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He stares at me without blinking for just long enough that I'm about to ask what's wrong. Then he makes a strange face and dials his phone.
And I listen while Lord Steamy unleashes his considerable charm on a restaurant employee. Despite his cheerful tone, his expression stays slightly pinched. Within a minute at most, he thanks whoever he'd been talking to and ends the call, setting his phone on the desktop.
He gives me a tight smile. "I've booked us a table for eight o'clock this evening. Wear a sexy frock, preferably designer. No one will believe I would go out with a woman in a business suit. Though I happen to love the way you look in professional clothes—or in jeans and a loose-fitting blouse."
"Thank you." I back away and sit down on the chair across from him. "You can pick me up at my hotel, at the door to my room. That's what two people going on a date would do."
"Of course."
I glance around, searching for where I left my portfolio.
"Looking for this?" Hugh says. "You left it on my desk."
He deftly tosses the portfolio to me.
I catch it and flip the leather folder open, grabbing my pen from inside it. "Now, we need to discuss how you will behave, both on our date and in everyday life. You should be mindful of your body language and try to maintain a relaxed demeanor."
"As if that's so bloody easy."
"Let's practice."
"In what way?"
"Take me on a tour of Sommerleigh Sweets."
He twists his mouth into an expression I've already figured out means he doesn't want to follow my orders, but he'll do it anyway. "We're in the corporate offices. The factory is ten miles away."
"Take me there, please."
Hugh studies me with his eyes squinted. "Does anyone know you're my image consultant? Other than Mum, I mean."
"No. I wouldn't be a trusted consultant if I blabbed to everyone about who I'm working for and why."
"What about Trudy?"
"She doesn't know either. I didn't make an appointment. I ambushed you—on purpose. Knocking you off balance helped kick off the process."
"I see." Hugh sits there staring at me for a few seconds, then he pushes his chair back and stands. "All right. If you insist on getting the grand tour, we'll need some sort of explanation of who you are and why you're here." He bows his head and groans. "This won't work. Unless you mean to use an alias, everyone will know what you do for a living."
"No, they won't. Confidentiality is key in my business." I pull out a business card and stand up to hand it to him. "Look at this. My card includes my name and contact information, but under my name it says only 'consultant.' I do that on purpose. No one wants their maid or their grandmother to know I'm fixing a problem for them."
"How do you get clients, then? 'Consultant' is awfully vague."
"Clients come to me thanks to word of mouth."
"You mean one bloke you helped out of trouble told his mate about you when that bloke needed help."
"Essentially."
He walks out from behind his desk and offers me his arm. "Shall we take my car to the factory?"
"Yes. And we can tell everyone I'm a business consultant."
"Sounds reasonable."
I glance at his arm that he still holds in a bent and slightly raised position, as if he wants me to hook mine around it. "This is business, Lord Sommerleigh. We haven't known each other long enough, in reality or in our fake relationship, for me to accept your chivalrous gesture."
A sigh gusts out of him, and he lowers his arm. "I'll be a good little boy and pretend we haven't kissed passionately twice."
