Save the Last Dance (24 page)

‘No…yes…that sounds fine. I'll see you then.'

Cameron rang off with his normal brevity, and Alice crawled over to the knot of cables she'd been inspecting. There was a murmur and a shuffle and the pinstriped legs moved even closer.

‘Anything I can do?' a thin voice enquired.

Mr Rogers wasn't being helpful—far from it; he had the air of someone trying to hurry someone else along. Fair enough, since he paid for her services by the hour.

‘No, I'm fine,' she said, running her thumb and forefinger along a stretch of wire to check where it disappeared to. ‘But I'd love a cup of tea—if you're making one, that is.'

There was a quiet huff, and the legs disappeared out of the office door.

Alice didn't feel guilty about that in the slightest. She'd get much more work done if someone wasn't hovering over her all the time. And she didn't feel guilty about stopping for five minutes to take Cameron's call. If she hadn't been sitting here under the desk, staring at the wires, it would have taken
her hours longer to find the source of the problem. She backed out from under the desk, stood up and brushed herself down, pleased to be off her knees and standing tall.

 

Cameron arrived at the construction site early, keen to meet with the foreman and get an update before he showed Alice around. Although he was required to wear a hard hat, it was hardly necessary as all the major work had been done. Only the finishing touches were being seen to—doors were being hung, sockets were being fixed to the walls and flooring was being laid.

He checked his watch. She'd be here in an hour. He brightened unexpectedly at the thought. Alice had been a nice kid. A little unsure of herself, as teenage girls often were, but kind and intelligent. He was glad to know she'd lost none of that warmth in the intervening years. And she'd certainly seemed full of fire when he'd talked with her on the phone. It was nice to actually converse with someone for a change rather than just give orders.

What was she to him, then? A friend?

He didn't really have many friends. Hadn't really had time for them while he'd worked himself stupid getting where he was today. Most of the men he socialised with fell into one of two categories. They were either colleagues or competitors, and both were apt to put on a false front because they either wanted to impress the boss or they were hoping to get close to him and learn something to their advantage.

And women…Well, women
never
wanted to be just friends with him. They also fell into two camps: tigers and jellyfish. The tigers, like Jessica, were blatant about their attraction to him—and his money. And he obliged them by taking them out to the best spots in London, treating them like
royalty…As long as they understood he wasn't looking for anything permanent, wasn't looking for someone to share his throne at present. They were all just
temporary
princesses.

The jellyfish—the second type of woman, like his current PA—trembled and stuttered in his presence. But he saw the glint of attraction in their eyes too—they were just too scared to act on it. Both responses were starting to get on his nerves.

He couldn't pigeonhole Alice into either of these groups, and that made her an unknown species. Intriguing.

She'd been pretty too, in her own way. Beautiful eyes—a fascinating hazel that were one moment green and the next nutty brown. She'd been like an ugly duckling, just on the cusp of becoming a swan. Sometimes, when she'd moved a certain way or changed her expression, he'd had the strangest sense that a glorious, transformed Alice was about to burst through the meek outer shell.

He shook his head.

This was his problem with women. He let his imagination run away with him and started thinking all sorts of ridiculous things. He became dazzled by the
idea
of the woman, and always ended up being disappointed when they didn't live up to the dream. But he'd dated enough gold-diggers now that he could spot them at thirty paces. It didn't stop him taking them out, though. In fact, it suited his whole ‘temporary princess' idea. He didn't expect much from the Jessica-types, and therefore he was rarely disappointed. And there was no danger of them leaving a scar when the relationship ended.

When people got too close, they judged. They found all the bits of your psyche you didn't want to acknowledge and held them up in front of your face to see, along with a few more faults you didn't realise you'd had. No, he'd had enough of being judged.

But that really was a moot point these days. He was top dog.
He
did the judging. And if anyone was foolish enough to put him under the microscope they'd only come away with the verdict that he was the best and that he had the best of everything. And that was just what he'd been aiming for all these years.

 

A tall fence of chipboard panels painted roughly in forest green surrounded the new headquarters to Orion Solutions. The gate was covered with brightly coloured signs warning of all sorts of dire consequences to those who dared step inside. The boundary fence was at least twelve feet high, and this close to it, Alice could see nothing of the building beyond.

Being fairly local, she now realised she remembered the factory in its previous incarnation as a bakery. It had been left almost derelict for more than a decade, and the only details she could recall were broken panes in the wide horizontal windows and a dirty concrete façade.

Now she was actually here, ready to see the site and show her ideas to Cameron, her stomach was churning. Coreen really should have come. She was good at the talking and schmoozing. Alice was good at the practicalities—the behind-the-scenes stuff.

