But it was more than that. From the moment she’d told him she had a daughter, that she was a single mum, he’d wanted to give her a chance in a way no one had given his own mother a chance years before. And, dammit, he was glad she’d decided to take it.
The downside being that now he and Sarah would need to spend a lot of time together, which meant he’d have to erase the attraction angle, somehow school his libido to block the insidious physical pull, to counteract it with professionalism.
Because Sarah Fletcher was an employee, and whether th
at was as an office cleaner or on a freelance consultant contract was a technicality.
It didn’t matter anyway, because Sarah Fletcher was a single mother and he did not ever get involved with those. The capacity for complications, angst and hurt was too large. The possibility of impacting on a child’s life unacceptable.
So he’d ice the attraction. How hard could it be?
An hour later the question was answered as his car pulled up outside Sarah’s house. She stood outside, dressed in a simple floral sundress with a cream jacket over the top, and she looked ridiculously pretty.
He climbed out to open the car door for her.
‘Hi.’ There it was again, the catch in his throat, the slight breathlessness.
Sunlight glinted on her hair, tingeing the tied-back tresses with chestnut, brown eyes met his and he’d swear she rocked back slightly, before ducking her gaze away and sliding into the luxurious interior of the car.
Be professional. Block the attraction. Remember?
How hard could it be?
Extremely hard, when he could almost see the sparks zip across the car, singeing the leather of the seats.
‘I’m glad you changed your mind about accepting the role—that you managed to sort out childcare.’ His mention of her daughter was a deliberate reminder to himself of her off-limits status.
‘Yes. My mum and my godmother are happy to look after Jodie—they all seem pretty excited by the arrangement.’
‘And you? Are you excited?’
‘I’m excited about Milan, and I’m excited about the work, although I will miss Jodie. But they persuaded me this is too good an opportunity to miss.’ She turned to face him now. ‘So, are we headed for the warehouse?’
‘Yup.’
‘That’s pretty exciting in itself. All those clothes and products. I’ll feel like a kid in a candy store.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure you’ll get that much of a buzz from it; it’s basically a big building with lots of clothes in it.’ At her expression he raised his eyebrows. ‘You look surprised.’
‘I’m not surprised. I’m shocked.’ Her expression was half serious, half doubtful. ‘You’re kidding, right? You’re head of a retail empire you built from scratch—the clothes must give you a buzz?’
‘Nope. They’re a product. A means to an end.’
‘You’re telling me you’re not interested in fashion?’
‘Not on a personal level. My personal tastes are irrelevant, and they would skew the dynamic. The key to Sahara is providing the customer with what they want, and running a fair and happy workplace. That is the way to make money.’
‘But something must have drawn you towards clothes and fashion?’ She had turned towards him and genuine interest sparked in her brown eyes.
Ben hesitated, and then thought, What the hell? This, at least, was a conversation—better than sitting awkwardly in silence, trying to ignore the attraction.
‘I set up a business of sorts when I was fourteen,’ he said.
He’d vowed that he would get them off that bleak, graffiti-strewn estate and return his mother to leafy suburbia. He’d vowed he’d make money so that his mother would want for nothing—so that never again would their lives be snatched away or turned upside down.
Because he’d figured it out. Money talked. It also sang and laughed. Gave you power. Love gave you nothing but misery. Lesson learnt.
‘I picked stuff up cheap—from the internet, from locals, wherever I could—and sold it on at a profit. I noticed that clothes always did well. I got my hands on a job lot of white T-shirts...figured I could find a better way to sell them. I came up with some pretty good slogans and I paid someone a bit to paint them on. They sold like hotcakes and it made me think. People like fashion—and, more than that, people want to express their individuality. Fashion gives me so many different ways to provide what people want. When I got a bit older I set up a market stall. I loved the buzz from the sales—that feeling at the end of the day when I’d sold it all.’