In the Rich Man's World Page 9

‘No.’ Navy eyes peered over the top of his paper. ‘Are you going to try and tell me that you did?’

  God, why did he have to be so direct? Why couldn’t he act like any normal person and pretend that last night’s events simply hadn’t happened?

  ‘I did, actually,’ Amelia lied, spooning sugar into her tea and getting most of it on the table. She damn well wasn’t going to tell him she’d spent the night pinned to the bed, simultaneously reeling at her boldness, her utter stupidity for going into his room so inappropriately dressed, for responding to his kisses with such blatant ease, yet all the while berating her self for terminating it.

  His words had stung her to the core. All night she’d played them over in her mind—too terrified to flick on the kettle in case he heard her, reluctant to go out on the balcony in case he saw her. Knowing that with one crook of his manicured finger she’d run to him, that with one more taste of that decadent mouth she’d fall into his bed with nothing to save her.

  ‘Vaughan—please!’ Still she spoke to the sports page. ‘If this is about last night…’ She held her breath as the paper slowly dropped, his eyes frowning as he met hers. ‘If this silent treatment—’

  ‘Silent treatment?’ He shook his head, a mirthless smile almost evident on his taut lips, then to her utter fury lifted the paper again and proceeded to read.

  ‘Look, if this is going to affect our working relationship…’

  ‘Amelia, on reflection you made a very valid point last night.’ Vaughan slowly folded up his paper and placed it on the table beside him as she sat squirming with embarrassment. He stretched out her discomfort for as long as possible before finally continuing. ‘Perhaps people should get to know each other before they sleep together. Maybe people should know that just because someone chooses not to bounce across to the breakfast table squawking like a galah, it doesn’t mean that they’re ruing the fact they didn’t get their rocks off last night, but that they are quite simply people who like at least a few micrograms of caffeine in their system before they enter into a deep and meaningful discussion.’

  ‘Getting your rocks off?’ Amelia sneered, embarrassed at her overreaction, yet sure, quite sure, that she had been right—that Vaughan ‘in control’ Mason was seriously rattled because, unlike most women, she hadn’t succumbed to his undeniably skilful charms. ‘I made more than one valid point last night, Vaughan. And a man who refers to it as “getting his rocks off” really isn’t the type of guy I want to be sharing a bed with.’

  ‘And a woman who refers to sex as “it” clearly doesn’t know how to enjoy herself!’

  ‘So I’m frigid, am I?’

  She saw the tiny upward flicker of his eyebrow, knew that she had shocked him slightly, but years spent in journalism had taught Amelia not to shy away from embarrassing subjects, to face tough conversations head-on. This was tough, supremely difficult, but she was damn well going to see it through.

  ‘Are you trying to say that because I—heaven for bid—chose not to sleep with you it means that deep down I can’t really like sex very much? That it has nothing to do with the fact that I didn’t want to be yet another notch on your well-worn bedpost? Does the fact I demand more of myself than to be another of your conquests mean, according to your fragile male ego, that I don’t really like it very much at all? Oh, sorry,’ Amelia snarled a correction, ‘you don’t like that word, do you? I meant to say—’

  ‘I get the picture.’ A hand shot up to stop her. He was clearly embarrassed at her boldness, for once looking anything other than cool. ‘Look, let’s just for get it, shall we?’

  ‘That’s what I was trying to do this morning,’ Amelia pointed out. ‘For your information, I’m not a morning person either.’

  ‘Can we please start again?’ Vaughan asked, and after a moment on her high horse Amelia relented.

  ‘Good morning, Vaughan.’

  ‘Good morning, Amelia. Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Actually, no. How about you?’

  ‘Terribly.’ He slipped in one tiny cheat. ‘I had, er, rather pressing things on my mind.’ Seeing her cheeks darken he finally gave in with an apologetic smile. ‘Would you think that I was avoiding you if I said I need to ditch you for the morning.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Amelia shrugged. ‘Like I said, I was surprised how many meetings I got into yesterday. Anyway, I’ve got plenty of work I should be doing.’

  ‘What if I also said that I need to speak with Mr Cheng alone this afternoon?’

