Becky looked at him over the top of her glasses, before remembering she wasn’t wearing them. ‘Not interested?! We are talking about the woman who just introduced you to her mother and spent the past twenty minutes draped all over you?’
How much encouragement did he need? She never understood why clients were reluctant to grab the opportunities she put under their noses. Perhaps they wanted a silver platter too.
She gave his pocket a final pat. ‘You don’t have to ask her today. But don’t leave it too long.’ She leant back against the wall and glanced at her watch. ‘I have to go soon: I told Phoebe I’d be home by eleven.’
‘I’ll give you a lift.’
‘Don’t worry. I brought Phoebe’s car. Well done again on that one, by the way. You must be in the running for Dad of the Year.’
Charlie smiled and straightened up while Becky glanced at her watch again and shivered. Steely draughts were sneaking under the main doors and sweeping across the lobby. The heat she had built up while in the near-tropical conditions next door had worn off.
Before she could protest, Charlie had removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. He took her hands in his. ‘You’re freezing!’
‘I’m fine. You know I’m always cold.’
He enclosed her right hand in both of his and tried to rub some heat into it. ‘You haven’t been wearing gloves when cleaning.’ He tutted. ‘Again.’
He was right. She never remembered or it was quicker not to bother. The result was dry, cracked skin between her fingers and over her knuckles, and finger pads she could use to scour pans.
‘I know. My nails are terrible. I was cleaning the window casements and I scrubbed my hands with one of Dylan’s old toothbrushes, but I couldn’t get it all off. I swear this stuff is Jurassic. And don’t ask me where that bruise came from because I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘I guess it must have hurt at the time.’
She watched him at work, using gentle circular motions to mix some red into the blue tinge which had taken over her flesh. Trust Charlie to notice her hands were a mess.
‘Anyway, yours are nearly as bad,’ she said. ‘You should use gloves when cleaning your brushes. Turpentine and washing-up liquid, or whatever it is you use, dries your skin something shocking. Look!’ She grabbed both his hands and used her thumbs to point at his knuckles. ‘Desperately in need of some love.’
To reinforce her point, she ran her thumbs along the cracked skin on the backs of his fingers. As she moved her hands, his wedding ring winked in the light. Why he was still wearing it?
Her thumb wandered unchecked and grazed the offending gold band, making Charlie flinch. She began to apologise but when she looked up the words evaporated as her mouth went dry.
Today truly was full of surprises.
Charlie was giving her a look she hadn’t seen in almost three years. She imagined it was close to how she gazed at chocolate and a cup of tea at the end of a hard day.
For the first time, his warm brown eyes gave her an uncanny feeling, as though she was falling away from them even though they were getting closer.
He brushed his fingertips along her forearms and murmured her name.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up to join those on her arms and her thoughts derailed, piling up in a smouldering heap. As he stepped closer she fought to get back on track. This would make things awkward. She worked for him and, although she would never admit it, she agreed with Rachel on something: romantic involvement with your boss was a bad idea.
Charlie raised his right hand and brushed a stray strand of hair away from her neck. His lips were a few inches from hers, and yet she still failed to react. This was absurd! He’d just been playing happy families with Rachel. What the hell was going on?
Don’t look up, she told herself. Eyes forward. His tie. Focus on the tie. Not his arms. Not his strong arms and how great they look in that shirt. Argh! Focus, Becky. A gracious exit strategy. How hard could that be to come up with?
But her brain was being drowned in a surge of hormones and was far too busy imagining Charlie shirtless. Then shirtless and wearing his glasses. Oh God.
Desperate, she laid a hand on his chest, halting his advance. ‘Um, sorry … but I’m … I don’t feel too well. I think I should get some water.’ She sidestepped towards the banqueting hall. ‘Would you like some?’
Charlie stuffed his hands into his pockets and gave her an almost imperceptible nod. His mouth was set in a tight line and his eyes were downcast. The frown had returned.
She turned and all but ran from the room.
Chapter 35
The few feet back to the reception seemed to be on a steep incline and littered with broken glass. It was a relief to make it through the door and find an empty chair. Leaning forward, she rested her head in her hands and waited for her pulse to slow.
Once she trusted her legs to bear her weight, she made for the bar. Having removed Charlie’s jacket, she folded it and draped it over the stool next to her.
She was stroking the soft material, running her fingertips around the collar, when the teenager masquerading as a barman asked, ‘Champagne?’
Becky shook her head. ‘Two glasses of water, please. And could you give me my bag? I put it back there earlier.’
‘Sure,’ he said, retrieving her handbag from under the bar. ‘By the way, there’s a woman over there who’s been staring at you since you came in. Not in a good way.’
Becky followed his glance. In the corner, Rachel was propped against a table. Glaring at her. Their eyes met for a moment. Becky shivered. Rachel emptied her glass, slammed it down on the table and strode towards the exit.
‘I guess she’s finally had enough,’ the bartender said as the lobby door swung closed. Winking at Becky, he left the glasses of water on the bar. ‘Amazing she can still stand with the skinful she’s had tonight.’
Becky gave him a weak smile as she hooked her bag onto her shoulder, folded Charlie’s jacket over her arm and picked up the drinks. Having dragged her feet back across the room, she paused at the door to take a sip of water and think.
She had done the right thing. Assuming that Charlie had been about to kiss her, he would have regretted it. He was nervous about getting close to Rachel, uncertain about whether she would reject his invitation to the ball. So he had reached out to her because she was reliable, sturdy Becky. The red, flustered woman who came running to his aid at the drop of a nothing more than a phone call. Surely that woman would be flattered anyone would want to kiss her, never mind a handsome, renowned artist?
She had definitely done the right thing. Nevertheless, she cringed at her own clumsiness. Had she really used the swooning maiden excuse? Then again, what was the alternative? Looking up into those dark lonely eyes and saying, ‘I’m sorry Charlie, I’d love you to carry me off in those fine strong arms of yours but, as I work for you, it would make things too damn weird’?
No. It had been the toe-curling but sensible option. The alternative … Well, what would that have been like?
She bit her lip as a timid voice whispered: What if it wouldn’t have been a mistake? What if he likes you? You. Yes, it seems unlikely, but it is possible, isn’t it?
This time, rather than dismissing the idea, she inched towards it. Apart from the fact he was currently her boss, she couldn’t see any other reason why their friendship couldn’t develop into something more. And she wouldn’t be working for him for much longer.