‘Vladimir Yartsev is a Russian oil oligarch. A very powerful man.’
‘But not as powerful as you.’
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. ‘Different power.’
Evie curled her legs underneath her. ‘Alternative energy. Like fossil fuels versus a wind farm.’ Looking at the thin line of his mouth, she sighed. ‘Sorry. I forgot you don’t have a sense of humour. So this guy is going to be sitting at our table? I presume you want me to be extra-nice to him?’
‘That won’t be possible. He doesn’t speak much English and I doubt his interpreter will be there.’ Rio altered one of the figures on the spreadsheet. ‘I’m sure if you smile at him it won’t do any harm.’
His comment was so derogatory that she almost thumped him.
He made assumptions about people. Evie watched him, knowing that she was going to have the last laugh on this particular point. ‘I won’t need an interpreter. I’m good at communicating with people.’ She was purposely vague. ‘So you’re hoping to meet up with this Vladimir guy—who else? Doesn’t anyone just go to have fun?’
‘They go to be seen. And at a charity ball they go to be seen spending money. It’s a game. I go because there are a few contacts I need to make. I have no doubt it will be boring.’
‘Thanks. So basically you’re saying that not only do I not look right, but I bore you. I can see we’re in for a great evening.’
‘I was talking about the other guests—’ his tone was thickened with exasperation ‘—but carry on like this and I’ll add you to the list. I’ve already told you—the reason I don’t stay long is because I can’t afford the time. I have work to do.’
All he did was work.
But he was taking her to a charity ball and a film premiere.
Evie felt a renewed flutter of excitement at the prospect of playing Cinderella for a night. ‘So we’re showing our faces at two events—but you have invites to loads more than that?’
‘I have seven invitations for this evening. I’ve picked the two most high profile.’ Showing no interest whatsoever in that fact, Rio focused on the screen. ‘Normally, a hostess would do her utmost to avoid a clash, but this is Christmas so it’s inevitable.’
Christmas.
Suddenly Evie realised what was different about the room. ‘Someone’s taken down all my decorations.’ Horrified, she sprang to her feet and glanced around her. ‘The tree has gone. And the holly—why would they have done that?’
‘Because I gave instructions that all the decorations should be removed.’
Already bruised from his previous comments, it was hard to keep her voice steady. ‘You didn’t like the decorations?’
‘No.’
She felt numb. ‘I took ages getting them exactly right. I thought you’d be pleased—’
‘I wasn’t pleased.’
So she looked wrong, she was boring, and now he was saying she was useless at her job. It was the final straw.
Rio glanced up. ‘While I’m staying here, I
don’t want to know it’s Christmas.’ His eyes were molten black and menacing. ‘I don’t want to see a single decoration. Is that clear?’
‘Yes. It’s perfectly clear.’ Her voice high-pitched; deeply offended that he’d criticised her work, Evie stalked into the bedroom, yanking the doors closed behind her.
Her confidence in shreds, she leaned back against the doors.
Miserable, horrible, vile man.
Chemistry? Yes, there was chemistry—but she wished it was the sort that would result in some sort of explosive reaction that would blast him out of her life. He made her feel small. He made her feel useless and insignificant. Apparently she couldn’t even decorate a Christmas tree to his satisfaction.
She stood for a moment, breathing deeply, horribly hurt by his dismissive comments. In a few sentences he’d shredded her fragile self-confidence.
With a sniff, she tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter. Why should she care what he thought? So he hated her decorations. So what? The man was a cold hearted workaholic.