Under the Boss's Mistletoe. Jessica Hart

like Jake, and eight years would be an eternity to wait when you had a lifestyle like Rupert’s. ‘That’s awful,’ she said without thinking. ‘What’s he going to do?’

      ‘He could always try getting a job like the rest of us,’ said Jake astringently ‘Or, if he really can’t bring himself to do anything as sordid as earning his own living, he can always get married. Sir Ian specified that the trust money could be released if Rupert gets married and settles down. He can’t just marry anyone to get his hands on the money, though. He’ll have to convince me as trustee that it’s a real marriage and his wife a sensible woman before I’ll release the funds.’

      ‘Gosh, Rupert must have been livid when he found out!’

      ‘He wasn’t too happy,’ Jake agreed with masterly understatement. ‘He tried to contest the will, and when he didn’t get anywhere with that he suggested we try and discuss things in a “civilised” way—which I gather meant me ignoring Sir Ian’s wishes and handing the estate over to him to do with as he pleased.

      ‘I was prepared to be civilised, of course. I invited him round for a drink, and it was just like old times,’ he went on ironically. ‘Rupert was arrogant and patronising, and I wanted to break his nose again!’

      ‘You didn’t!’

      ‘No,’ admitted Jake. ‘But I don’t know what would have happened if Natasha hadn’t been there.’

      ‘What did she make of Rupert?’

      ‘She thought he was shallow.’

      ‘I bet she thought he was gorgeous too,’ said Cassie with a provocative look, and Jake pokered up and looked down his nose.

      ‘Natasha is much too sensible to judge people on their appearances,’ he said stiffly.

      Of course she was. Cassie rolled her eyes as they overtook a van that was hogging the middle lane, startling the driver, who gave a grimace that was well out of Jake’s field of vision. The van moved smartly into the slow lane.

      ‘So how come she got involved with you if she’s so sensible?’ she asked, forgetting for a moment that Jake was an important client.

      ‘We get on very well,’ said Jake austerely.

      ‘What does getting on very well mean, exactly?’

      Ahead, there was a flurry of red lights as cars braked, and Jake moved smoothly into the middle lane. ‘It means we’re very compatible,’ he said.

      And they were. Natasha was everything he admired in a woman. She was very attractive—beautiful, in fact—and clear-thinking. She didn’t constantly demand emotional reassurance the way his previous girlfriends had. She was focused on her own career, and understood if he had to work late, as he often did. She never made a fuss.

      And she was classy. That was a large part of her appeal, Jake was prepared to admit. Years ago in Portrevick, Natasha wouldn’t have looked at him twice, but when he walked into a party with her on his arm now he knew that he had arrived. She was everything Jake had never known when he was growing up. She had the assurance that came from a life of wealth and privilege, and every time Jake looked at her she reassured him that he had left Portrevick and the past behind him at last.

      He didn’t feel like telling Cassie all of that, though.

      The traffic had slowed to a crawl and Jake shifted gear. ‘I hope this is just sheer weight of traffic,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to spend any more time on the road than we have to.’

      Nor did Cassie. She wriggled in her seat. Quite apart from anything else, she was starving. Afraid that she would be late, she hadn’t had time for breakfast that morning, and her stomach was gurgling ominously. She was hoping Jake would stop for petrol at some point, but at this rate they’d be lucky to get to a service station for supper, let alone lunch.

      The lines of cars were inching forward in a staggered pattern. Sometimes the lane on their left would have a spurt of movement, only to grind to a halt as the supposed fast-lane speeded up, and then it would be the middle lane’s turn. They kept passing or being passed by the same cars, and Cassie was beginning to recognise the occupants.

      An expensive saloon on their left was creeping ahead of them once more. Covertly, Cassie studied the driver and passenger, both of whom were staring grimly ahead and not talking.

      ‘I bet they’ve had a row,’ she said.

      ‘Who?’

      ‘The couple on our left in the blue car.’ Cassie pointed discreetly. ‘Have a look when we go past. I can’t decide whether she left the top off the toothpaste again, or whether she’s incredibly possessive and sulking because he just had a text from his secretary.’

      Jake cast her an incredulous glance. ‘What’s wrong with getting a text from your secretary?’