  Peeling open a croissant with slightly shaky hands and spooning jam onto it, she gave a pale smile. ‘Then I’d be starting to think that maybe you are avoiding me after all. Not really.’ She smiled when she saw his slightly worried frown. ‘Vaughan, I always knew there would be things I couldn’t come along to. I’m not a child you have to amuse for the day. I’ll be completely fine.’

  ‘We could meet for lunch—’ He gave a small wince almost before the sentence was out.

  ‘Except…?’ Amelia said for him.

  ‘I’ve just remembered that I’ve arranged to meet someone.’ He hesitated for longer than usual, his frown deepening, then eyed her cautiously, as if weighing up whether or not to continue. ‘I suppose you could come, but given your career revelations, how off the record is off the record?’

  ‘It’s completely non-negotiable,’ Amelia replied, utterly without hesitation. ‘Your secrets are safe with me. They just help.’ Realising he didn’t understand, she elaborated slightly. ‘Help me to form a picture in my mind. But just because I know something it doesn’t mean I have to reveal it.’

  ‘You’re quite sure about that?’

  He’d really piqued her interest now. For the first time he was cagey and hesitant, and it only served to intrigue her more, but Amelia knew when to hold back, knew when to feign uninterest—at least when it was about work. ‘Look, you do your lunch and I’ll catch up with you later this evening—tomorrow, even. It really isn’t a big deal.’

  ‘I’m meeting with one of the directors of a children’s hospital.’ Vaughan grimaced slightly, as if he regretted even saying it. ‘Every year I give a small donation.’

  ‘So small that they take you out for lunch when you’re in town?’ Amelia said shrewdly.

  ‘Okay, a significant donation,’ Vaughan admitted reluctantly. ‘The thing is, Sam, he’s the director, is doing his best to persuade me to go public with my support.’

  ‘Why don’t you?’ Amelia asked, her tone completely matter of fact. ‘Almost every celebrity I’ve ever interviewed has done the rounds of the children’s wards to soften their image.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Vaughan replied, his voice suddenly curt. ‘But I’m hardly a celebrity.’

  ‘But you are, Vaughan,’ Amelia pointed out. ‘You’re good-looking, impossibly rich, reeking of scandal and still single! Take it from a woman who knows—you’re a celebrity! Why don’t you want me to use this? Heaven knows, a piece of good publicity couldn’t hurt you right now.’

  ‘So I should ask a couple of sick kids to pose with me?’

  ‘You wouldn’t be the first,’ Amelia responded. ‘And you would be doing some good—it might make a few other business magnates dig deeper.’

  ‘So why not get the mileage?’

  Now it was Amelia feeling shallow, all of a sudden uncomfortable with the conversation.

  ‘Those children don’t know me, Amelia. I’m not some popstar they adore, waltzing onto the ward for a photo shoot. I’m just a guy in a suit…’

  ‘Who donates a lot of money.’ She saw his lips tighten. ‘Come on, Vaughan. A significant amount to you would be a fortune to most people. And maybe the children won’t know you, but their parents will…’

  ‘I’m sure if their child’s sick enough to be there they’ll have other things on their mind. Amelia this is something I do because I want to—something just for me. That’s what I’m going to explain to Sam today. He’s hoping that if I go public it might trigger a few more in the business community
to get involved.’

  ‘Which can surely only be a good thing?’ Amelia answered, still not entirely convinced.

  She’d heard too many celebrities insisting this was something they wanted to do, been to too many contrived charity dos for a cynical edge not to have evolved. And if that sounded hard, she didn’t care. At the end of the day the hospitals needed the money and Vaughan needed the positive publicity—it was win-win as far as Amelia was concerned.

  ‘If you’re so intent on it being kept private, then why are you asking me along? Why are you asking a journalist to an intensely private lunch.’

  ‘You don’t mince your words, do you?’ Vaughan smiled almost reluctantly.

  ‘I don’t like being fed a line.’ Amelia shrugged, happier now they were on safer ground. She was back—maybe not back at the driver’s wheel, but at least up in the passenger seat, shoulder to shoulder with this complicated man.

  For as long as it took for her second up of coffee to be poured!

