Eve Devon - The Love List

‘Ha,’ squinting at the screen, she clicked on several entries. ‘Right. I need something containing acetone chemicals.’ She scrolled down the page. ‘Otherwise known as…nail-varnish remover.’ She turned to Fern, who was looking over her shoulder. ‘Here’s the part where you tell me you never leave the house without nail-varnish remover?’

‘Oh, sweetie.’

‘Nooo! Come on,’ Nora looked skywards, ‘I asked for help and everything. Oh,’ Nora sat bolt upright as a new thought occurred. ‘Shops. Shops will save me.’ She looked at the expression on Fern’s face. ‘If they were actually open, that is.’ Whose bright idea had it been to have the meeting at 8 a.m. anyway? It was like some sort of weird conspiracy.

‘I have to win this pitch, Fern. I have to. I can’t f—’ Nora broke off and hung her head as the full enormity of what she’d been about to admit hit her. The last thing she needed was to give Fern the impression she was about to crumble if she failed.

Her vision blurred as she looked down at her hand. She’d have to cancel the pitch. So be it. These things happened. Except, usually she did everything in her power to ensure that these things didn’t happen. Not to her. Providing strong leadership had been what she’d been trained to do by the best in the business—her father. She hated that lately, every business move she made, had her questioning herself. When she’d heard on the grapevine that Eleanor Moorfield was thinking about returning to London, Nora had suited-up, taken the gamble and approached her directly. Now, it stung to have to admit that a little multi-tasking may have defeated her and made her look as if she wasn’t quite as super-efficient and in control as she liked to appear. It was beginning to look as if she deliberately sabotaged her own success.

She breathed in sharply. She did not like the sound of that. Not one little bit.

‘Why can’t you ask someone else to do the pitch for you?’ Ethan asked from where he was stationed the other side of her. ‘You must have account managers who usually handle this sort of thing.’

‘I don’t want to ask any of them to handle this particular meeting for me,’ Nora answered, realising the statement looked as though she couldn’t delegate. Why hadn’t she said something more along the lines of: she liked to lead by example or keep her hand in? Not that she needed to explain herself to him.

‘Why don’t I do the pitch for you?’ Ethan asked.

Nora’s mouth dropped open and she craned her head to look up at him as if he was insane. The raised eyebrow she got back in response suggested its owner cared not one jot what she thought of him.

‘Why don’t you…?’ Again she flapped her hand-shoe in his face. ‘Because despite all evidence to the contrary, I’m in the market of showing KPC in the best possible light at all times. I’m not about to put a complete stranger into a meeting it’s taken me weeks to set up. I don’t know you from Adam.’

‘Hey,’ Ethan held up his hands as if to ward off any histrionics. ‘I rather thought you were making a case for all hands to the pumps. But go ahead. Be Miss Independent. It’s working out really well for you, so far.’

Indignation battled alongside embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry, I seem to have missed the part where you mentioned you were a property acquisitions lawyer, salesman or account manager or used to securing major business contracts.’ She raked her gaze down to his battered trainers and back up again. ‘You’re not even dressed appropriately.’

‘But maybe he could do it, Nora,’ Fern said.

Her head whipped in the opposite direction to stare at Fern. ‘You’ve only just met the man.’

‘But, well, he’s kind of family, isn’t he?’

‘He is not family. Besides, if he’s anything like his brother, he’ll get distracted by something pretty before he even gets to the meeting.’

In the stark silence Nora couldn’t quite believe she’d been so rude. Asking for help was new enough to her. Graciously accepting it was obviously still at the conceptual stage.

The urge to run and escape was immense. A feeling that was becoming increasingly persistent of late.

‘It seems to me,’ Ethan said, as if her words had had no effect, ‘you need someone who can represent your company without making a fool of himself, charm the client into outlining their needs and then promise you can deliver those needs within a reasonable time and for a reasonable fee. I don’t see a problem. I am such a guy.’

His arrogance astonished her. But while she sat there staring at him like a stunned mullet, couldn’t she actually see him charming Eleanor Moorfield right out of her shoes?

‘The idea is preposterous,’ she said to counteract the vivid imagery.

‘Clock’s ticking,’ he said patiently, testing her resolve.

‘You’re not even wearing a suit.’

He turned to indicate two travel bags stowed by the desk and she remembered he had said he’d come from the airport.

Her mind raced. It would take months to scout out another client the size and scope of the Moorfield brand. By then, KPC might still be surviving, but would it be flourishing under her guidance? What would she have if she didn’t have KPC? Her brother Jared had his own corporation and a beautiful new fiancée. Her sister, Sephy, had a fledgling business and a darling daughter. It was up to her to keep the family company run by someone in the family. She couldn’t bear the thought that she might run her father’s legacy into the ground—not when she believed so much in the company and not after Jared had helped her set KPC back on track for a bright future.

She looked at Ethan. At this point, what did she have to lose? If he didn’t land the account, no one within KPC would be any the wiser and she’d just work her butt off finding another lucrative contract to beef up the company’s profile. If he did land the account…

No.

She shouldn’t even be entertaining the idea.

But the thought of the Moorfield account slipping away…

She looked at the wall clock before her gaze settled back on Ethan. ‘But why would you help?’ she asked without filtering.

For the first time since she’d laid eyes upon him, his casual demeanour altered slightly and for all the caution she threw at herself, she was intrigued by the chink in this knight’s armour.

‘Call it family loyalty,’ he said, obliquely.

‘So in between rescuing damsels, what is it you actually do?’

Ethan heard Nora ask the question from where she’d nervously set up camp outside her executive bathroom door. Whatever she’d taken from his reference to family loyalty had had her relenting and agreeing to show him the presentation after he got changed into a suit.

Ethan braced his hands on the marble vanity and stared hard into the bronze-toned mirror in front of him.

What was it he actually did?

Allegedly he was in the business of helping people. Whether he continued to get to do that was another matter altogether after the risk-assessment report was filed.

Turning away from the mirror, he searched his bag for his wash kit. He didn’t know what all the fuss was about. He’d got the kid out, hadn’t he? Like any other member of the team would have left him there if there’d been even the remotest chance of getting him out. He hadn’t placed anyone else in danger. Surely the important thing was that Pietro was alive and hopefully back with his family by now—not whether going into that building had been reckless and against protocol.

Ethan turned back to the mirror and ran a hand over his day-old stubble, realising he didn’t have time for a shave anyway.