Everything You Need: Everything For You Trilogy Book 1 (22 page)

Jack kisses me hard and fast. “That’s what I call pure luxury showering, kitten. Are you okay?” He swipes the wet hair out of my face and kisses me again and again as I nod. “I’ll wash you for real this time.”

I smile. He’s clever. He’s still withheld the best of him, making me want him more than ever and I wonder if that’s another lesson. He won’t be pushed.

He’s gentle and thorough, cleansing my hair and my body and not neglecting to stop and kiss me often in gratitude for what he’s taken; what I’ve given. He grants himself a much more cursory wash. When he wraps me up in a huge fluffy bath towel and rubs me dry I feel cared for. I have to remind myself he’s cared for plenty of women before me. I stand still while he briskly towels the moisture from my hair.

“You’re doing well, baby.”

I look at him in the mirror and snort. “You’re not trying to pretend what we just did was anything to do with mentoring, are you?”

He adopts a serious expression. “Pause and think. What have you learned so far?” His voice is calm. He has patience and gives me space to think.

I go back over this whole experience. “To only make a bargain worth a damn.”

He laughs delightedly. “That’s one thing. A very important thing as it happens. How smart of you to get to the essentials first, Miss Caid. What else?”

I remember the boardroom. My demands and just how far they got me. “That you can’t make someone do anything they don’t want to do.” And that is even truer of the bedroom. I tried every way I knew how, once, to make him want me but he didn’t. I wanted him to make love to me last night. He wouldn’t.

“Very true, Tabitha. Bear that in mind when you motivate your employees and when you negotiate.” He stands silent for a moment. God, I wonder if he’s thinking about the bedroom too? My blush deepens. “Go on,” he encourages.

He sent me away last night to make my own decision without promising me any part of him. “Self-belief.”

“An essential trait in a CEO. Next?”

I think about the peach-fuelled fantasy. “Be an opportunist.”

“An entrepreneur,” he corrects, smiling nonetheless. “Got any more?”

What else have I learned? It comes to me in a flash. The flash. “No mixed messages.” I scowl theatrically, “Or there’ll be consequences. Even if you like them.”

He laughs out loud and hugs me tight. “Perfect. I knew a smart girl like you was capable of developing quickly. I’m encouraged. Learn to trust your instincts. You have great instincts.” His voice lowers. “Give this a chance Tabitha. Trust me. Will you trust me for now?”

Is he hinting at something other than business when he says this?

For now
seems reasonable enough. In the short silence before I nod I almost see Jack staring at me like some strange puzzle he has to solve. He swats me playfully on the rump then gathers up his discarded clothes. “Get dressed. We’re going out.” He leaves me and heads back to his own bedroom.

The little overnight bag I brought stands in the corner of the guest room and I wonder when that appeared. I didn’t carry it up last night. I open it, look at the clean underwear, demure white blouse, knee-length print skirt and low-heeled patent shoes I’d packed the night before and pull them out onto the bed. I feel ridiculous for not bringing jeans and a t-shirt, remembering how Jack reacted to my wardrobe before.

“What?” I demand, when he returns, even though I already know what he’s thinking as soon as he comes through the door. I won’t let him make me feel ashamed of who I am.

Jack looks me up and down and it’s definitely not the same look he was giving me in the shower. “Appearance is important. We can do so much better than that.” He’s dressed down for the weekend and looks maddeningly sexy in casuals.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing. If you’re going to church for a Harvest Festival with your grandmother.” He’s mocking me. “Tonight, I’m attending the annual City of London Commerce Ball and you will accompany me. You can’t go dressed like that.”

I’m amazed. I’d forgotten the event was scheduled for this weekend but why should I remember? It isn’t exactly part of my social calendar. It’s a very big deal. Every year the great and good of the city – politicians, wealthy industrialists and captains of industry from around the globe – gather to congratulate themselves and each other on their monstrous commercial successes. I’ve read the newspaper reports but have been mostly tortured by photographs of Jack attending in previous years, with one beautiful woman after another on his arm. Every year those photographs prodded my rejection anew.

