Rebel with a Cause (2 page)

He walked in front of her line of vision and picked up the ball again, spinning it in his hands. ‘We can talk through the details at the same time.'

He was still smiling but there was an edge back now—a deliberate challenge. But it was one she just had to turn down. No way was she playing ball with him. This wouldn't be like some Hollywood movie where she scored a hoop first shot. She'd miss it by a mile and totally embarrass herself. She hadn't played in years—to land baskets you needed to practise. She had no hope of relying on muscle memory now.

‘Perhaps it would be best if we reschedule this meeting,' she ducked it.

The smile tugged harder on one corner of his mouth.

‘You might want to take a shower now,' she added coldly.

His brows lifted then. ‘You really don't like sweat?' He laughed as he looked over her pale blue suit. ‘No. You wouldn't, would you?'

She went silent—refusing to rise to that one. Truth was, she was feeling utterly human right now and starting to sweat herself just from looking at him. Cara hadn't mentioned that her boss was completely gorgeous.

She looked at the graffiti again, eyes narrowed as she tried to work out one of the letters in that word.

‘Damn kids.' He'd followed the direction of her gaze.

‘It could be worse,' she said. Not wanting to find anything to agree on with him.

‘You think?'

‘Yeah, it could just be a tag—you know, initials, a name or something. But that's actually quite a cool picture.'

He coughed. It started as a clear-your-throat kind of cough, but rapidly turned into a hacking one that sounded as if he were in danger of losing a lung. Anyone else and she'd ask if he was okay. But she wasn't going anywhere nearer the personal with him. As it was they'd crossed some polite lines already and she was finding it way too unsettling.

‘It must have taken a while.' She commented more on the graffiti just to cover the moment until he breathed freely at last. There actually was a lot of depth to the design. It couldn't possibly be a three-minute spray and run number. ‘But it's bad to do it to someone else's property.'

‘You're so right.'

She gave him a quick look. Was that a touch of laughter in his voice? His expression was back to brooding, even so, she suspected him.

‘So you're desperate for an administrator, is that right?' Finally she snapped back on track.

‘For the Whistle Fund, yes.' He too suddenly went pro
fessional. ‘Kat, my receptionist here, has been too busy to be able to help much since Cara left. We've got a lot on right now so I need someone who can stay on board for at least a month. I need the mess sorted and then help with training a new recruit. I haven't even got to advertise yet. Can you commit to it?' He looked serious. ‘You'll be paid of course. I wouldn't expect anyone to take on this level of work voluntarily.'

‘I don't need to be paid. I like to work voluntarily.'

‘You'll be paid,' he clipped. ‘You can donate it back to the charity if you like, but you'll be paid.'

So he didn't want to be beholden to her? But she didn't need the money, the income from her trust fund was more than enough for her to get by. She'd always needed something to give her a sense of dignity—had never sat around doing nothing but shopping and socialising. It wasn't the way she'd been raised. Yes, they had money, but they still had to do something worthwhile with their time. Only she hadn't managed to follow in the family footsteps and pursue a law based career. Her mother, brother and sister were all super successful lawyers. All the true save-the-oppressed kind, not corporate massive-fee-billing sharks. Worse was her father, who was a retired judge. He still worked—publishing research, heading reviews of the system. Sophy's surname was synonymous with excellence in the field. Not one of them had failed or even deviated from that path.

Only Sophy.

So she'd tried to gain her credibility by being the yes-person. Doing all the voluntary stuff, being the consummate organiser of everything they asked for—mainly their own lives. She might not have their legal brains, but she was practical. Yet in trying to keep up with them she'd made one stupid, massive mistake—she'd mistaken her personal value. So she'd gone away. While overseas she'd finally
found her own passion, her own calling. And as soon as she got the time she was going to build her business and prove her skill to the family.

‘Cara's office is in the building here.' He seemed to take her silence for acquiescence. ‘It's all yours. I thought we could cover her okay but with her baby coming so soon and with Dani away with Alex, I need someone who can concentrate wholly on it.'

‘Full time?' Sophy's heart was sinking. She just wasn't going to be able to say no.

‘Maybe for the first week to catch up.' His grin was touchingly rueful. ‘After that just the mornings should be enough. And I'd need you to be present at whatever evening meetings there are and the functions. Actually, you need to finalise the details for the next one.'

Yes. The Whistle Fund was famous for its functions—fabulous evenings of entertainment that drew the rich and famous out, and got them to open their wallets too. The presence of the ‘stars' meant the presence of Joe Public was huge too—every body liked to be a VIP for a night.

‘You can't find anyone else?' Sophy tried one last avenue. ‘Maybe from a temp agency?'

