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February in Berlin was, as she’d discovered every time she’d stepped out of The Chatsfield, cold. It wasn’t raining now, but the sky was heavy and grey and low and Olivia hunched into her down parka as she walked down Stulerstrasse, towards the Tiergarten.
Once inside the huge park she wandered down the tree-lined boulevards, the branches now stark and bare. In a small cluster of tables and bunches, a few hardy Berliners sat eating, Olivia saw from the vendor’s cart nearby, crispy pork knuckles. She’d pass.
At another cart she bought an espresso and sipped it as she walked along, wishing she didn’t feel quite so miserable. The night before last had been the most amazing of her life. Just remembering the way Ben had looked at her, with such tenderness and sincerity, and all the trouble he’d gone to—the restaurant and the rose petals and the rest of it...
All of it brought a lump of longing to Olivia’s throat. She might not have agreed to lose her virginity to Ben if she’d known she’d feel this bad afterwards. But how could she have known that Ben would have hightailed out of her suite the way he had, and then do his best to pretend she didn’t exist?
So their time together had been a little shorter than she’d expected. The end result had always been going to be the same. It had to be.
Sighing, she rose from the bench and headed back to the hotel. She found Ben’s PA, saw how the woman turned sour as soon as she caught sight of Olivia and suppressed a sigh.
‘Is Ben in?’
‘Mr Chatsfield,’ the woman informed her loftily, ‘is busy...’
‘But is he in his office?’
The woman hesitated, and without waiting for a reply, Olivia pushed past her and opened the door to Ben’s office.
And there he was, looking tired and hassled and utterly delicious. His hair, as usual, was sexily rumpled. His suit was creased, stubble glinting on his jaw. He looked good enough to eat. Olivia opened her mouth to say something and found she couldn’t say anything at all. A huge lump had formed in her throat, and there was no getting past that sucker.
Ben looked up and his gaze narrowed on her. He didn’t say hello, didn’t even smile. And suddenly Olivia found she could speak past that lump.
‘Look, I need a favour.’
‘A favour? Why?’
Not Anything for you, Olivia, or How are you, Olivia, since I took your maidenhead? Not that she’d been fantasising or anything.
‘Because of that stunt you pulled the other night, pushing me away,’ Olivia snapped. Yes, why didn’t they fight? It was better than her bursting into tears and asking him why he’d pushed her away—not in front of the cameras but when they were alone. When she’d given him her body and maybe even her heart.
No, Olivia. You weren’t that stupid.
Except she had a horrible feeling she might have been.
‘I didn’t pull a stunt,’ Ben said coolly. ‘And I already apologised for reacting that way, and explained why I did.’
‘Well, as it happens, we now have to do some damage control,’ Olivia shot back. She still sounded snippy.
Ben glowered, as if he couldn’t imagine anything worse than spending yet another evening with her. And forty-eight hours ago you were showering me with rose petals as you kissed me everywhere...
Olivia blinked hard.
‘What do we have to do?’ he asked.
‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ she told him, piling on the sarcasm, ‘then you can accompany me to a charity benefit tonight. We can stay low-key, no posing for the cameras. Just show up, stay a few hours and act civil and then leave.’
‘Fine.’ He turned back to his computer, effectively dismissing her.
Olivia stood there for a bit, staring, stunned. ‘Fine,’ she finally repeated numbly, and walked out.
* * *
Ben pushed hard away from his desk and spun in his chair. That went well.
He’d seen the hurt in Olivia’s eyes and he’d chosen to ignore it. Maybe that made him an emotional coward, but it seemed like the better option than explaining to her that he wasn’t interested in anything with her, not even a fling, because he didn’t trust himself.
Easier for you, you bastard. He knew with a gut-wrenching certainty that it hadn’t been easy for Olivia, not knowing why he was pulling away, and guilt ate away any resolve he’d been hanging on to.
But what was the alternative? Tell her the truth? That possibility made everything in him shrink in shame and horror. He’d rather she thought he was a bastard for ignoring her than know the truth of what he really was—and what he was capable of.
‘Mr Chatsfield?’
His PA, Rebecca, stood in the doorway, and Ben forced a smile.
