Ignoring the unhelpful contribution of the knowing voice in her head, she cut short the inner dialogue and said, ‘Look, you can drop me at the first hotel we pass, if that’s not a problem?’ If it was a problem she could always jump out of the moving vehicle. It could not be a more painful experience than this conversation.
‘Without feeding you first?’ He shook his dark head in reproach.
‘That really isn’t necessary. I ate breakfast,’ she lied brightly. ‘And it isn’t lunchtime.’ She glanced at her watch and realised it was barely nine-thirty. It felt as though she had been in the car for hours.
His dark brows twitched into a straight line above his hawkish nose. ‘You are very hung up with time,’ he drawled.
‘And you must be a very unique billionaire businessman if you have time to snack and watch the grass grow,’ she retorted tartly.
‘I work, but I am not a slave to routine.’
‘Congratulations on being a free spirit, but I’m still not hungry.’
‘You think your time would be put to better use counting the minutes until the planes start flying again? You’re stuck here—I suggest you make the most of it. Madrid is a beautiful city, though being a native I must admit to some prejudice on the subject,’ he conceded with a fluid shrug. ‘Do you like architecture, history …?’
‘Why—are you offering to be my guide?’ She leaned back in her seat and thought, Gotcha, as she wondered how long it would take him to discover a very full diary.
It might amuse Emilio Rios to buy her breakfast, he might even feel he was obliged to do so because of her manipulative parent’s request to look after her, but spending an entire day with her would definitely not be his idea of an efficient use of his time.
‘Why not?’
The cynical smile playing about her lips vanished. ‘I wasn’t being serious!’ She watched his brows lift in response to the horrified vehemence of her tone and added, ‘And even if I did want to sightsee, by the time I check my emails my dad will have found me one or two things to do,’ she promised, flashing a wry smile.
‘Then don’t check your emails.’
The simple logic made Megan blink as she stared at him as though he were from another planet. ‘You might be your own boss, but I’m not. My dad does not have a great opinion of slackers.’
‘And are you a slacker?’ he wondered, making his interest sound academic.
Megan’s response was not academic, it was indignant. ‘I am not!’
One corner of his mouth lifted and the amusement extended to his dark eyes. ‘You are the boss’s daughter—that must give you a certain amount of latitude.’
‘Being the boss’s daughter means I have to prove I can do more than paint my nails—’ She turned her head, a suspicious frown forming on her smooth brow. ‘Are you trying to wind me up?’
His grin flashed. ‘Yes, the ruffled-feather look suits you.’ His eyes dropped to her emotionally heaving bosom. ‘Realistically, Armstrong isn’t going sack you to prove his egalitarian credentials, is he?’
‘If I didn’t pull my weight he might. But …’ she gave a shrug and conceded ‘.probably not.’
‘Because you’re his daughter.’ He raised a brow in response to her laugh and came to a halt as the second set of lights ahead changed. ‘Not because you’re his daughter? ‘
Her eyes connected with the dark-eyed glance that flickered her way. ‘While I’m working for him, to some extent he still controls my life.’
A small silence followed this unemotional explanation as Megan considered a situation she had been thinking about a lot of late.
‘So if he sacked you he’d lose that power? ‘
Megan nodded, turning her head his way as she agreed with this analysis. ‘Exactly.’ It wasn’t until her glance flickered his way and she saw his expression that she realised what she was discussing and more importantly with whom!
Her eyes shot saucer-wide as she gave a dismayed croak. Had she gone mad? She kept her own counsel on certain subjects; she had not even confided her recent half-formed plans to her best friend.
‘So now you know all about my dysfunctional family—not a very fascinating subject, so do you mind if we change it?’
Emilio, who knew a lot more about her family than she suspected, watched the rosy glow wash over her fair skin and his expression hardened as his thoughts drifted back to a specific section of his conversation with Philip that he had brooded angrily over long after his friend had made his farewells the previous day.
‘WHY is the idea of Megan being groomed to take over the company a joke?’
Philip grinned, then stopped. ‘You’re serious,’ he realised.
It was a struggle to contain his impatience in the face of the Englishman’s open-mouthed amazement. ‘Why would I not be? It is my understanding that your sister is being groomed to take control one day.’
‘How would you know that? Unless you have been secretly following her progress.’ Philip grinned at his own joke.
‘We have a proactive policy with recruitment. We are always on the lookout for the brightest and the best,’ Emilio explained.
‘You thought of offering Megan a job?’ The possibility appeared to render her brother tongue-tied with amazement.
‘She is exactly the sort of candidate we target.’ Not directly obviously—such preliminary approaches were made through the aegis of an agency.
‘Megan! Our Megan?’
‘She did graduate top of her class.’ Had any of her family actually noticed?
If they had it would be the first time. A quiet member in a family of large and noisy personalities, Megan had perfected the art of fading into the background to such a degree that she seemed startled when someone actually noticed her.
Emilio had felt his anger rise as he recalled how pathetically grateful she’d been when she had been included by her family.
‘Megan always was a bit of a swot,’ Philip recalled with an affectionate grin.
‘The same has been said of me, but I would call it focus. It is a quality I find essential in those working for me.’
‘So you wanted Megan to … Did she refuse you?’
‘I was given to understand through an intermediary that she was not available.’
‘Megan being headhunted—that’s a tough one to get my head around. She’s bright, of course she is … I just never thought …’
‘Well, your father must have if he’s grooming her—’
‘He’s not,’ Philip cut in.
‘How can you be so sure? ‘
‘I know my dad. Oh, he’s probably told her that he will—that would be his style,’ Philip admitted. ‘But let her take over …?’ He shook his head. ‘No way, never in a million years.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, for starters, in case you’ve forgotten, she’s a girl.’
‘I had noticed she is a woman.’
‘Dad can talk the talk when it comes to women in the workplace, but at heart he’s a chauvinist.’
‘You implied that he would