“I don’t have an invitation.” Unimportant people like me are never included. It’s about as damning a statement of my unimpressive status as I can make.

“You’re attending as my guest. What did I say about PR? You have to be seen in the right circles, if you want to be taken seriously.”

I’m a little bit thrilled but a whole lot worried as I commence the long countdown to my default position: panic. All those important people. And me. Looking like a slug in an aquarium. I have nothing to wear. I think of the look Jack gave my clothes just now. Well they’re all like that. It’s not that I don’t have any money. Harry’s inheritance and my parent’s life insurance before that left me rather well off. It’s just I’ve never made time to keep up with trends or go shopping for new stuff and I’ve had no reason to dress for balls. I’ve been so busy, a new wardrobe seemed a frivolous waste of time.

I feel like an idiot saying it. “I don’t have anything to wear.” I glance over at the beautiful blue dress that Jack sent last night. It’s lying in a torn heap over the back of a chair. I rush to pick it up. Perhaps hanging it in the bathroom will allow the creases to drop out and I can sew up the rips.

“Leave it,” he orders. “This ball is a big deal.”

“I know it’s a big deal.” My heart rate elevates with alarm.

“We’re going out to pick up something far more appropriate.”

“This will be fine if I can just get the flaws sorted.” I stare at the dress as if working magic.

“Fine? When will you learn? If you want people of this calibre to accept you then making do won’t work. You have to demand their respect.” He waves a hand at what I’m wearing. “Does that say CEO to you?”

Never mind the outdated clothes, one glance in the mirror at my plain brown hair and startled eyes, all dark and wide, tell me I don’t belong in Jack’s world. I’ll never fit in amongst powerful bosses and their elegantly sophisticated partners. They’ll see immediately I’m an imposter. The pretender to my uncle’s throne. “I can’t go.” My voice comes out a whisper.

“You can.” He doesn’t sound willing to countenance a refusal. Once Jack Keogh makes up his mind about something he doesn’t change it. I’m beginning to realise that now. But he doesn’t understand how I feel. How can he? He’s one of them. How can he possibly know what it’s like to be on the outside looking in?

“Come on, the car’s waiting.” He holds out his hand and I take it, conscious he’s leading me towards further humiliation.

Stepping back into the lift brings the events of last night crashing around me. I arrived to thrash out a deal over dinner and to sacrifice myself on the altar of Jack Keogh’s lust, for the benefit of CaidCo. In less than twelve hours I’ve agreed to spend four weekends under Jack’s mentorship on the promise he’ll prepare me to fight for my place in the business world. It’s already proving a harder bargain than I feel able to deliver.

Down in the underground car park I recognise Blackstock standing by the Bentley. He’s dressed in a black suit as before. I feel embarrassed that he knows I’ve stayed the night but his face betrays nothing. He’s probably completely used to driving women in and out of his employer’s life but it doesn’t do anything for my confidence to know I’m the latest in a long line.

“Good morning, Mr Keogh. Miss Caid.” He opens the back door for me so I can slip inside.

Jack crowds in behind me, herding me to the other side, waving Blackstock into the driver’s seat. He doesn’t expect staff to treat him like royalty and I like that. It gives me hope that somewhere deep inside this tough inflexible man, remains some part of the sweeter, ordinary Jack Keogh I used to know. He settles himself on the leather seat beside me.

Blackstock drives off, the gated exit from the underground garage sliding back automatically as we approach. He doesn’t seem to require instructions which suggests Jack has my ball-gown purchasing trip already well planned. He’d anticipated my attendance at the ball and my agreement to his offer, so does this mean he sees me as predictable? Manageable?

Peach yoghurt is all I have to remind us both I’m not.

Chapter Eleven

In the Bentley, my fingers fiddle with the soft leather of the seat in front releasing a recessed workstation and electronic tablet. Jack closes it, waits while I put my seatbelt on and reaches for my restless hands.