But you didn't need to
schmooze
Cameron on the phone, a little voice inside her head whispered. You talked, he listened. It'll be the same now.

But her stomach didn't seem to believe her head. It was still rolling around as if it was being battered by one of the old kneading machines that had lived in the old bakery.

And Coreen hadn't helped this morning. She'd insisted Alice go round, so she could make sure she was dressed ‘fittingly' for a representative of Coreen's Closet. Coreen had
taken a single look at Alice's one good trouser suit, tutted, and then dragged Alice into her bedroom. In no time she'd bullied Alice into stripping down to her underwear. Alice had stood there like a shop dummy, being prodded and poked and pinched, and when Coreen had pronounced her ready she'd taken one look in the mirror and flipped out.

She'd looked like Coreen's freaky twin sister, with her hair quiffed and pinned. The floral fifties dress was undoubtedly gorgeous, but Alice's chest didn't fill the darted bodice and the large circular skirt just swamped her. The icing on the cake had been the bright red lipstick.

She'd looked ridiculous. She wasn't that girl—that frilly, sexy, pouting girl. She was Alice. And Alice looked like a big fat fake in that get-up. This time Coreen hadn't been going to get her way. Alice had told her friend so in no uncertain terms, and then she'd reached for a tissue and wiped the lipstick off, leaving a wide red smudge on her cheek.

Once Coreen had got over the shock of being contradicted, she'd set to work again, agreeing that the full-on retro look maybe wasn't for Alice, but a touch of vintage might add a little pizzazz to an otherwise dull department store outfit.

So here Alice stood, the result of makeover number two. Coreen had let her keep the loose-legged chocolate trousers, as she'd said they flattered Alice's shape and made her look like Katherine Hepburn, but she'd replaced the suit jacket with a collarless forties one in deep crimson tweed. Even Alice liked the fake fabric bunch of grapes in autumn colours that adorned the breast. She's brushed out the ridiculous hairstyle and opted for a low, sleek ponytail, and had let Coreen add some lipstick in a berry shade that complemented both the jacket and her colouring.

It would have been madness to tell Coreen—it would only
have made her even more incorrigible—but Alice
did feel
smart and stylish, in a way that was uniquely
her
. At least she did until she reached the tall chipboard gates that barred her entrance to Cameron's building. Now she was tempted to turn and run away on her chunky-heeled boots. She looked back down the road to where she'd parked her car.

‘Alice Morton?'

She spun round to find a gruff-looking builder eyeing her up and down through a gap in the gate.

‘Yes,' she said, finding her voice unusually croaky.

He nodded towards the construction site. ‘This way,' he said, and cracked the gate wider so she could pass through it. ‘The boss and some of the architects are inside. I've been told to take you to them. Oh—and you'll need this.'

He jammed a bright yellow helmet on her head. Alice was relieved for the second time this morning that the quiff hadn't stayed. She'd have been digging hair pins out of her scalp for weeks if it had still been there.

She clutched the old school satchel that held her drawings and ideas—Coreen had sworn it would make a funky alternative to a boring old briefcase—and followed the man along a path towards the new Orion building.

And then she looked up and her feet forgot to walk.

Wow.

C
AMERON
had said he wanted a ‘distinctive' opening celebration, and now she saw why. These types of buildings had been considered ugly and out of fashion until relatively recently—left to crumble or bulldozed and replaced with yet another chrome and glass structure.

The building was a low rectangle, with maybe only three or four storeys—it was difficult to tell where the divisions lay, because the whole width of the building was filled with tall windows with horizontal panes, punctuated by plain white pillars and, in the centre, a fabulously ornate doorway that made her think of Greta Gabo films and Egyptian tombs all at the same time.

Alice seemed to remember the door and its stone and glass surround having been painted a sickly green in days gone by, but now the giant sunburst design that reached to the flat roof was highlighted in glossy black and gold.

She started walking again, trying to take it all in.

The stock of Coreen's Closet had always seemed so glamorous and high-quality to Alice, but in the face of such opulence it suddenly seemed a little…second-hand. Could they
really
pull this off? How did you live up to a building like this?

However, as she got closer, she reminded herself that this building had once been old and tired, and it had only taken someone with a little vision to see past the grimy exterior to the potential underneath. It too was second-hand. And didn't it look fabulous? With this thought in mind, she steeled herself and followed the builder to the main doors.

At least she'd find a friendly face inside—someone she knew she'd be totally comfortable with.