  ‘I listened to what you said about the bigger picture. I figure that an hour in Sam’s company might bring you on board, and an up-and-coming journalist on side can only be a good thing for the hospital.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Placing a hand over his cup, he refused a refill, waiting till the waiter had walked away before standing up. ‘Can I let the restaurant know to expect one more?’

  An extremely significant donation might have been a better description, Amelia decided as she handed over her jacket and stepped into the restaurant. Wafts of herbs and garlic filled the air, along with the pop of corks, and there was the luxurious feel of deep carpet beneath her feet. Small donations surely didn’t merit this five-star treatment.

  A frown formed as Amelia glanced over to Vaughan’s table and then at her watch. Vaughan had specifically told her one p.m. and she was five minutes early—yet already he and his companion were clearly at the coffee stage.

  ‘Amelia.’ The consummate host, Vaughan stood up and greeted her, introducing her to Sam and guiding her to a seat. ‘I’m sorry about this, but something came up and we had to switch times.’

  ‘My fault, I’m afraid,’ Sam apologised, while not looking remotely sorry. ‘I’ve got an afternoon appointment which means that I’m going to have to wrap this up.’

  ‘Now that you’ve got what you wanted,’ Vaughan said dryly, and Amelia frowned at the rather obvious irritation in his voice.

  ‘You’ll be great, Vaughan.’ Sam grinned. ‘It’s for the kids, remember?’ He smiled over to Amelia. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Jacobs. Hopefully we’ll see you at the charity auction on Thursday.’

  Glancing briefly over, she saw Vaughan shake his head, his eyes demanding her to say no. But in a curiously defiant gesture she smiled at the rather pushy Sam.

  ‘Is that an invitation?’

  ‘It certainly is.’ Sam beamed. ‘We can use all the publicity we can get. Don’t worry, Vaughan—’ his wide smile wasn’t reciprocated ‘—you’ll be just fine. Oh, and before I forget—do you have those tickets you promised?’

  Unclipping his briefcase, Vaughan pulled out a stiff white envelope, handing it over to Sam before shaking his hand and bidding him goodbye.

  ‘Well, that was enlightening,’ Amelia said with more than a vague hint of sarcasm as Marcus walked off. ‘I’ll certainly get a lot of mileage out of that lunch.’

  ‘Bloody salesmen,’ Vaughan snapped at the departing back.

  ‘I thought he was one of the directors from the hospital.’

  ‘He’s in the wrong job, then,’ Vaughan clipped, but he didn’t elaborate further.

  Amelia’s curiosity was seriously piqued. She felt as if she’d rushed in at the end of something and missed the important part—like watching her favourite soap without knowing what had happened last week.

  ‘What was in the envelope?’ Amelia asked, but Vaughan didn’t even attempt an explanation.

  ‘Have something to eat.’

  ‘I’m actually not that hungry, Vaughan. If you didn’t want me here, you should have just said.’

  ‘Sam rescheduled at the last moment,’ Vaughan argued.

  Amelia fished in her bag, frowning as she pulled out her mobile. ‘I can’t see your message here, Vaughan.’

  ‘Because there isn’t one,’ Vaughan responded easily, completely ignoring her sarcasm. ‘There isn’t one because I knew if I tried to reschedule then you’d assume I was making excuses and wouldn’t come.’

  ‘You were right,’ Amelia clipped. ‘But only about the fact I wouldn’t have come. Vaughan, I do have an article to write. I’ve dragged myself through the city for a meal I don’t really want to sit with a person I’ll no doubt be seeing this evening.’

  ‘I thought the entire purpose of this exercise was to get to know me better,’ Vaughan retorted, flashing a triumphant smile.

  ‘Attempting to get to know you better,’ Amelia corrected. ‘You don’t exactly give much away. It’s like pulling teeth without an anaesthetic, trying to extract information from you. Everything I manage to glean you counter with an “off the record” reminder.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Amelia.’ Vaughan gave her a look that showed her he was anything but moved. ‘If you can’t fashion a story after all the meetings you’ve been in, then you’re not the journalist I thought you were. You don’t have to name names all the time.’

  ‘It’s not them I’m interested in, though,’ Amelia retorted. ‘I meant what I said last night. It’s a portrayal of you that I want to do, not a bloody business piece.’ She took a deep breath, shook her head as the waiter handed her a menu.