“Afraid I’ll put my grubby fingerprints all over your butter-smooth hide?”

He laughs. “You can put fingerprints on my hide anytime.”

I blush furiously when I see Blackstock’s shoulders shake.

Jack’s hand over mine settles me. Unlike everything else happening, it feels almost normal but I’d be crazy to think about us like that. Holding hands affectionately came naturally once and look what happened. I flex to free it but he tightens his hold.

The familiar landmarks of the Royal Borough pass by until Blackstock turns the car up a Chelsea mews and glides to a halt outside a small shop. It’s rather exclusive with a single white gown displayed in the window and a pair of tall, finely pruned bay trees in giant tubs delineating the entrance. Jack, at the pavement’s side, doesn’t wait for his chauffeur but jumps out, drawing me behind him.

“Take a break, Blackstock. I’ll call you in a few hours.”

“Sir.”

I note Jack accepts deference as his due, making me consider my lack of it from Brent. I realise I’m going to have to do something about that man sooner rather than later but how, I have no idea. Blackstock drives away as I watch him go, gnawing distractedly at my lip.

“Don’t look so worried. We’re only dress shopping.”

“You do much of that?” My joke backfires as I manage to sound bothered he might be interested in dressing other women.

He stares at me with curiosity. “First time with you.”

“How should I react to that?”

“By trying on the dress I’ve chosen for you to wear to the ball tonight. It may need an alteration.” He walks me to the doorway.

“What if I’d refused to go?”

“I’d have changed your mind.” He isn’t joking either.

I don’t doubt it. Another one of his deal breakers. Me being here this weekend and accompanying Jack to the Commerce Ball is no spur-of-the-moment decision. Jack has a master plan. I see that now. He’s the consummate CEO at work, leaving nothing to chance.

A melodic bell chimes when he opens the door for me and I get to glimpse another side of Jack entirely. Not the
Boss
, my former client; nor the hot, sexy guy from the shower this morning. He’s not exactly the casual, playful acquaintance of my youth, but a courteous gentleman taking proper care of a lady. It only adds to my confusion about who this man is and what we currently mean to each other.

“I don’t know how I feel about you choosing how I dress.” I’m torn between Jack’s action being considerate or controlling. I’m holding onto a mild degree of resentment too, over the blue dress from last night. He chose well, I can’t deny it. It looked completely beautiful but it insists at something I can’t quite figure out about the dynamic between us. Everything about this experience is mind-blowing.

“It’s what I want you to wear. You’ll love it.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You’ll love it. If you want to be taken seriously – and trust me, tonight you do – then you need a serious dress.” His eyes skim over my own outfit making me feel as dowdy as a duck. “Besides I’ll enjoy the preview.”

His words tickle low in my belly. He has a clear sense of entitlement but dressing up for a man is such an intimate thing to do and, despite the recent casual sex thing, Jack and I really don’t have that kind of relationship.

A sophisticated, well-groomed woman in her mid-forties appears from the back of the shop. “Mr Keogh. It’s a delight to see you again.” Her smile is genuine and warm yet the word
again
grates instantly on my nerves.

She knows him only too well. I’m assured of that when she greets him with a swift friendly kiss on both cheeks which he accepts gracefully. No shop assistant has ever done that to me. Only another woman would notice her nostrils flair slightly as she breathes in his delectable scent.

The thought that I’m merely the latest in a long line sours any pleasure I might take in this moment. It reminds me not to get carried away with fanciful expectations. I’m not that special to him; I’m his latest project. At best he’s helping me in order to repay Harry who did so much to help him when he was starting out. At worst, I’m a diversion as he teaches me a lesson for daring to challenge him.

Suddenly the shopping trip seems sordid.

My confidence nose-dives. I can’t help noting how warm the woman’s eyes are when she looks at him. They hardly leave his face and she practically ignores me. It’s so obvious I’m the least important person here.