Her guide left her, and she took a moment to smooth down her jacket before she pushed at the door with diagonal glass panels. The entrance hall was dirty and dusty, but clues to its splendour were there if one looked hard enough. The floor was white marble, and she could see a contrasting interwoven border in black at the edges of the space. And, underneath a dust cloth, the corner of what must be the original wooden reception desk was visible—all sleek lines and curves.

Two men in suits—the architects, probably—were standing near a second set of double doors that were reached by three low steps spanning the width of the reception area. The men were deep in conversation, pointing things out to each other on a set of plans. Alice stood in the centre of the space, her feet together, her satchel clasped in both hands in front of her, and looked around to see if she could spot Cameron.

‘Alice?'

Her pulse did an odd little leap at the unmistakable rumble of that voice. She twisted round, first to the right and then to the left, to see where it was coming from. The acoustics in this bare space must be a little weird—because it sounded as if he was close by, but he was nowhere to be seen.

She turned to face front again, and noticed one of the architects looking at her. Her pulse did another little syncopated
skip, and this time it had nothing to do with nerves at seeing an old acquaintance again or putting her business on the line.

Time stopped and sped up all at the same time. A wave of awareness hit her so hard it was as if she'd run full pelt into a brick wall.

She hadn't paid much attention to the two men when she'd first entered, too intent on locating Cameron, but now the taller of the two had fixed her with a very intense gaze and she was feeling oddly breathless.

And then his mouth moved, and she heard her name on his lips, and everything slowed down even more and became all far away and echoey. She tried to decipher what her senses were telling her, but they were making no sense at all. The log fire and chocolate voice was coming from
that
mouth, from
those
lips…

She began to shake as he walked towards her. But not from fear; this was something totally new—a reflex she'd never known she'd possessed. She'd found men physically attractive before—of course she had—but never this…this…whatever it was.

She wanted to sit down. Or lean against something. Preferably him.

It couldn't be…could it?

As he moved towards her, his hand beginning to reach forward for hers, she studied him, and in the odd little bubble of time she found herself in there was plenty of opportunity to do so. He was still tall, but now he was broad—without being bulky. Gone was the slightly shaggy hair, replaced by a short, neat cut that did wonders for his cheekbones. Was it illegal for a man to have cheekbones that gorgeous? And even though his mouth was hard, and every line in his face an angle, she wanted to reach out and touch him—just to feel the
skin, explore the planes and creases. And his eyes…tiger's eyes. Cameron's eyes.

This was Cameron.

Finally her tongue unknotted itself. ‘H—Hi.'

She extended her hand to meet his and instantly regretted it. She could feel the trembling all the way up to her shoulders. He took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he merely clasped it and leaned forward—and down, of course—to place a feather-soft kiss on her right cheek.

Alice dropped her satchel.

 

The bag landed on his rather expensive Italian shoes and Cameron reached down and picked it up. He offered it to Alice. She fumbled with it and finally anchored it in her grasp. A horrible sense of disappointment settled in the pit of his stomach. He'd felt the quivering in her small hand and it meant only one thing. Jellyfish.

Still, he smiled as he gestured for her to follow him. No matter what he felt on the inside, he never let a glimmer of it reach the surface. He'd learned long ago that being that weak cost dearly.

She'd surprised him once again. But this time it hadn't been a nice surprise.

Where was the Alice he'd spoken to on the phone—the woman who was full of bright ideas, enthusiasm and humour?

He gave her the grand tour, showed her the sweeping white staircases with the original black cast iron railings, pointed out the boxy ceiling lamps in opaque glass, the door furniture, the floor-to-ceiling windows. Alice said nothing. Just trotted around after him, taking the odd snap with a slim digital camera. In the end he got sick of the sound of his own voice so he summoned Jeremy, the chief architect, to come and spout facts.

Alice blinked at Jeremy, with those large, changeable eyes of hers, and pulled a small black notebook out of her pocket, occasionally scribbling something in it.

The last stop on the tour was the atrium—the chosen venue for the launch party. In days gone by the factory had had a large courtyard in the centre of the building. Jeremy's firm had suggested changing nothing about the exterior walls, save a little cosmetic work, and had proposed enclosing the long rectangular area with a glass roof, carefully constructed not to ruin the line of the building.

But they didn't enter it at ground level. Cameron wanted her to have the best view, so he led the silent Alice and the chattering architect up to his suite of offices on the top floor. He'd chosen this section of the building as his domain. Soon, instead of looking out of his window and seeing the rest of the world that had yet to be conquered, he would walk out onto a balcony that ran the entire width of his office and see his kingdom: people scurrying this way and that, talking, networking, making plans and creating ideas.

From up on the balcony, overlooking the entire atrium, she'd get a sense of the vastness of the space. If
that
didn't elicit a sentence from her, he didn't know what would.

