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The carved lips twitched a little. ‘You don’t look a day over eighteen.’
If she had a pound for every time she’d been told how young she looked she would never need to work again, Kay thought irritably. And she hated having it drummed home. Unfortunately her elfin features combined with a liberal dusting of freckles across her nose contributed to the overall image of a teenager, and when she tried to remedy the situation she always ended up looking like a little girl playing at dressing up.
She reminded herself that the customer was always right—although in her experience they rarely were—and took a deep breath. ‘You asked how I got started,’ she reminded him evenly. ‘It was almost by chance, actually. I was asked to pop a letter in to someone as a favour one day; the sender knew I lived in the same street and the letter was urgent.’
He interrupted her, asking smoothly, ‘Who was the sender?’
‘My boss.’ It was meant to be succinct.
‘And you were working for…?’ He had ignored her tone.
‘A small accountant’s.’ And she’d hated every minute, loathed it, but it had been a job and she had needed one desperately. Having left university with a degree in Business Studies, she’d felt she ought to put it to use but from the first day had felt like a square peg in a round hole.
‘Anyway,’ she continued, trying to ignore the intent gaze, ‘I started to think a bit. I knew there was always the Post Office and the railway, to say nothing of special services and so on, but when I made a few enquiries I found that lots of companies sent urgent messages—files, documents and so on—by taxi or by means of a large company car. Sometimes a Rover car or something equivalent with a chauffeur would travel twenty miles for one letter. I’m cheaper and faster.’
“I’m sure you are, Mrs Sherwood.’ It was very dry.
Kay continued to look somewhere over his left shoulder as she went on, ‘I drafted and designed a leaflet and a local printer ran it for me—’
‘What did it say?’
She did look at him then—she hated being interrupted and twice in as many minutes had ‘the customer is always right’ scenario flying out of the window. He was gazing at her quizzically, his big body lazy and relaxed and his arms draped either side of the back of the sofa, and the sharp words she had been about to voice died in her throat as sheer sexual magnetism hit her like a bolt of lightning.
There was a small—and for Kay—fraught silence before she managed to pull herself together and say quickly, ‘Something along the lines that we could give fast, direct, door-to-door service for delivery of documents and letters etc. anywhere in the Romford area. Same-day service guaranteed and to phone for immediate attention.’
‘We?’
‘My brother was out of work at the time and he was available to man the phone and see if my idea worked. It did, so within two months I’d given my notice and joined him. We started off with just the motorbike—’ she indicated her leathers ‘—but now we have two vans and one of my brother’s friends works for us. We have our own office in town since last year and so much work we’re thinking of taking on someone else.’
He sat up straight, the movement causing a response in Kay she could well have done without. ‘Impressive.’ He nodded slowly. ‘Have you a business card?’
‘Sure.’ She had flushed scarlet but she couldn’t help it—the red hair went hand in hand with a porcelain skin that was prone to blushing. She fumbled in her leathers and brought out one of their neat little cards, handing it to him as they both rose to their feet.
‘I mustn’t keep you any longer.’ He passed her the manila envelope, suddenly dismissive.
He was towering over her again and as he reached out and shook her hand, enclosing her small paw in his long, lean fingers, it took all of Kay’s control not to snatch her hand away as she felt the contact of his flesh. Which was crazy, ridiculous, she told herself desperately, as were the ripples in her blood as the faint but delicious smell of him teased her nostrils for a second or two.
‘Goodbye, Mrs Sherwood.’ Mitchell Grey was fully aware that the small, slender girl in front of him had appeared to tell him plenty but in fact had said nothing—about herself, that was. With her mop of shoulder-length curls and Pollyanna freckles that stood out on her creamy skin like sprinkled spice, she was definitely not his type. No way. His women were elegant, exquisitely dressed and cosmopolitan, and more importantly they knew the score. A good time and plenty of fun and laughs on both sides while it lasted. And he always made sure it didn’t last too long, he thought grimly, watching her until she disappeared from view into the waiting lift.
So what had made him want to know more about—he consulted the card in his hand—Kay Sherwood? he asked himself silently, vaguely irritated with himself. A scrubbed and sweet-sixteen type if ever he saw one. Although she wasn’t sixteen, was she. And she was a married woman—or had been married, someone who had started a fledgling business in the present uneasy climate and succeeded at it too.
His frown deepened. Most people who started up in business on their own gained their first business experiences
in another job. Then they adapted a special skill or special knowledge to a new idea, or branched out on their own thinking they could do better than the company they worked for. The young woman who had just walked out of the office—Mitchell refused to dwell on the memory of the rounded bottom under the leathers swaying provocatively as she’d disappeared—had plunged in without all that, which showed she had plenty of guts and determination. So what was her story?
And then he mentally shrugged all thoughts of Kay Sherwood away. He was already late for a business appointment in the heart of London and his chauffeur had been waiting for fifteen minutes. What was he standing here for? The hard, astute business brain kicked in and he strode over to the lift, now utterly focused on the coming meeting, which he knew would be a difficult one. As the doors opened he slipped the business card in the top pocket of his jacket, but not before a small separate section of his mind had filed away the name and telephone number for future reference.
‘So what was so bad about him asking you a few questions about the business, Kay?’ Kay’s mother’s brown eyes were puzzled, understandably so, Kay had to admit. When she actually repeated what Mitchell Grey had said word for word it didn’t convey anything of the man’s arrogance or the atmosphere that had been present between them.
‘He was—well…just altogether irritating,’ she finished lamely.
Leonora stared at her daughter for a moment more before saying diplomatically, ‘Well, forget about him now, okay? It’s doubtful if your paths will ever cross again and you’ve enough on your plate to concern yourself with as it is. You haven’t forgotten it’s the school’s autumn fête this evening?’
‘The twins wouldn’t let me.’ Kay smiled wryly and her mother smiled back.
‘They’re two live wires,’ Leonora Brown admitted ruefully. ‘But you were like that at their age, into everything and the whole world one gigantic adventure.’
Kay nodded, still smiling, but inwardly she was thinking, I was like that right up to the time I met Perry and then it was like I changed overnight. Why couldn’t I see what he was doing to me?
