Hate to Love You(10)

James shifted uncomfortably and Caroline turned a darker red than her wine. I hoped she’d choke on it but she didn’t oblige.

I focused on James. “Do carry on making yourself and your clients richer while everybody else pays what they owe.”

He gave me another one of those measuring looks I was learning to hate. “It’s hypocritical of you to judge me for doing my job when you don’t contribute the taxes you’re so concerned about. When you’ve tired of being ‘between miseries’ and join the workforce, I’ll consider your opinion.”

He had a point but I wasn’t willing to let him get away with it. The whole practice seemed unfair to me. “Firms like yours help dictators and the mafia to launder their money,” I accused.

Caroline huffed irritably. “Paisley, tax law is over your head. Stick to secretarial studies and leave complicated affairs to those qualified to understand them.”

“It’s hardly rocket science. I read all about it in five minutes.” I pointed my finger at James. “You’re as guilty of money laundering as your clients are. Worse, even, because you help them to do it. That’s disgusting.”

My father gave me a menacing look. “That’s enough out of you.”

“Not to worry, Mr Benton,” James said coolly. “Self-righteousness is often a shield forged in hypocrisy.”

Once again I felt his measured appraisal, only this time I didn’t care what he thought of me.

<<Bring it on.>>
#p#分页标题#e#
He obliged. “You seem perfectly capable of studying or getting a job regardless of your...troubles. Yet you want to live off the work of taxpayers like your parents, people who work hard so you can laze around and—”

“You know nothing about me,” I interrupted, livid at his judgement.

“Likewise, but out of respect for your parents I’ll elucidate.” He turned his head to address my father. “For the record, I do not represent criminals or dictators and I would never condone or facilitate their activities. My clients are hard-working professionals looking for tax effective ways to manage their money. I help them.”

“Yeah, to help themselves,” I mocked.

“Why should that bother you?” James asked, sounding truly perplexed. “Many of my clients are like Caroline, people who are successful because they have drive and intelligence. They don’t sit around and expect others to work for them. You languish at home, perfectly capable of doing the same but choosing not to. You should aspire to be more like Caroline—an honest, professional woman of outstanding integrity.”

I was speechless. If love was blind then James needed a guide dog to steer him clear of the bitch sitting next to him. Then again, it probably wouldn’t work. Caroline had years of practice hiding her true self.

I couldn’t look at her. She’d be preening and blushing with pleasure and the sight would make me sick. I stared into James’s eyes instead, suddenly struck by the image of a summer blade of grass dipped in gold.

“Gold dust doesn’t stick,” I said, much to everybody’s bemusement. They could make of my words whatever they wanted, because I didn’t even know what I meant by that.

“Never mind Paisley, darling, we’re used to her tirades,” Caroline said.

The conversation turned to the wedding and I slumped back in my chair, my food cold and forgotten. James looked serene, the sanctimonious prat, whereas I felt anything but. I was seething, aroused by our exchange and wanting to fly across the table and take my convoluted emotions out on him.

What the hell was wrong with me?

James observed me so discreetly I doubted anybody else noticed. Every time our eyes met it was like swallowing hard liquor, a burning jolt that travelled straight to the pit of my stomach. When I saw his next glance I was ready.

<<Hungry?>>

His fist clenched around his glass. I concentrated on squeezing ketchup over my cold chips, just to do something to keep my eyes off him. When I looked up he was watching me again.

<<Can’t stop staring, can you?>>

His gaze went to my cheek. <<You’ve got ketchup on your face.>>

I wiped it off with a scowl and the corners of his lips lifted. When the meal was finished I got the cake I’d picked up and set it on the table. My top gaped open in front of James as I fumbled with the matches, taking my time to light my candle. Unmistakable desire flashed in his eyes before he caught himself and looked away.

Caroline’s voice floated around the kitchen, her vowels longer than the Queen’s. “Trisha and Sandy are travelling down next weekend for bridesmaid’s fittings with Veronica and Harriet. Afterwards we’ll be dining at La Piemontesa.”