Best Of Makeovers Bundle Part 9

'Will she know which project it's concerning?'

'It's personal,' Max said.

'Personal?' The voice sharpened. 'She hasn't mentioned anyone called Max to me.'

Who did this guy think he was-her keeper? 'And you are?'

'Karl Fiennes.'

'Her secretary?' Max guessed.

'Hardly.' Scornful. 'I'm the marketing manager.'

Marketing manager? So what the h.e.l.l was he doing answering Cyn's phone? She was a techie-she had nothing to do with marketing!

As if Max had spoken aloud, Karl said, 'I was waiting to take her to lunch.'

'I see,' Max said. Maybe it was a business lunch-they were going to discuss one of Cyn's projects and this was the only time she could make today. No, it had to be business. Otherwise Cyn wouldn't have needed Max to play Trophy Boyfriend at the wedding. This Karl Fiennes could have done it, couldn't he? 'Perhaps you'd be good enough to tell her I called.'

'Sure.'

A little too greasy for Max's liking. And when Cyn hadn't returned his call by four o'clock, Max surmised that Mr Oily hadn't pa.s.sed the message on.

Great. Another cloud to rain on his day. As if this particular Monday hadn't been bad enough already. Might as well finish it in style and get the brush-off from the woman herself.

He dialled Cyn's work number again. And this time she answered her phone herself.

'Good afternoon, Cyn Reynolds speaking.'

'Hi. It's Max.'

'Oh! Hi.'

She sounded a little fl.u.s.tered, he thought. So had this Karl guy given her his message, or not? 'I'm ringing to thank you for the chocolates. They were spectacular.'

'Were? You mean, Lisa annexed half of them?'

'No. It's been one of those days,' Max admitted ruefully. 'But the chocolates were a bright spot.'

'Good.'

'I also need a favour.'

'A favour?' There was a distinctly worried note in her voice.

'Escort duty. At an artsy party. I have to schmooze a potential client.' And, until he'd found out who was trying to sink his business, Max couldn't afford to reject potential clients out of hand. 'Apparently, Mr Harris prefers to work with men who are attached. He thinks they're more stable than bachelors.'

'That's discrimination,' Cyn pointed out.

'I know, but he's the client. What he wants, he gets. So I need a trophy girlfriend for the evening.' He coughed. 'And, as I did it for you...'

'I owe you, so you're collecting.'

'Got it in one.' Max wasn't going to admit to himself just how much of a pleasure it would be to collect this particular favour.

'Okay.' She sounded slightly unsure. 'When is it?'

'Friday night.'

'This Friday?'

'Yes.'

'Ah. Sorry. I'm, um, already booked.'

'Work?'

'Sort of. It's the launch party for one of my clients.'

'Any chance you could do both in one evening?'

'Maybe if I was going on my own, but I'm with Karl. I can't.'

Karl? Mr Oily? Did she mean she was going to the party with Karl on a work basis-as colleagues-or that she was with Karl, as in, she was his girlfriend?

No. He remembered the way she'd reacted to him on Sunday morning. Cyn Reynolds wasn't the kind of girl to hop from his bed straight into another man's. Karl was a colleague. Being one of the marketing glamour boys, he'd probably bulldozed Cyn into going with him-and no doubt he'd leave her to do all the hard work while he lapped up all the plaudits.

'Well, looks as if I'll be schmoozing on my own, then.' Not that Max really wanted to go to a gallery launch. Maybe he'd just forget it. 'Pity.'

'I'm sorry.'

'It probably would have bored you stupid anyway. It's at a new art gallery in Docklands.'

There was a pause. 'Not the Wharf Gallery?'

'How did you know?'

She coughed. 'Friday's their launch party.'

He made the connection instantly. 'They're your client? But...they're an art gallery. You're an IT specialist.' Since when did the two mix?

'They have some very specialist IT requirements. Including touch screen terminals to showcase some of their clients' work.'

'Uh-huh.' But the important thing was, they were going to the same party. Friday-which had been something he hadn't been in the mood for-suddenly held all kinds of possibilities. 'Well, it looks as if the problem's solved because we're going to be in the same place. I'll see you there, then.' And he'd get a chance to check out Mr Oily. 'Until Friday,' he said softly, and hung up before she could make an excuse.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

CYN didn't get a chance to worry about the party because debugging, ordering replacement screens for the two defective ones, and solving minor glitches for the gallery project took up all her working time during the week-and a bit more besides. But while she was getting ready on Friday night, her misgivings returned in full.

After the week she'd had, she wasn't in the mood for going out. She wanted to chill out at home, in front of a good film, with a tub of her favourite ice cream. But she needed to see the job through-to stay for at least the first half of the launch party. Problem was, she was going there with Karl...and she was also meeting Max.

Awkward. Very awkward. But Karl was a colleague and Max was an acquaintance. Going to the party with Karl didn't mean that she couldn't talk to anyone else there, did it? And seeing Max...

Her pulse speeded up. Not good. She had to stay cool, calm and collected. Not think about last weekend. Not think about being in bed with Max Taylor. Not remember how his hands and his mouth had tipped her over the edge of pleasure. Max didn't do relations.h.i.+ps, and she wasn't looking for one anyway, she reminded herself.

The doorbell rang, and she draped Lisa's black wrap round her shoulders before answering the door.

'Hi.'

Karl leaned against the wall and smiled at her. 'Wow. You look gorgeous.'

'Thank you.' Though she knew it was just marketing-man's flattery, it still made her feel good. Gorgeous. Much better than 'fine'.

'Ready?' he asked.