‘Cara wanted to be sure the office was in good hands. She doesn't trust that a stranger will be able to come in and fix it. I don't want to stress her any more than she already is. And she told me you're the only one who can get this job done. I promised her I'd give you a shot.'

Sophy's ears pricked at the slight hint of sarcasm—did he think she couldn't get it done? Her spine stiffened—why, she could sort that lot upstairs in her sleep.

Cara had pleaded for her to come. Because Sophy's sister, Victoria, was one of Cara's best friends. And Victoria had talked to Cara—assured her Sophy was the one to do
it: she was available, she was capable. Now it seemed she was all Cara could accept.

Sophy might as well have never gone away. Since landing back she'd stepped straight back into the over committed, over scheduled life she'd left two years before. No one had stopped to think she might have other things she wanted to do. And why should they? Hadn't she been saying yes—as she always had?

So she should say no now. Say sorry, but that she had other priorities and couldn't give him that much time. She looked at him, tried really hard not to let her gaze slip down his body again. There was a hard look in his eyes—as if he didn't really believe what Cara had told him about her, and that he expected her to say no. That he'd just as soon phone for some anonymous temp and be done with it. Suddenly she sensed that he didn't like having to ask her at all. That made her stand up even straighter.

And there was Cara herself, wasn't there? Hovering over her tiny daughter in the incubator—with enough on her mind without needlessly worrying about her boss being so stressed out. What a crock. If Cara had seen him today, she'd have known she had no cause for concern—he was so relaxed he was out wasting time playing ball. But Sophy couldn't let her sister's friend down—just as she'd never let her sister down.

‘I'll be back tomorrow to start,' she said briskly.

‘I'll be here to show you the ropes.'

‘Nine a.m.' She let her gaze rake him one last time. ‘Sharp.'

She turned and walked. His words came just as the door closed behind her. Whether she was meant to hear the low suggestively spoken reply she didn't know, but she did—and it almost incinerated her.

‘Yes, ma'am.'

N
INE
a.m. came and went. Sophy sat in the office that looked as if it had been hit by a cyclone and checked her watch every thirty seconds or so. Unbelievable. No wonder this place was in such a mess. He certainly needed help. But he was so going the wrong way about getting it.

She filled in five minutes by moving some of the mail to find the keyboard. Decided to start opening and sorting it. Forty minutes later a portion of the desk was clear, the recycling bin was full of envelopes and half the letters were neatly stacked in classified piles. At that point she decided she shouldn't go further without consulting him. She went down stairs to the receptionist.

‘Kat? I'm Sophy. Here to work on the Whistle Fund admin. Do you know where Mr Hall is?'

The receptionist blinked at her. ‘I thought he was up with you. I've been taking messages because he's not picking up the phone.'

‘Well, he's not with me.'

‘He's not out the back?'

No. Naturally out of the window had been the first place she'd looked. Sophy heard the front doors slide open and turned expectantly. A courier driver walked in with a parcel under his arm.

‘Can you see if he's on the third floor?' Kat asked. ‘I need to deal with this.'

‘Of course,' Sophy answered automatically.

The third floor—was that where Lorenzo's office was? She climbed the stairs. Stopped at the second floor and checked the other two offices there once more—both were in a far better state than Cara's. They actually looked as if people worked in them—several people even—but there was no one present. Further along the corridor there was a massive room that was almost totally empty. Was the place run by ghosts? The communication was appalling. Sophy swallowed the flutter of nerves as she climbed up the next flight of stairs. There was no corridor off them this time—just the one door marked ‘private'.

She knocked. No answer.

She knocked again. Still no answer.

Without thinking about it she tried the handle. The door swung open and she stepped inside.

The space was huge—and much brighter than the dimly lit stair well. Sunlight shone through the skylight windows in the roof. She blinked rapidly and took in the scene. This wasn't office space. This was an apartment—
Lorenzo's
apartment.

And if she wasn't mistaken, the sofa was occupied.

‘What's wrong?' Pure instinct drove her forward to where he was sprawled back on the wide sweep of leather.

It was hard dragging her eyes up his chest to his face but once she did she was able to focus better. Beneath the tan he was pale, but dark shadows hung under his eyes. Hell, if this was a hangover she'd be so mad with him.

‘Sore throat.' A total croak, not the slight rasp of yesterday.

Sore throat and then some, Sophy reckoned. He looked
dreadful. Actually he didn't, he looked one shade less than magnificent. So that meant he really must be sick. She couldn't help give him the once over again. Just impossible not to when he had the most amazing body she'd ever seen up close.

He was in boxers—nothing but boxers. Not the loose fitting pure cotton kind, but the knit type that clung to his slim hips, muscled thighs—and other intriguing bits.

So that was that question answered. And a few others too.

Sophy stopped her gaping. She needed to pull herself together and deal with him.

