AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Maddy said it was my ego disguised as doing-the-right-thing, running the show, and I should stand up to my grandfather and not let him tell me what to do. Perhaps she had a good point, but it doesn’t stop me from being programmed to please him. It does, however, explain whyshewasn’t his first choice. Besides, it’s easy for her to say. In my opinion, she has too little regard for pleasing her family—if she didn’t, we’d still be married, and I wouldn’t be in this mess.
My siblings and I have been competing against each other all our lives. We love each other and have each other’s backs, but we all know this is a competition. Some of us take it more seriously than others. Being the spare heir is a bit of a curse. Maybe that’s why I’m so competitive. I’m alwaysalmostnumber one but not quite. I’m close enough for my grandfather to keep grooming me to step into his shoes should the need arise, but not close enough to feel it’s ever going to happen. Not that I would want it to happen, anyway. It’s Damian’s spot, but I do want to keep my seat on the board and inherit more shares in the company, so I have a say in what happens with Rochesters & Co.
If I take Lizzy to Cannes, it will earn me major brownie points with Grandfather, and it could be a clever move, business-wise. The press will adore the idea of a Rochester-Archer collaboration, which will have a knock-on effect for the opening of the Rochester Cannes.My guess is we’ll be all over the business news, and probably make the celebrity headlines too. Wealthy families like ours are in a kind of limbo between serious business news and celebrity gossip. People love reading what the rich and powerful are up to and although we’re not as famous as movie stars, in our own world, we’re famous.
Straddling the business and celebrity news is spot on for hotel publicity because that’s our target market for luxury hotels.
But what about Nathalie?
Imagining her face when she learns I’m going to France with another woman crushes me, and I don’t think I can go through with it. I know I don’t owe her anything, but that doesn’t change how I feel about her, no matter what I tell her—or myself.
Someone is going to be disappointed. The only question is who?
Lizzy and I agreed to go along with the dating charade and help each other out by buying us both some time to figure out how to get what we want. We said if we pretend to keep dating, it will get our grandfathers off our backs, and save us the hassle and humiliation of having to date a string of potential suitors while we search for a spouse, or in her case, convince her family to agree to her marrying the man she loves.
Fake dating, it is then. But in France?
In the restaurant, fake dating seemed like a good idea. Well, perhaps not agoodidea. A good idea would be going home and knocking on Nathalie’s bedroom door, and her opening it semi-naked and me proceeding to peel off her nightshirt. I know she wears a nightshirt because we’ve bumped into each other on the landing in the early hours when she was going to get something from downstairs.
Instead, when I came back from the date with Lizzy, I let myself in quietly so I wouldn’t disturb Nathalie. I was dying to go up to her room and slip into bed with her. Ever since we nearly made love in the kitchen, I’ve been so sexually charged I could explode. I wake up every morning with a massive erection and relieve myself in the shower. Her face is everywhere, and I fantasise about what would happen if we resumed where we left off on the kitchen island. I would fuck her so hard, and she would moan loudly and lose all control, like she did when I made her come on my fingers.
I’m hard now, just thinking about her again, and I shift under my desk as I think about how to wrap up this call with Grandfather without pissing him off.
Finally, I tell him I’ll have a think about it and see what will work.
He makes a satisfied sound, and it’s clear he thinks his persuasive talents have ensured it’s a done deal and he’s going to read about his grandson at the official opening of the Rochester Cannes, with Lizzy Archer, heir to the Archer banking fortune, on his arm.
I get up and pace my hotel office and then gaze out the panoramic window at the sweeping views of Mayfair and the London skyline.
All this is at my fingertips, so why can’t I marry the woman I love?
CHAPTER21
Nathalie
It was an emotional shift at the centre today. We found out a kid’s mother threw herself under a train. Her little boy had been waiting for her to visit and kept hassling to know when she was coming. Heartbreak is not enough of a word to explain how I felt watching him. Knowing he would soon learn that his mummy would never visit him again broke me.
My spirits are low as I sign out and grab my bag from my locker. The little car I normally whiz about in is in the garage for a service, so Sebastian said he’d send his driver for me. However much I’m struggling with our personal relationship, I’m touched by what a thoughtful boss he is. If only that was all I wanted from him; my job would be the best I ever had.
Richard, the centre director, follows me out. ‘No car? Do you need a lift home?’ he asks. ‘It’s the least I can do after all your help today. You made a real difference with poor Jack.’
I thank him for his kind words and explain I’m waiting for my lift. He hovers chatting for a few minutes and then wishes me goodnight. He’s joined me for coffee a few times in the canteen, but there’s no space for any man in my heart except Sebastian, so I don’t respond to his signals. A complicated relationship with one boss is quite enough.
It’s dark, and I feel bad inconveniencing the driver at night, especially when I could easily have got a lift with Richard or called a taxi, but Sebastian insisted. Scanning the small car park at the back of the centre, I can’t spot the Range Rover, so I shelter from the rain and stand in the light where I should be easy to see whilst I browse on my phone.
There’s a beep and I look up. My eyes fall to a shiny black Porsche already parked near the entrance to the carpark, and I see Sebastian waving to me.
My heart hammers as I shove my phone in my bag, and hurry towards the car as all six-foot-gorgeousness of him springs out. By the time I cover the distance, he is standing, holding the door open for me like a gallant knight, ushering me in out of the drizzle.
The sight of him knocks the breath out of me and my heart races like it so often does when he’s around.
‘To what do I owe the honour?’ I say in a teasing tone, trying to act cool and not sound like a breathy teenager. My heart is pounding like shotgun fire, and it’s all I can do to get my words out.
He’s sitting next to me now and flashes me another of his devastating smiles.
‘Thanks for picking me up. Where’s your driver tonight?’
‘Couldn’t leave you stranded,’ he says. ‘We were back much earlier than expected, and I let him clock off. Don’t want you taking taxis at this time of night.’