'Sure.' She locked her front door and allowed him to escort her to the taxi. She chatted with him about nothing much on the way there, but smothered a yawn as they reached the gallery reception. 'Sorry, Karl. I don't mean to be rude. I've pretty much had my nose to the grindstone-and I might not make the end of the party,' she warned.

'No problem. We'll leave whenever you've had enough.'

Meaning what? That he expected to leave with her-come home with her-get to know her an awful lot better? She shook herself. Of course not. Karl was a player, but he wasn't stupid. Of course he knew she wanted to keep their relations.h.i.+p strictly business. Colleagues only. Didn't he? 'Hey. It's work, and I know you have to schmooze the client. I'll just slip away quietly.'

'No way. I'll see you safely home.'

It was the word 'safely' that did it. He was being nice, not being creepy, she decided. Which made her feel even more guilty for doubting him. She shook her head. 'We're there to represent RCS. You need to stay.'

Eventually, he nodded. 'All right, but only as long as you promise me you'll take a taxi.'

If it meant she could go home on her own with no ha.s.sle, she'd promise him almost anything. 'Sure.' Now for the crunch bit. She had to tell him about Max. There wasn't an easy way to say it. But she couldn't be too blunt about it. 'I expect you'll know a few people here tonight.'

'Probably,' Karl agreed.

'I think a friend of mine's going to be here. I, um, mentioned I was coming here with you. So he might want to catch up with me. If you don't mind.'

'Sure.'

Karl's smile looked ever so slightly forced. Surely he wasn't jealous?

'He?'

'Max Taylor,' Cyn explained. 'He knows Lisa.' And Karl knew Lisa from the time she'd temped at RCS.

'Right.'

Karl's smile was definitely forced, now. Though Cyn had no idea why. There was no reason why he would know Max.

'But you're here with me tonight,' Karl added.

Ouch. That sounded possessive. 'On behalf of RCS,' she reminded him. She'd seen tonight as work, right from the start. Hadn't he?

'Relax. It's a party,' Karl said.

Nope, it didn't sound as if he saw tonight as work. Somehow she was going to have to explain to him. Though she had a nasty feeling it was going to be easier said than done.

Mr Harris, one of the major patrons of the Wharf Gallery and the owner of a Docklands warehouse that was ripe for restoration, hadn't arrived yet. So far, Max had spent twenty-three minutes and forty-nine seconds wandering round the building and a.s.sessing it. The architect had made a reasonable job of converting the old warehouse, but there were a few original features missing. Features that Max would have showcased, lovingly restored-made part of the gallery.

You're meant to be in schmooze mode, not nit-picking other people's work, he reminded himself. Smile.

He pretended to be studying one of the installations and was about to accept a second gla.s.s of champagne when something made him turn round. And what he saw made him feel as if someone had just rabbit-punched him in the stomach. Hard.

Because Cyn had just walked through the door. Looking amazing, in a little black dress-and there was a man beside her, carefully taking the wrap from her shoulders.

He narrowed his eyes. So this was Karl.

It had only taken a few clicks of the mouse for Max to find Karl Fiennes on the RCS website and check out his profile. Marketing Manager. Ha! Max knew the breed: all charm and no substance, in his view. Karl was just like the rest of them-Max could tell from the photograph. Clearly the guy modelled himself on a certain Hollywood movie star. Blond good looks, very white teeth, charming smile. Tonight he was in a dinner jacket and c.u.mmerbund. As if he were escorting Cyn to the Oscars or something, instead of a business project. Pathetic. The guy wasn't in the same league as the film star, by a long way. And Max really disliked men who thought themselves gorgeous.

He'd hoped Cyn was only coming here with Karl on business. Though the hand resting lightly on Cyn's back definitely said, 'Mine'. The way Karl brushed a piece of lint from her dress screamed 'intimate'. And the quick little glances towards her were definitely those of a lover.

A lover.

Bile rose in Max's gut at the thought of Karl touching Cyn the same way he'd touched her. Part of him wanted to march over to the pair of them, sock Karl on the jaw, then hoist Cyn over his shoulder and march out of the party with his prize.

Except she'd be so embarra.s.sed that she'd never speak to him again, let alone anything else.

But then she caught his eye. And his heart went straight into meltdown.

Cyn had forgotten just how gorgeous Max Taylor was. That perfect bone structure, those beautiful eyes, that sensuous mouth...a mouth that had kissed her all over...a mouth that had teased her to screaming pitch-and then taken her right over the edge.

She wanted to see him smile. Who was she trying to kid? She didn't want to see him smile. She wanted to see his eyes go gla.s.sy, the way they had when she'd repaid the compliment. She wanted to see his mouth parted in an 'oh' of pleasure. She wanted to see his hands curled into tight fists of bliss. She wanted to watch him lose control.

Tonight, he was dressed entirely in black; all he needed were little wire-rimmed spectacles and he'd be the epitome of an intellectual s.e.x-G.o.d, the kind of man who could tempt Cyn out of her 'no relations.h.i.+ps' rule. Particularly as she remembered exactly what he'd looked like wearing nothing but her. And she remembered exactly how he'd sounded, too. Little whimpers of pleasure, all the sweeter because she'd known he'd been trying to hold back, to keep some degree of control.

But then a group of people blocked her view of him. By the time they'd moved again, Max was gone.

Too late.

Disappointment swooped in her stomach. Then she stiffened her backbone. If Max Taylor really wanted to see her, he'd find her.

Until then, she had work to do.

Though, right now, her concentration was shot to pieces.

Karl Fiennes' body language said very clearly, 'She's mine'.