  The truth of the matter was she was struggling with contrary emotions. As much as she wanted to get to know him better, as much as she needed more information to write the piece she really wanted to write, she was terrified of being alone with him again—had been secretly relieved at the chance to spend a day licking her wounds and hopefully fashioning her brain into some sort of order before the next onslaught of emotional torture Vaughan so easily generated. She’d needed the space to get her head together, to ring a girlfriend and beg for sensibility before she surely caved in. A business lunch she could just about have dealt with, but an hour or two up close and personal with Vaughan Mason was way too much for her shredded emotions right now.

  ‘Come on—have something,’ Vaughan pushed, retrieving the menu and placing it in front of her. ‘You can’t come all this way and not eat.’

  But the thought of chasing spaghetti around her plate in her present state, with Vaughan calmly watching on, wasn’t particularly palatable.

  ‘I’d far rather have a sandwich sent up to my hotel room,’ Amelia resisted, hoisting her bag up onto her shoulder. ‘I know you’re busy, Vaughan, and, as I said this morning, you really don’t have to babysit me—this was a business lunch that should have been rescheduled, not a date you’ve somehow managed to break and need to make up for. A phone call would have sufficed.’

  ‘We could share a cheese platter,’ Vaughan responded, completely dismissing her entire statement, obviously happy with his choice and clicking his fingers to summon the waiter, not even bothering to check if it was okay with Amelia.

  ‘I could have a raving lactose intolerance,’ Amelia bristled. ‘I could blow up like a soccerball at the mere sight of cheese!’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘No, but that isn’t the point.’

  Despite his bland expression, she knew he was laughing at her.

  ‘Would you care for some wine?’ Vaughan checked. ‘Or does that bring you out in hives?’

  ‘Water will be fine.’

  ‘So, what have you written about me so far?’

  Amelia nearly knocked over her glass at his way too direct question.

  ‘Am I allowed to look?’

  ‘No!’ Perish the thought.

  Amelia gave a visible shudder. The thought of anyone reading her work at this stage filled her with horror, but it had nothing to do with what
she’d written—was more the complete lack of it. Though she damn well wasn’t going to tell anyone that she’d barely got past the first paragraph, that her mind was constantly wandering. This whole morning, when she should have been working, had been spent reluctantly recalling the sheer heady bliss of being held by him, and, as intimate as she wanted her piece to be, she certainly wasn’t about to share that with her readers.

  ‘That bad, huh?’

  ‘Worse,’ Amelia said with a teasing smile. ‘Actually, I haven’t touched on your appalling arrogance yet. I’m saving that for this afternoon’s session.’

  ‘Maybe you should have some wine after all. It might help soften the edges a bit.’

  ‘Come on, Vaughan,’ Amelia moaned. ‘You have to give me something here. What’s this about a charity auction on Thursday?’

  ‘I’m the auctioneer,’ Vaughan sighed, and Amelia finally started to laugh.

  ‘This I have to see!’

  Vaughan rolled his eyes. ‘Please let’s not talk about it. And even if I have to strap you to the bed, there’s no way you’re coming to watch.’

  Ouch!

  As innocent as it had been, in their present rather fragile state any mention of bed had them both inwardly cringing. And, though she couldn’t be sure, Amelia could have sworn she saw the first hint of a blush darken his cheeks at the small faux pas.

  ‘But I’ve been invited.’ Amelia grinned, enjoying his moment of discomfort. ‘I wouldn’t dream of missing it! So what’s it in aid of? The children’s hospital?’

  ‘Actually, it’s the cystic fibrosis unit holding it. Apparently they urgently need to purchase some piece of equipment, but the budget has already been allocated for this financial year, so rather than waiting they’ve decided to bite the bullet and raise the money themselves.’

  ‘And what’s your role in this? Apart from being the auctioneer?’ Amelia grinned again. ‘I assume that was a last-minute addition?’

  ‘You assume correctly. I donated a holiday—that envelope contained the tickets—ten nights for two in Fiji at a luxury resort…’ He smiled as Amelia let out a blissful sigh.