Hate to Love You(49)

I was acutely aware of James, unable to dismiss the memories of stolen kisses and fierce, desperate embraces. I focused on Greg, all the while feeling the pressure of James’s blazing eyes, burning like meteors in my peripheral vision.

Mr Lemane spoke about our clients in Spain and plans to expand our services, EU tax laws governing Spain...boring, boring...

His voice was as soporific as David Attenborough on safari and my mind wandered, thinking of how ironic it was that I had once criticised James about his job and now I was employed to help him do it.

James shifted in his chair. “Please pay attention, Ms Benítez. We won’t tolerate sloppy work.”

“I got it.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll have no problem explaining it back to us.”

I matched his polite tone. “We advise our clients with their tax affairs in England and Spain, minimising their liability by establishing trusts and incorporating shell companies. We also prepare documentation and assist with international banking by placing fiduciary deposits upon instruction. In addition to the usual secretarial duties, I’ll be translating and interpreting to ensure smooth lawyer-client relations while in Spain. Oh, and I’ll be keeping my bosses in line.”

I smiled at Mr Lemane. “Did I leave anything out?”

He beamed at me and glanced at James. “Fantastic. See James? Elizabeth was the best candidate. She’s quick, concise and accurate.”

Well, if that were the case I’d have said I’d be helping to teach rich people avoid their taxes in Spanish and sitting through long meals in Spain. They take the leisurely lunch seriously over there.

During the rest of the meeting James’s unwavering stare made me feel like a novice gambler in front of a card sharp. I hardened my resolve. He could try to intimidate me as much as he wanted, because I wasn’t the same lost and desperate girl I’d been at eighteen. I met his look and raised him six months. Nobody was going to bully me ever again.

Punto final.

“Excuse me?” Greg said.

Note to self: must not mumble my thoughts out loud, especially during briefings at work.

“Punto final,” I repeated. “It means full stop. The end. They say it in Spain once all parties have signed a contract. It’s a custom.”

Well it is now, my mind sighed.





Chapter Eleven

Well and Truly Rumbled

There’s nothing school gate mums like to talk about     more than little Jack’s sporting prowess or Amy’s latest Head Teacher’s award.     It was a Sunday afternoon and I knew from lurking at Ryan’s school that he would     shortly be playing rugby on Hampstead Heath. Ryan was on the same team as     William Hawkins, whose mother was very happy to tell me all about her son’s     activities. I’d been posing as a trainee teacher doing a paper on the importance     of after school clubs and gained her trust.#p#分页标题#e#

I sat alone at the Bull and Bush, impatient and brimming with     nervous energy as I sipped my drink. I checked the time again. What the hell was     taking him so long? I hate sitting on my own in pubs; being surrounded by so     much booze makes me cranky. Marcia was working and I’d called the only other     person who would drop everything to come with me to Ryan’s game—provided it was     after 2:00 p.m. on a Sunday.

Two hands covered my eyes. Ugh, he     knows I hate it when he does that.

“Prick,” I said.

Tarzan sat and looked me over me with a puzzled frown. “Anybody     dead I should know about?”

“Look who’s talking.”

He was wearing black today, the only colour on him his buzz cut     carrot top and bright blue eyes. I clocked his collar. The sight of it never     ceases to make me smile, especially when I remember the leather and studs he     used to wear. He looked drained so he must have come straight from an     all-nighter in Soho.

Tarzan worked long hours and the company he kept could be     pretty wild, but he said his job was fulfilling so I didn’t knock it.

“You look like shit,” I said.

He flinched and made the sign of the cross. “Beg forgiveness,     my child, and I may absolve you.”

“You’re not going to spend the whole afternoon doing that are     you?”

“Why not? It’s one of the perks.”

“Because I knew you when your porn expenditure would have     provided a year’s worth of lobster bisque for the soup kitchen. I may feel the     need to divulge.”