They entered his office, almost complete now, and Jeremy, who was starting to seriously get on Cameron's nerves, wittered on about the original dark wood panelling and plans for the décor. Cameron silenced him with a look, and led Alice to the double doors in the wall of glass and steel windows and opened them wide.

She gave him a quizzical look, and he stood there on the threshold and watched her walk across the balcony, which was a good twenty feet deep, until she reached the polished brass rail that topped the parapet. For a few seconds she didn't do
anything—not even breathe, it seemed to Cameron. Then her ribcage heaved and she turned to face him, her eyes sparkling. Slowly a smile blossomed, stretching her lips wider and wider until she was beaming at him.

Suddenly he realised she hadn't needed to say anything at all. Foolish of him to have required it of her.

He found himself walking to join her, an unplanned smile changing his own features. Silently, they both stared at the empty courtyard, a multi-layered geometric fountain its only feature. It was bone dry at present, but by the night of the ball, it would be bubbling joyously.

She turned to face him. ‘This is it?' she asked, her face suddenly alive. ‘Is this where the ball is going to be held?'

He nodded.

After a few seconds she returned to staring at the atrium. ‘It's perfect,' she whispered, and then she fell silent again, her eyes roving over the long horizontal windows of the offices, the simple elegant lines of the building, the white plasterwork with contrasting black paintwork that somehow seemed anything but stark, with all the light and warmth radiating from the glass roof above, creating shadows and depth.

As Alice studied his building he studied her, discarding his first impressions and looking more carefully.

He could see her mind working, and she ran the fingers of her left hand over the top of her ear in an unconscious gesture, almost as if she was smoothing down her hair under the yellow plastic hat. But her hair was in a ponytail and didn't need tidying. He was glad to see she hadn't hidden her hair colour with dye. He'd never seen anyone with a shade of red hair to match it—not that he'd been aware he'd been making comparisons all these years. It was almost
impossibly
red. So bright he couldn't do anything but stare at it as she concentrated on the view.

Alice wasn't pretty—not in the traditional sense. She didn't have dimples and a cute little nose, big blue eyes or fluttery lashes. But there was an elegance about her, a fragility that was understatedly feminine. Every tiny movement, even the redundant motion of her fingers in her hair, was full of a quiet grace that even the dusting of pale freckles across her nose and cheeks could do nothing to dispel.

No, she wasn't pretty. But she might well be beautiful one day—if she ever chose to grow into it.

‘Can we go down? Take a look around?'

There was no trace of timidity in her voice now. Her eyes were full of determination, and he could see the glint of ideas firing in their depths. He led her downstairs, saying nothing, letting her thoughts have room to grow and develop. He didn't like people who chattered uselessly. A fact that Jeremy, who was trailing after them, would do well to remember. As they reached the entrance hall, with its doors onto the courtyard, the architect opened his mouth—probably to say something about the construction of the glass roof—but Cameron waved him away. He wasn't needed any more.

Alice stepped into the atrium and was suddenly energized—almost as if she'd been hit by a bolt of lightning. She walked briskly this way and that, talking nineteen to the dozen, pulling sketches and notes out of her funny little bag, then stuffing them back in again before he'd had a chance to even glance at them.

Inwardly, he grinned. Yes,
this
was what he'd expected from her. This vision. This unbridled enthusiasm. This…passion. Working with Alice Morton wouldn't be a problem—far from it. In fact he had a hunch it might be a real pleasure.

And before he'd even realised quite how it had happened he'd joined her—talking and gesticulating and smiling.

Jeremy, the discarded architect, was standing in the entrance hall watching them—watching Cameron. His eyebrows were halfway up his forehead and he shook his head in total wonderment. If he hadn't seen the transformation in Mr Hunter himself, he'd have never believed it.

 

There was a large package waiting for Alice when she got home the next evening. She ripped open the plastic bag and discovered a folder stuffed with notes and sketches about the ball.

There was a note in black ink, written on heavy paper in a precise hand. With typical Cameronness, he hadn't bothered with pleasantries and got straight to the point:

He'd sent his PA?
Alice was tempted to laugh. What would it be like to have people snap to attention when you walked into a room, rather than tread on your toes because they hadn't noticed you standing there? Believe it or not, the latter happened to her a lot more than most people realised.

Thankfully, Jennie had obviously been a lot more together on this project than Cameron had thought. There were lists of caterers, with different ones ticked or crossed off, a note of the band that had been booked, the addresses of a number of florists. All in all, it seemed she'd been planning a wonderfully glamorous event, but…

Something was missing. Something to tie everything together.