As they turned to go he literally bumped into an enchantingly pretty girl, but Kyra towed him onwards before they had chance to do more than exchange apologetic smiles. Rafe glanced back over his shoulder with a faint frown as he left. There had been something elusively familiar about her too.
The thought made him pause at the door and look around to see if he could spot the waitress again, but there were too many people.
‘Come on,’ said Kyra impatiently, and, stifling an odd pang of disappointment, Rafe went.
‘Hiya.’
Startled, Miranda looked up from her computer to see her youngest sister lounging in the doorway, and as usual making it appear that the door had been specifically designed to show her off to her best advantage.
‘Octavia! You’re not supposed to be in here. There are supposed to be security procedures to stop strangers getting in!’
Security at the Knighton Group was run by a gimlet-eyed ex-Army officer called Mack who took his responsibilities extremely seriously. Miranda sometimes thought it would be easier to stroll into Fort Knox with a handy bag for carrying bullion.
‘Oh, it’s OK,’ said Octavia carelessly, strolling into the office and looking around her with a kind of bemused curiosity. This was a place where people actually worked. ‘I spoke to someone called Mack—he’s sweet, isn’t he?—and told him it was an emergency, so he said it would be fine if I just came up. He told me where to find your office and everything.’
Miranda stiffened. ‘Emergency? What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing, I just wanted to see you, and I knew I’d never get near you unless I said it was important.’ Octavia spun a chair from the other desk and sat down on it, crossing her impossibly long legs. ‘You’d just say you were busy or something.’
‘I am busy,’ said Miranda, eyeing her sister with exasperation. Honestly, Octavia was impossible sometimes! ‘So why don’t you just tell me what you’re doing here?’
Octavia leant forward. ‘I was this close to meeting Rafe Knighton last night,’ she said, holding her thumb and forefinger together to demonstrate the nearness by which she had missed Rafe. ‘But he was with that cow Kyra Bennett, who saw me coming and whisked him away before I could introduce myself. I smiled and Rafe definitely looked interested.’ She pouted. ‘I just know he would have wanted to talk to me if she hadn’t been dragging him off.’
‘And I’m interested in all this because…?’
‘Because now I just need another chance to bump into him,’ said Octavia, ignoring Miranda’s sardonic expression. ‘I’m sure he’d recognise me, and I can take it from there.’
Miranda sighed. ‘Take what from where?’ she asked, knowing that she probably wasn’t going to like the answer.
She didn’t.
‘Things are desperate,’ announced Octavia. ‘I don’t like not having any money,’ she said simply. ‘It’s been horrid with Daddy dying and not having any money any more. I don’t even get an allowance now!’ The green eyes were wide with indignation. ‘My only option is to marry someone rich, and Rafe Knighton is as rich as they come. He’s rather gorgeous too, don’t you think? I wouldn’t mind sacrificing myself to him!’
‘That’s very noble of you, Octavia, but I do have to point out that marriage is not, in fact, your only option,’ said Miranda crisply. ‘You could always try working for a living like the rest of us.’
‘Why would I want to do that if I could get married instead and never have to work at all?’ Octavia countered, all reasonableness. ‘You wouldn’t have to either if I was Mrs Knighton. Octavia Knighton…’ She tried out the name musingly. ‘It’s got a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’
Miranda put her head in her hands. Sometimes she despaired of her sisters. They seemed to live in a parallel universe, one at least two centuries behind the times to boot.
‘And all you’ve got to do is introduce me to your boss,’ Octavia pointed out. ‘Is that too much to ask? What’s the problem?’
Where to start? Sighing, Miranda lifted her head.
‘One, I’m completely opposed on principle to the idea of marriage as a meal ticket,’ she said, ticking off objections on her fingers. ‘Two, even if I wasn’t, Rafe Knighton would make the worst possible husband for you. He’s just a pretty face with too much money, and he’d make you absolutely miserable.
‘And three,’ she finished with emphasis before she let herself remember that only the night before she had wondered if there might be rather more to Rafe than his looks, ‘I don’t have anything to do with him, so couldn’t introduce you anyway. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m just a temp here. He’s Chairman and Chief Executive. He never comes down here and if he did, he wouldn’t even know who I was.’
The words were barely out of her mouth when Rafe walked into the office.
‘Hello, Miranda,’ he said.
For one dizzying moment, Miranda had the strangest feeling that all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.
She had forgotten how physical he was. It had been a shock seeing him last night, but she had just managed to convince herself that he couldn’t possibly be as good-looking as she remembered, and now here he was, looking more so, not less, in yet another immaculately stylish suit, exuding charm and confidence and an almost electrifying energy.
His presence was overwhelming, almost suffocating, and after that first breathless moment when Miranda hadn’t been able to think at all her hackles rose instinctively. Really, he was too much. He was just too…too…too everything.
The last time she had seen him, she might as well have been naked. Miranda was mortified at the memory. He didn’t realise it, of course—thank goodness she had been wearing a mask!—but it still made her uncomfortable to think about how provocative that stupid costume had been.
Not that Rafe had leered like the other men, she had to give him credit for that, but how typical of him to have been at such a mindless party in the first place, and with that vapid girl clinging to his arm.
Burningly aware of Octavia’s accusing gaze, and offering up silent thanks to whoever had insisted the waitresses wore masks the night before, Miranda found a cool smile.
‘What can I do for you, Mr Knighton?’
‘You can call me Rafe, for a start,’ said Rafe, disconcerted by how familiar she seemed, sitting prim and proper behind her desk in a suit that was, if anything, less flattering than the day before. The woman had no idea how to dress. ‘Is Simon around? I never managed to talk to him about the ball yesterday.’
‘A ball! How exciting!’ A voice from the corner made Rafe turn and he found himself looking at a girl who might have been designed as a contrast to Miranda with her tight lips and her prudish expression.
She really was extraordinarily lovely, with flawless features and amazing green eyes. Silver gilt hair tumbled artlessly to her shoulders, and a breathtakingly short skirt revealed incredible legs—quite as good as that waitress’s last night—which she crossed as she leant forward with a dazzling smile.
‘Hello!’ she said as if she knew him.
‘Hello.’ He smiled back at her, and held out his hand. Unlike Miranda Fairchild, she looked as if she would enjoy a ball. She might be just the assistant he needed. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there before. I’m Rafe Knighton. Are you temping here, too?’
‘Just