‘You have a temperature.' It was obvious from his glistening skin. She marched to the kitchen area in the open-plan space. Poured a glass of water. Wished she could snatch a moment to drink one herself, but she was too concerned about how feverish he looked.

‘I'm fine.' He coughed, totally hacking up that lung.

‘Of course you are,' Sophy said smartly. ‘That's why you missed our meeting.' She held out the glass to him. His hand shook as he reached for it. She took his fingers and wrapped them round the glass herself. Only when certain he had it did she let him go.

Their eyes met when she looked up from the glass. She saw the raw anger in his—impotent anger.

‘I'm fine,' he repeated, grinding the words through his teeth.

Yeah, right. He was shivering. He ditched the water on the coffee table in front of the sofa after only the tiniest sip. His laptop was on the table too, the faintest hum coming from it. Did he really think he was capable of work?

‘When did you last eat?' she asked, her practical nature asserting itself.

He winced.

‘I need to take your temperature.'

‘Rot.'

She gingerly placed her palm on his forehead. Snatched it away at the same time that he jerked back.

‘Quit it,' he said hoarsely.

She curled her tingling fingers. ‘You're burning up. You need to see a doctor.'

‘Rubbish.'

‘Not negotiable.' Sophy pulled her mobile from her pocket and flipped it open. ‘I can get someone to come here.'

‘Don't you dare.' It would have sounded good if his voice hadn't cracked in the middle. He tried to move, evidently thought better of it and just rasped bitterly, ‘Sophy, back off. I'm fine. I have work I need to get on with.'

She ignored him, spoke to the receptionist at the clinic she'd been to all her life. Two minutes later she hung up. ‘A locum will be here in ten.'

‘Too bad. I'm not seeing him. I have to do this—'

‘Your social networking will have to wait.' Sophy closed the laptop. Picked it up and put it far, far away on the kitchen bench.

‘Bring that back here—I was working.'

She went close and looked down at him. ‘I really wish I had one of those old-fashioned mercury thermometers. I know where I'd stick it.'

‘Don't.' His hand shot out and gripped her wrist—hard. ‘You're right. I'm not feeling well. And if you keep provoking me I'll snap.'

Really? And do what?

She stared into dark eyes, saw the tiredness, the strain, the frustration—and even deeper she saw the unhappiness. At that she relented. ‘Okay. But you have to stop fighting
me too. You're sick, you need to see a doctor and you need taking care of.'

He shifted on the sofa.

‘Look, it's happening whether you agree or not, Lorenzo. Why not make it that bit more pleasant?'

He breathed in—she could see the effort hurting him. He closed his eyes and she knew she'd won. ‘Okay, but you've done your thing. You can go now. Kat can send the doctor up.' Another tremor shook him.

But she didn't think she could go now. She couldn't leave anyone alone in this state. And oddly enough she felt that even more strongly about him—he'd never admit it, but he was vulnerable. He was alone.

He shook his head slightly and looked cheesed again. ‘At least bring my laptop back.'

‘What's the point, Lorenzo?' she said quietly. ‘Staring at the screen isn't going to get it done. You're better off getting some sleep and getting well. Then you'll do the work in a quarter of the time.'

His head fell back against the sofa cushions. Round two to her.

The doctor stayed only ten minutes. Sophy waited on the top of the stairs, put her phone in action some more. Then, after exchanging a few words with the doctor on her way out, she went back in to face the grumpy patient.

‘I'm getting you a rug,' she said, heading towards the doors at the back of the room, refusing to be embarrassed about the idea of going into his bedroom.

‘There's one on the end of the sofa.'

She stopped. So there was. She'd not noticed it. Hard to notice anything else in the room when he was mostly naked. ‘Well—' she tried not to stare at him as she reached down and picked it up ‘—I think perhaps you'd better put it on. You don't want to get a chill.'

He was well enough to send her an ironic glance. But he leaned back on the sofa and pulled the rug over his waist and down his legs. ‘Happy now, nursie?'

His chest was still bare, so, no, she wasn't. But he was obviously feeling a touch better. The doctor said she'd given him some pain relief—must be fast acting stuff.

‘So it's tonsillitis?' Sophy asked carefully, not wanting to intrude too much, yet unable to stop.

‘Stupid, isn't it?' Lorenzo said.

No. Like anyone, Sophy knew how painful a sore throat could be. ‘Did you get it as a child?'

‘A bit.' He nodded. ‘Haven't had it in years, though.'

‘They didn't take them out for you?' While it might not be a regular practice any more, she knew that for the most recurrent cases they still did tonsillectomies.

He repositioned his head on the sofa cushions again. ‘I was on the waiting list for a while. But it never happened. When I got to boarding school the episodes seemed to stop.'

