She saw the cynical twist of his lips. ‘But something’s happened to change your mind?’
‘Not something. Someone.’
‘Someone?’ she echoed, her heart pounding. ‘Wh-who?’
He didn’t appear to notice the stumbling of her voice. ‘Her name is Leda.’
Emma screwed up her eyes, wondering why the name sounded familiar until she remembered where she’d heard it before. Leda was the name of the woman she’d seen him dining with, back in England. The woman with the dark, dramatic hair and amazing cheekbones.
‘That’s the woman you were with in London? The one in the miniskirt with the thigh-high boots?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘She’s getting … married?’ she questioned faintly and suddenly she wondered if she’d read it all wrong. Was Zak about to marry the stunning woman who’d been his date? And if that was the case, then why no huge sense of relief that the tricky billionaire would soon be settling down and might therefore stop interfering in the life of his brother? Why was her instinctive feeling one of jealousy—a terrible, debilitating jealousy, which made her fingers curl into two tight little fists by her sides? Why did she suddenly want to open her mouth and scream? ‘Who … who’s she marrying?’
‘Some banker from out of town.’ He shrugged. ‘He’s a good guy, if a little on the unexciting side. But he’ll make her happy.’
Emma looked into his pewter eyes and remembered something else. What had Nat said to him? Everyone thought you two would get married. Did Zak regret letting Leda go? Was he bitter about the fact that she was now about to marry the ‘good guy’?
She turned her face up to his. ‘This is a pretty wonderful thing you’re doing for her,’ she said quietly, her eyes searching for some kind of reaction.
‘It’s a commercial decision, not an emotional one,’ he snapped.
Emma heard the hard note of finality in his voice and forced her attention back to the project, reminding herself that it was no business of hers even if he was still lusting after his ex-girlfriend. ‘Did you have any particular ideas about what you wanted for the refurb?’ she asked. ‘Traditional or contemporary?’
He shook his head. ‘Not my province,’ he said as he glanced at his watch. ‘I’m no expert and I’m not particularly interested. I assume you’ll know the kind of things which prospective brides want and I’m giving you a free hand.’
Emma raised her eyebrows. ‘It didn’t occur to you that since I’ve been brought here under duress—I could completely sabotage your wedding room by making it all bubblegum pink and girly? Can you imagine how that would go down at the Pembroke? Why, the taste gurus would have a fit!’
He leaned forward and the musky tang of sandalwood once again invaded her senses.
‘So they would. But that would be a very bad idea,’ he warned softly. ‘You see, people who cross me always live to regret it.’
She suspected he was referring to his brother and not bubblegum-pink walls, but his closeness was distracting.
‘That sounds awfully like a threat,’ she said quietly.
His lips curved into a smile. ‘Not really. Just a quiet warning to let you know exactly where you stand.’
‘I’d have to be pretty dense not to have realised that already. Tell me, do you always try to intimidate your staff?’
‘Only the ones who give me trouble—but they are few and far between and I don’t generally tolerate them for very long.’
‘So if I told you that I found your attitude insufferable and that I didn’t want to work for you?’
‘I’d be delighted.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘So delighted that I’d be tempted to give you a year’s salary in lieu of notice.’
And he would have won, Emma realised. He would have achieved what he’d wanted to do all along. He would have managed to get rid of her without having to sack her—and she would have let Nat down.
‘You really are a brute,’ she accused crossly.
‘I’ve never denied that. But most women seem to enjoy the way I treat them.’
‘Are you so sure of that?’
‘Put it this way—I’ve never had any complaints.’
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