Chapter 3
London was almost as hot as New York. Aiden scrambled out of the back of the air-conditioned company car, thanked the driver, and headed up the steps to the main door of Marlowe Developments.
The air was heavy with heat and moisture. He wiped his forearm across his forehead, swapped his case to the other hand, and walked into the cool sanctuary of reception. A constant stream of be-suited men and women flowed past him. He checked his watch. Only five o’clock. The receptionist looked as though she was packing up for the weekend. She was peering into her bag and muttering to herself, so Aiden cleared his throat.
She straightened, eyes widening as she inspected him, her gaze moving over his body to end up on his face. “Mr Marlowe?” She picked up the phone.
As far as he knew, he’d never seen her before in his life. The rumour mill must have started.
“My father’s expecting me.” He wasn’t sure why his father insisted on meeting him at the company headquarters; after all, they’d both be travelling down to Surrey together for the weekend. From what he’d gathered the previous weekend, his father had been advised to rest until he went into hospital.
The receptionist replaced the receiver. “Mr Marlowe’s secretary is on her way down to collect you. Have a good weekend.” She picked up her bag and gave him a nervous smile as she left.
Aiden frowned. It was like watching lemmings race towards the cliff edge.
“Aiden!”
He turned at the call, the sound of the familiar voice.
Francesca.
His sister hurried towards him, ignoring the worker bees as they headed for the door. “What are you doing here?” She dropped her briefcase on the tiled floor.
“Meeting with Father.”
Francesca’s dark hair coiled neatly on her head, and her make-up was still flawless despite the heat of the day. Her light blue suit was only fashionably creased, and high heels brought her almost to his height. She folded her arms. “Father shouldn’t be here. He’s been told to rest.”
“Don’t blame me,” Aiden said. “That’s what I told him. When has he ever listened to anyone else though?”
“So why does he want to meet you here?”
Aiden shrugged. “Haven’t a clue. Aren’t you involved?”
Francesca’s cheeks flushed with anger. “I didn’t even know he was coming in. And if I had, I would have stopped him.”
“Sure you would.”
“I’d have tried.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you needn’t think I’m happy about this, you two-faced snake.”
“What are you talking about?” Aiden was used to his sister’s colourful use of language, but had no idea why he was a target.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know.”
He shook his head. “Give me a clue.”
“I spend years working for father. I give everything to the company. You ran off to the US as soon as you were old enough. You haven’t done a thing for the family.” Her fists clenched. “And what happens? I’m overlooked and you’re summoned back. The prodigal, the favoured son—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Aiden interrupted her. “Like I want to be here? Don’t worry. Once Father’s on the mend, I’ll be off. I have my own life, you know?”
“How’s Sasha?”
Aiden winced. He was still raw about the Sasha fiasco.
Francesca’s anger turned to concern. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ll tell you later. Are you driving back with us?”
“No. I’m meeting Gareth, and we’ll travel down together. We’re just about to leave.” She picked up her bag.
Aiden looked at his watch. “Already?”
Francesca gave him a fierce frown, pushed him aside, and stalked to the door, body language screaming resentment. He knew he couldn’t blame her, but their father should be the target for her anger, not him. None of it was his fault.
The lift doors opened and instead of his father’s secretary, Gareth emerged.
Aiden waited. Gareth Oliver was not the sort of man he’d have chosen for his sister. Too smooth, too well-groomed, too pleased with himself, in Aiden’s opinion. He was the financial manager for Marlowe’s, and Aiden couldn’t rid himself of the idea that he was pursuing Francesca for the sake of his career. That was wrong; Francesca could do better. She was stunning as well as clever, and most of the time he was fond of her. She was his little sister.
“Hello, Gareth. What’s with the mass exodus?”
“It’s Friday afternoon. How’re things with you?”
“Okay, considering.” Aiden returned the phoney smile.
“Yes.” Gareth’s smile faded. “I’m sorry about your father.” He looked around reception. “Have you seen Francesca? I don’t think—”
“She’s gone out to the car.”
“Thanks.” Gareth joined the exodus.
Aiden swung round and collided with a fairy, a vaguely familiar fairy. She was tiny and topped with a halo of silvery blonde hair. She was the girl he’d crashed into the previous Monday, as he was rushing for his taxi to the airport.
“This is becoming a habit.” He couldn’t help smiling at her as she gaped up at him and backed away. She was cute.
Her bag fell to the floor; she bent to save it, staggered, and tripped over her long skirt. He stopped her fall by grabbing one arm.
She wriggled free, her pale skin flushing. “Sorry. I’ve got to stop doing this.” Sparkling blue eyes flashed up at him.
“My fault this time.” He thought his quick assessment was subtle, but she raised a pale eyebrow and grinned before whirling round and rushing for the door. She was a sexy fairy, and he had to stop himself from following her. She stood out among the dark suits like a peacock among mallards, and he wondered what she was doing in the building. Surely, she doesn’t work here? Nothing about her fit into the corporate scene.
She hurried through the automatic doors, her hair swinging behind her. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was streaked with blonde, silver, and a dark chocolate brown. He peered into the group of people disappearing down the stairs, trying to catch a final glimpse, but she’d gone.
When he turned back, Elaine, his father’s secretary, was waiting.