‘How are things going, Vinnie? Any more responses?’ She’d approached a few medium-sized firms here in London, hoping to drum up a little new business before she returned home in a few days.
‘No’ really.’
Vinnie spoke with a thick Scottish brogue she failed to understand most days.
‘Do you want me to make some follow-up calls?’
Libby sighed. She was good at her job. Could sell anything. But still she sometimes struggled to sell herself. Never quite outgrowing her humble, wrong-side-of-the-tracks beginnings.
‘No. I’ll take care of it—and if I can’t see anyone I’ll just be a tourist for a few days. Perhaps I’ll meet the Queen.’
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken any holiday, and the two worried faces peering back at her from her laptop screen confirmed that her suggestion wasn’t just alien to her.
She needed a change of subject, before Vinnie pulled up a list of London’s singles clubs and Sonya told her—again—that it was ‘time to move on’.
‘Are you taking care of Sonya?’
Her friend’s eyes rolled.
Vinnie smiled. ‘Well, you know what she’s like… Let’s just say I’m trying. If I end up delivering this wee one…’ he stroked Sonya’s belly and she batted him away ‘…I want a bonus.’
They all chuckled, but the sound held a nervous undertone. Libby shouldn’t have left the helm at such a crucial time. She’d been lured by the all-expenses-paid trip to a city she’d always dreamed of visiting and had been flattered that they’d asked for her personally to speak at the conference.
‘I came in to tell you I’ve had Alex Lancaster on the phone this morning. He called asking for your personal number,’ said Vinnie.
Libby straightened in her chair, her heart thumping double time.
‘Don’t worry, hen. I didn’t give it to him—although he’s a determined young fella.’
Libby pressed her lips together. Vinnie needed no encouragement for the ridiculous things he said. ‘Young fella’ hardly did Alex Lancaster justice.
‘He seemed to know where you’re staying, so he may call. Said he had a “business proposition”.’ Vinnie made air quotes, a small smirk on his face. ‘And wanted to discuss it before you left the UK.’
The one mouthful of tepid tea she’d managed sloshed inside Libby’s hollow insides.
Sonya’s eyes rounded to the size of her pregnant belly. She lumbered into a sitting position, glaring into the webcam. ‘He really wants you.’ Her shrewd eyes narrowed.
Libby chewed her lip, evading comment. The last thing she needed was this unlikely pair of would-be matchmakers getting the wrong idea about Alex Lancaster’s intentions and her own position. She’d already said too much.
Flutters invaded her chest at the thought of speaking to him, of seeing him again. Stop. She didn’t have to take his call. She’d already heard his proposition. Her answer would be the same.
With that, the hotel phone rang on the desk next to her, making all three of them jump. She stared at the device for two or three rings, frozen. It had to be him. No one else knew where she was, with the exception of the two people staring at her with excitement and intrigue shining in their eyes.
‘Answer it,’ Sonya said, gesturing wildly at Libby to accept the call.
They waited. Expectant. Sometimes it sucked that these two knew her so well.
Rolling her shoulders back, she chided herself. Act professional. He was just a businessman. Just another potential client. Libby covered her mouth with her index finger, shushing them. Then turned the laptop away so it faced the wall. Sonya and Vinnie would hear her side of the conversation, but they wouldn’t see her face while she answered the call.
‘Libby Noble.’ Shit, her voice was all breathy—as if she’d run a marathon.
She relaxed her clenched fingers, slipping her feet from her shoes under the desk and flexing her toes into the plush pile of the carpet. Libby’s neck burned, just knowing that Sonya and Vinnie were listening from the laptop beside her. They’d worked and played alongside her for the last four years, seeing her at her best and at her worst. Although the ‘play’ had been virtually nonexistent since Callum’s death.
‘Olivia—Alex Lancaster here.’
His voice rasped down the line, scraping at her earlobe. She rolled her eyes. Why couldn’t he have a normal voice? A boring monotone that left her cold?
Libby cleared her tight throat. ‘Mr Lancaster.’ That was better. Clipped, curt, taking no shit. ‘How can I help you?’
He chuckled. The bastard actually chuckled. ‘You can call me Alex, you know.’
His voice was huskier over the phone, his dashing accent stronger—or perhaps without the visual distraction, her senses were more acutely attuned to every nuance of him.
Fantastic.
‘I hoped to persuade you to reconsider my offer.’
Just listening to him speak made her think of sex. His voice, deep and authoritative, screamed control. It should be a real turn-off. She hated being told what to do. Perhaps it was the change in time zones, messing with her biorhythms. She smoothed a crease from her skirt, her restless fingers needing something to do. Something other than itching to twist through his decadent flop of hair.
‘I thought we’d concluded things this morning.’
‘Had we?’
All she’d really concluded was that she was ridiculously attracted to him, and that her hormones were securely at the helm, sailing the Libby ship into uncharted waters. Waters fraught with wild fantasies. Just a hint of danger. Enough to thrill.
‘I wanted to tell you a bit more about the project. I think I mentioned I’m chief executive of a charity based here in London.’
Had he? She’d been too focussed on the rasp of his hand and the head-rush caused by his spicy scent.
‘It’s called Able-Active. Have you heard of it?’
Libby spun a pen on the desk, its hypnotic circling matching the frequency and rhythm of Alex’s rumbling speech. Autocratic, imposing, seductive… She could listen to him for hours…especially if he talked dirty.
‘No, I’m sorry. I haven’t.’
Her own voice was relatively low and husky for a woman. But his curled itself around her like a comfort blanket—warm, sensual and with just enough scrape to bring to life every nerve ending in her body. Particularly those tightly clustered between her legs.
‘Yes. And there’s my problem. At the moment the charity can only accept participants from the South East. I want to extend it throughout the UK’s other major cities. There are a lot of kids with different needs out there, Olivia—kids who deserve the experiences Able-Active provides.’
He’d pricked her interest. ‘What kind of charity?’
She quickly typed Able-Active into the search engine on her mobile phone and brought up the website.
‘It’s for kids with all kinds of different abilities. A recreational adventure centre, outward bound type of thing.’
‘I see. Well, I wish you luck with that venture, Mr