Lizzie scrambles to her feet. “Wait, hold on. We were just talking about you.”
“You were?” he says, pausing, his gaze flicking between us. I search his face for some hint of recognition when he looks at me, but there’s still nothing.
“Yeah. Diana has this business venture she’s trying to get off the ground, and the financials aren’t stacking up. I thought you could help her. Can you take a look at what she’s planning and see if there’s a way to make it work?”
His features scrunch a little. “Now?”
“Oh, no,” I say quickly. “You don’t have to. It’s okay. I can—”
He glances at his watch. “I have a few minutes. Are you set up as a sole trader or a limited partnership?”
“Umm, well… I don’t…” His eyebrow rises as I stumble over my words. “Neither. I’m just… me.”
“Just you.” He repeats my words so slowly that I cringe at how stupid they sound. “Right.”
“Dad,” Lizzie reprimands softly, and he gives a slight nod to acknowledge her.
“Who’s your accountant?” he asks me.
I open my mouth, then shut it again.
“Well?” he asks.
“Erm, I don’t have one. My dad did all my finances.”
His silence is a beat too long. “Okay. I’ll put you in touch with someone to talk you through what you need to sort out first. What’s the business?”
“Books.”
His brow creases. “Books?”
“And fashion.” I shrivel as his gaze trips down my body, taking in the slouchy tracksuit I’m wearing, causing his eyebrow to arch even higher this time. “I’m a social media influencer. Or, I was. I need to work out how to monetise things to create a consistent and reliable cash flow.”
That sounded good, didn’t it?
Fuck. Did it?
There’s no spark of comprehension in his eyes, and I can tell that what I’ve just said means nothing to him. “Is it there on your laptop?”
“Yes.”
“Bring it,” he commands, tipping his head towards his office down the hall.
My hands are instantly clammy. “Now?”
“Yes, now,” he says, slightly impatiently.
I turn wide eyes on Lizzie, and she waves me off with both hands. “Go, go,go, before he changes his mind,” she hisses.
By the time I’ve gathered my laptop and stood, he’s already disappeared down the corridor.
His office door is open, so I follow him in. The room is warm, but not stuffy, and on one side, a huge window looks out over the park. The walls are lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves full of leather bound books. I want to examine them, but Rafe gets straight to business.
“Show me,” he says, standing behind his large mahogany desk and nodding at the laptop in my hands.
How the hell he manages to emanate total control and power, even in his sweaty gym kit, I have no idea, but it’s working. Obediently, I scurry over and prop my laptop where he can see it.
“Can I?” I ask, gesturing to the cushioned leather chair behind his desk, and he nods, so I sit.