Sophy poured the electrolyte drink the doctor had given her into a glass. ‘It was a good school, wasn't it?'

‘Better than all the others I went to.'

She knew he'd been at school with Alex Carlisle—his partner in setting up the Whistle Fund. It was the school her elder brother had gone to too—years before. Private, exclusive, incredibly academic and with superior sporting results as well. It was a tough place to shine—and she just knew Lorenzo had shone. Her sister had gone to the girls' equivalent. But by the time Sophy had come along their parents were happy for her to just go to the local—they'd said they didn't want to send her away to board. But Sophy knew it was because she hadn't had the off-the-charts grades her siblings had had. It wasn't that she was below average, she
just wasn't brilliant. ‘The antibiotics will have you better in no time. Then maybe you should have a holiday.'

His brows shot up.

‘Cara says you've been working too hard,' Sophy said blandly, ignoring his mounting outrage. ‘Perhaps you've gotten run down.' At that she sent him a look from under her lashes—unable to resist the temptation to let a hint of flirt out.

‘Honey, I'm hardly run down.' His muscles rippled as he stretched out his arms in an unabashed display of male preening.

Oh, he was definitely feeling better. And she just couldn't resist teasing him some more.

‘The muscles might look good, Lorenzo,' the devil made her whisper, ‘but you wouldn't be up to it. You'd be spent just trying to stand.'

‘You want to move closer and we'll test that out?' Sick or not, he didn't miss a beat.

She turned and paced away. Enough channelling of Rosanna—Sophy just wasn't as practised a flirt as her best friend. ‘I'm not in the mood for more disappointments.'

‘You were disappointed I wasn't there to meet you?'

She spun and caught his amused,
satisfied
look. She inhaled. ‘You should be lying down. Hurry up and finish that drink.'

‘Sophy—' his eyes glittered ‘—I don't need a mother.' It was a slicing rejection of any sort of kindness.

‘No,' she agreed curtly. ‘You need a nurse. I've arranged for one to come from an agency.'

 

Lorenzo was so shocked he couldn't speak for a full minute. He repeated her words in his head several times. Still didn't believe it. ‘You've
what
?'

‘I've got a nurse coming. I've got work to get on with, so does Kat, and you can't be left alone.'

Can't be left alone? What did she think he'd been all his life? ‘You can tell your nurse she's not necessary.'

‘No. Too late for that.' She moved back to the table and took away the empty glass. ‘She's on her way.'

Oh, she thought she was so damn competent, didn't she? ‘She'll have a mobile. Call it.' Wasn't getting a doctor around enough for this woman? Another tremor shook him from the bones out. Blow the fever—he was boiling mad.

‘Don't bother trying, Lorenzo,' she said coolly, cutting him off before he'd even got started. ‘She's on her way and she's staying.'

He gritted his teeth and glared at her. He'd never felt this frustration—hadn't felt this useless since he was a kid being shunted from place to place with no say in it.

He closed his eyes as a wave of utter weariness hit him. Okay, he had been working hard—even harder than usual recently. He didn't know when his hunger for success would be filled. Always he was chased by the feeling that it could be whisked away from him, that he'd wake up one day and find himself with nothing. So he worked, worked, worked—building the base bigger. He could never have enough of the security he needed.

But investing in Vance's bar idea might have been one project too many. He'd sent all his staff and resources there for the last week. Helping him get ready for the big opening night—which Lorenzo was going to miss at this rate. As a result his own offices had been sadly neglected. The Whistle Fund in particular. It wouldn't take too much to get it right again, but it needed time that he simply didn't have right now. He'd been working twenty-hour days in the last fortnight as it was. So Cara's office was a mess. It
was stupid, but there was a big part of him that hated this woman seeing it like that.

Sophy—the supremely interfering piece of efficiency.

And how could he be finding her remotely attractive? She was so damn quick and proper and
right
it was nauseating. Had she ever made a mistake in her life? He so didn't think so. And if she had, he bet she'd never admit to it.

Utterly perfect, wasn't she?

He shifted under the rug. She
was
perfect—like a porcelain doll. Creamy skin and a blonde bob that sprang into neat curls at the ends—how long did it take her to get it to sit just so? Then there was that little nose and the lips that had a sweet cupid's bow that begged to be kissed. And big blue eyes that went even bigger when she looked at him—a blend of intense interest and reserve. She looked as if she wanted but was wary. She half teased and then withdrew again. It made him want to pounce all the more. He saw her gaze flick over him again. Damn the weakness in his bones. Because that look in her eyes made him want to strip her bare—inch by beautiful inch—and find out whether the hint of the fire he could see really was just the glow from an inferno beneath. He sure as hell was fantasising it was.