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Because she did have feelings for him—and she wasn’t going to deny them to herself even as she hid them from him. And the longer they were together the deeper those feelings were growing. She so desperately didn’t want to be his good-time girl. She knew the impression she had given him in St Petersburg. She had hoped he knew her better now. But a week of heady lovemaking and not much else had left her teetering on the suspicion that this was always going to be a sexual affair for Serge and little else, and his luxury lifestyle only confirmed it. Why would he want more when his looks and money could bring in beautiful women from all over the world?
He had invited her into his home now, prodded her inner voice. It was something.
But it wasn’t an invitation into his life, which was clearly taken up with his business.
Which was why she hesitated to take the Annelli job. Whatever he said about her not working for him, it grew more and more appealing the longer she thought about it. Being with Serge was going to mean lots of late-night dropins on gyms and plenty of travel, given the far-flung nature of the sport in Europe and the States. To be in his life she needed to be in his business. She could prove to him she was much more than a warm body in his bed and that she could play with the big boys too. Maybe that was a way forward for them?
But the overarching issue was the need to keep her independence, and that meant finding an apartment of her own. Being safe meant being independent. She’d learned that lesson the hard way with her parents, and had it reinforced by her experience with Joe Carnegie. Never again would a man consider he owned her simply because of the financial disparity between them.
She hopped out of the taxi on East 64th and jogged across the road towards the line of 1920s townhouses.
Serge’s house had come as a lovely surprise. It was a proper home—eleven rooms over five levels. Ridiculously large for a single man, but what interested Clementine was how unpretentious it was. Completely restored, it had an old-fashioned simplicity that told her a great deal about the man she was living with, and it was oddly comforting.
She fired up the laptop in Serge’s study and called up his website, navigating her way through to the schedule of matches. She knew he would be at the match on Friday night for a couple of hours, which gave her a window of opportunity to see him in action.
He didn’t need to know, and it would help her build up a sense of how to approach him about a job. She booked a ticket on-line and shut the laptop with an uneasy feeling that she had just crossed a line with Serge. If he found out he wouldn’t be happy.
Serge checked his watch and then looked at the screens in the control room. The stadium was filled to capacity, the main event would soon be underway, and he could leave and drive back into town and have a late dinner with Clementine.
He was enjoying their little arrangement. He had never cohabitated with a woman before, would have run a mile if anyone had suggested it to him. Although Clementine was quick to remind him she was effectively on holiday and that once her working visa came through things would naturally change. They weren’t actually living together.
She’d said that to him. We’re not living together, Serge.
As if he needed to know where he stood. As if she was warning him off. It was starting to get on his nerves.
And she kept talking about this apartment idea. He told her there was no hurry, but it didn’t stop her talking about it…
Almost as if thinking about her had conjured her up the small screen in front of him suddenly filled with her face. The wide cheekbones, pointed chin, grey eyes fluttering as she looked around, oblivious to being broadcast on a large screen.
‘Hold that camera,’ he said to the tech in front of him, and leaned in.
The cameras always panned in for a pretty girl, and Clementine with her lovely face, her wealth of hair down over her shoulders, in tight designer jeans and nipped-in jacket was just that. Possession gripped him behind the neck like a vice.
She was out there. Alone.
Serge registered all of this as Alex said something about going down and showing himself in the owners’ box if only to make the media happy.
‘That girl,’ said Serge to his minder. ‘Find out what seat she’s in.’
‘Do you want me to fetch her, boss?’
‘You do not touch her,’ Serge snarled. ‘I’m going down. Phone me through the info.’
Alex caught up with him as he jogged down the maze of corridors.
‘I thought you were seeing some Australian woman.’
‘I am.’
Seat 816 FF. She was up in the gods. He had a detail of security with him as he closed in on her. She had that tight expression on her face he recognised. She wasn’t comfortable with all the noise or the people around her. Good. It might teach her a lesson.
