‘Before I go off on completely the wrong tangent, perhaps you had better tell me exactly what your profession is?’
What did he mean, a wrong tangent? Exactly what did he imagine—?
‘I’m a florist, Mr Beauchamp!’ she told him coldly as a certain profession sprang to mind. ‘I am the proprietor of Green and Beautiful,’ she added for good measure, glaring at him as her thoughts lingered briefly on that other profession.
How dared he—? How could he—? Did she look like—?
Mattie’s mind went blank, her mouth dry, as she saw the dawning realization on his face—a face that was rapidly darkening with what looked suspiciously like—
‘Ah,’ he said slowly—as if he had suddenly been given the answer to a riddle that had been bothering him. ‘In that case, could this urgent need to see me today possibly have anything to do with the mix-up concerning the cards I requested be included with the delivery of certain bouquets over the weekend …?’
At least one of those four women had been in contact with him, after all!
Mattie was sure she must have a sick expression back on her face. If only—
‘I was actually going to contact you myself later today,’ Jack Beauchamp continued, no warmth in that chocolate-brown gaze now—in fact, his whole expression had suddenly become enigmatically unreadable.
‘I had a feeling you might,’ Mattie acknowledged quickly.
‘And you thought you would circumvent that visit by coming here to see me instead?’ he prompted in that silkily soft voice.
‘Yes,’