Corporate Attraction

Belinda Wright

Description

When Nicole's friend introduces her to Chris, the physical attraction is irresistible. A steamy affair with an executive is just the thing to take Nicole's mind off the impending work reorganisation. With redundancy looming, the weekend with the sexy businessman doesn't disappoint. But as the restructure rolls out Nicole soon discovers Chris Reeves is the consultant driving her company's organisational change, making him strictly off limits. As their professional paths cross Chris and Nicole are forced to pretend they don't know each other. Harder still, they have to fight their mutual attraction. Nicole is thrown into turmoil having to choose between relocation to the other side of the world or redundancy, whilst staying professional and stirring clear of the consultant she's intimately acquainted with.Maybe redundancy would be the best option? Then their professional connection would cease, Chris would be fair game and Nicole wouldn't have to move, she could stay with her friends and family. But is her career worth that compromise?

Sujets

• Contemporary romance

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 24 mars 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781838598624
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Copyright © 2020 Belinda Wright

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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ISBN 978 1838598 624

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A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd
Contents
Chapter One – Nicole
Chapter Two – Nicole
Chapter Three – Chris
Chapter Four – Nicole
Chapter Five – Nicole
Chapter Six – Nicole
Chapter Seven – Nicole
Chapter Eight – Nicole
Chapter Nine – Chris
Chapter Ten – Nicole
Chapter Eleven – Nicole
Chapter Twelve – Chris
Chapter Thirteen – Nicole
Chapter Fourteen – Nicole
Chapter Fifteen – Chris
Chapter Sixteen – Nicole
Chapter Seventeen – Chris
Chapter Eighteen – Nicole
Chapter Nineteen – Chris
Chapter Twenty – Nicole
Chapter Twenty-One – Chris
Chapter Twenty-Two – Nicole
Chapter Twenty-Three – Nicole
Chapter Twenty-Four – Nicole
Chapter Twenty-Five – Chris
Chapter Twenty-Six – Nicole
Chapter Twenty-Seven – Chris
Chapter Twenty-Eight – Nicole
Chapter Twenty-Nine – Chris
Chapter Thirty – Nicole
Chapter Thirty-One – Chris
Chapter Thirty-Two – Nicole
Chapter Thirty-Three – Chris
Chapter Thirty-Four – Nicole
Chapter Thirty-Five – Nicole
Epilogue
Chapter One – Nicole
The front door buzzes open. I push it and step out of the warm evening air into the dark hallway. I shiver, draw my shawl tighter around my shoulders and hurry up the narrow staircase.
‘It’s open,’ Luna calls from the top.
‘Hi,’ I say when I reach her flat.
‘Hi, Nic.’ Luna smiles at me. ‘You look beautiful.’ She tucks a strand of blonde curls behind her ear and frowns. ‘But what’s with the shawl?’
‘Beautiful, huh?’ I stroke the black lace fringe that covers my arms. The fabric is embroidered with tiny black beads and iridescent sequins. It’s one I picked up on a business trip in India. Fabrics are my passion; I’m drawn to them like a magpie. I collect them – the shinier the better.
‘Yes, it is beautiful, but why are you wearing it?’ Luna asks, moving to the kitchen and taking a bottle of white wine out of the fridge. She fills a glass and hands it to me.
‘I thought it was perfect for a salsa evening.’ I shake my shoulders and the black fringing shimmies over my bare skin. She looks at me, turning her head slightly.
‘OK, and I’m cold,’ I mutter.
‘Nic, it’s, like, twenty-eight degrees outside and it’ll be hotter in the club. You don’t need a shawl. And what’s with the Doc Martens? You’re not seriously going to wear those?’
‘Of course not.’ I hold up the high heels I brought with me then drop down on the chair by the table and put my foot up to unlace my boots. I glance up at Luna as she heads to her bedroom; she’s wearing a black tunic dress embellished with silver sequins. It suits her curves, hugging her figure. Luna’s a good friend. I’ve only known her a year, since I started at Stylez, but it feels like we’ve been friends much longer.
‘So, take me through it again – we’re not allowed to mention our jobs tonight?’
‘No,’ Luna gasps, stopping halfway to her bedroom and staring at me as if I’m mad.
I swallow a smile. ‘Right.’ I tap my temple pretending to commit it to memory. ‘I’m not a menswear apparel developer. And you’re not a womenswear apparel developer.’
‘That’s right.’
‘We don’t work at Stylez?’ I confirm. We’ve already been through this today in the office, but I hate lying and I know I’ll mess up if I don’t get it straight.
‘No,’ she says as if talking to a child. ‘You’re a yoga teacher. Like me.’
‘Right, we’re yoga teachers,’ I repeat as she goes into the bedroom to finish her make-up.
‘Yup.’
‘I’ve got no idea about yoga, by the way,’ I call. ‘I do Pilates, not yoga. I know people think they’re similar, but they’re not that close. Not really.’
She puts her head around the bedroom door, mascara wand in hand. ‘They’re not going to ask you details, Nic.’
I walk to her bedroom and lean on the doorframe. ‘But tell me again. Why did you lie to Brent?’
She swallows and bites her lip. ‘It was an accident. If I’d have known I would see him again I would never have lied.’
‘So why did you?’
‘When I met him at the airport, I thought he was just some arrogant American businessman acting like he’s better than everyone else. I wanted him to think I wasn’t anything like him, nothing to do with the corporate world at all.’
‘Luna, being an apparel developer at Stylez isn’t exactly corporate.’ I sit down on her bed.
‘Stylez is a big American company, I just wanted him to think I was the opposite of everything he is. You know spiritual, caring, in touch with the senses.’
‘So, you told him you’re a yoga teacher?’
‘Yes, and it’s not a complete lie. I did teach yoga when I lived in Bali.’ I take a breath, and she continues. ‘I mean, we were in an airport bar, Nic. In Amsterdam. I had no idea I’d ever see this man again, let alone have a … thing with him.’
I lie back on her bed, pick up an embroidered cushion and run my finger over the golden thread bordering the bright geometric pattern. ‘I like this.’ I wave the cushion at her.
‘It’s from Bali. Nice, huh?’
I study the cushion. I’ve got some fabric like this at home; I should make cushions out it. I could do it easily because I studied garment engineering and pattern making at college. I sit up, squeezing the padded cushion. ‘But why don’t you just tell Brent the truth about your job now?’
‘How can I tell him the truth?’ She looks shocked. ‘Then he’ll know I lied.’
‘But surely it’s better to tell the truth now rather than keep the lie going?’
She turns to me, pursing her lips. ‘Brent’s leaving at the end of this week. He’s in England for a project and his part is finishing, so he’ll be flying back to the US. I’ll never see him again after next week, so what’s the point of ruining the few days we’ve got left together? Please, Nic, it’s just a white lie. All you need to do is go along with my story.’
I hold up my hands. ‘I will, I will. I won’t mention Stylez. I’m a yoga teacher.’ I’ve only worked at Stylez as a menswear developer for a year. It’s not my dream job, but I like it. It’s in Reading, so I don’t have a long commute. When I was at school, I dreamt of being a designer. I’d spend ages doodling sketches of clothes I would create. Most people on my college design course just wanted to design, as in draw pretty pictures of clothes. I wanted to do more than just design. I was fascinated by creating clothes – I wanted to choose the fabrics, cut them and construct them into perfectly fitting garments. After college I studied garment engineering and pattern making. I was going to go to university and do a design degree, but then everything changed. My mum left my dad and my world fell apart. I couldn’t leave my dad too. So I didn’t. I stayed in Reading and gave up my place at Fashion Design school. I’m just as happy being a textile developer and I still do some design for myself.
I stand up and touch my toes. ‘Good job all those Pilates lessons have made me flexible.’
Luna looks at me, a bottle of perfume in her hand. ‘You really do look good, by the way. That colour suits your skin tone.’
‘Thanks.’ I swivel at the waist so the skirt of my short red dress flares out. ‘I thought it was right for a salsa night.’ I take my glass of wine and follow her out of the bedroom.
‘I’m looking forward to seeing what Cubano’s is like.’ Luna sips her wine.
‘I can’t believe you’ve not been there before. It opened months ago.’
‘I’ve been working a lot,’ she says. The doorbell buzzes. ‘That’ll be the taxi.’
I swallow the last of my wine, pull my shawl around my shoulders and follow her to the door.
‘You don’t need that shawl.’
‘No, I guess not.’ I drop it on her chair. ‘Let’s go. In the car you can tell me about Brent’s friend.’ I follow her down the stairs and out to the waiting taxi.

I climb out of the taxi, stepping carefully onto the pavement so as not to damage my heels. Reading centre is as busy tonight as it is at peak shopping times, only the street is full of people heading out for the evening. Saturday nights in Reading are always big.
A girl in a tight short shirt wobbles as she steps around me following her friends down towards O’Neill’s. They’re all talking loudly and laughing. It makes me smile, reminding me of when I was younger. I’ve been coming out in Reading on Saturday night since I was sixteen and used to sneak into the bars with my friends. There was always the thrill of whether we’d get IDed or not if the bouncers let us in. Even after all these years, the Saturday night excitement hasn’t worn off.
‘Ready?’ Luna asks, walking around the back of the car to jo