‘Sam,’ she said, plastering a smile to her face and hoisting her satchel higher onto her shoulder as they set off across the lobby. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘We’ve had a complaint.’
Oh? Her heart plummeted. No wonder he was agitated. Complaints were unwelcome, and, thankfully, rare. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s more a case of who.’
Her eyebrows lifted. ‘Who?’
‘Yes. He’s in your office.’
‘Who is?’
‘Duarte de Castro e Bragança.’
Orla froze mid-step, her head spinning and her heart suddenly pounding. No. That couldn’t be the case. What did he have to complain about? Sam had informed her that the conference had been a success from start to finish, although apparently the river cruise had ended rather abruptly and ahead of schedule. And why was he in her office anyway?
‘Can’t you deal with it?’ she said, her stomach clenching at the thought of him in her space, breathing her air and looking around her things. ‘He’s your client now.’
‘I believe that’s the complaint.’
What? He was the one who’d necessitated the switch with his brutal dismissal of her. So how dared he saunter in here and turn her world on its head again? This was her space. Her sanctuary.
Well.
Whatever.
Duarte didn’t bother her any longer. Did Not Bother Her. She had no need to be distressed by this latest turn of events. She was immune to his charms now. She’d handle him with polite professionalism, get to the bottom of his so-called complaint and then she’d send him on his way.
‘Fine,’ she said flatly, setting her jaw and straightening her spine. ‘Leave it with me.’
***
At the sound of the door to Orla’s office opening, Duarte, who’d been pacing up and down in front of the window, oblivious to the view, oblivious to anything other than the drumming of his pulse and the desperate need to put things right, spun round.
Orla closed the door behind her and then turned to him, and a wave of longing crashed over him. He’d missed her. He’d missed her immeasurably. How on earth could he have sent her away? What had he been thinking?
‘Good morning,’ she said with a practised smile that didn’t reach anywhere near her eyes, and which he hated, but then, he hadn’t expected an easy ride. He deserved the ice and the bristling even if it did chill him to the bone and fill him with shame.
‘Good morning.’
She strode over to the desk and sat down, so cool, so professional, so hard to read now. ‘Have you been offered coffee?’
‘I have,’ he said, seating himself in a chair on the other side of her desk and linking his hands to stop them shaking.
‘Good. So. I understand you have a complaint.’
‘I do.’
‘What is it?’
‘I called to speak to you and was told that you’d given my account to someone else.’
‘Yes,’ she said with a brisk nod. ‘To Sam. My co-CEO.’
He swallowed with difficulty. ‘Why?’
‘Because he’s excellent.’
‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’
‘We crossed a line, Duarte,’ she said bluntly, her voice completely devoid of expression. ‘Do you honestly think we could have carried on working together after what happened at the Quinta?’
‘Which part in particular are you referring to?’
‘All of it.’ She swivelled round to switch on her computer. ‘It was a mistake from start to finish.’
‘You don’t make mistakes.’
‘I do. And I’ve discovered recently that that’s fine.’
He frowned. They’d been many things, but a mistake was not one of them. Did she really think that? Had he done that to her with his cowardice and fear?
‘Was there anything else?’
Oh, yes. He wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. He’d prepared a speech. He’d been practising. ‘I’ve barely begun.’
‘Well, I have a meeting in,’ she glanced at her watch, ‘ten minutes. So I can give you five.’
Then he didn’t have a second to waste. This was the most important moment of his life. His entire future happiness depended on it. He took a deep breath and focused. ‘I wanted to apologise for our last conversation,’ he said gruffly, regret pouring through him at the memory of it. ‘For the way I behaved. It was appalling and unnecessary, and when I think of it I am deeply ashamed.’
‘Accepted,’ she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
‘I wanted to explain.’
‘No explanation necessary.’
His heart began to pound. ‘You were right about everything.’
‘Not any more, I’m not. I’m through with all that.’
What did that mean? Was she through with him too? A bolt of pure panic shot through him. ‘I’m in love with you.’
She stared at her monitor, utterly still for a moment, and then she clicked her mouse and adjusted her keyboard. ‘That’s...regrettable,’ she said, and typed in what could have been her password.
Not that he was capable of that level of logic. He was reeling with the shattering realisation that he’d blown it. For good. The flatness of her tone... The way she couldn’t look at him... Her choice of words, which was no coincidence... One mad, terrible conversation that had been driven by the demons that he’d foolishly allowed to override everything else and he’d ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Suddenly Duarte couldn’t breathe. The shock of what he’d done and the realisation that it was undoable had winded him. His vision blurred. His chest was tight. He couldn’t speak for the pain scything through him.
‘You’ll be in good hands with Sam’ came her voice through the fog. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, I really am very busy.’
Yes, he could see that. Whatever it was that she was looking at was demanding her full attention. She was scrolling and typing, scrolling and typing, while his world was splintering into a million tiny pieces.
‘Right,’ he said gruffly, his throat sore, his entire body trembling. ‘I see. In that case, I won’t waste another second of your time.’
He got up in a daze. Turned to leave, grateful for the fact that his legs would get him out of here. But then at the door, his hand on the handle, he stopped. No, dammit. That wasn’t it. He wasn’t having this. He’d come here for a reason. He had things to say and they needed saying. He’d vowed on the boat to do whatever it took and that was precisely what he would do.
Squaring his shoulders and taking strength from the determination and adrenalin rocketing around his system, Duarte spun back, and froze at the raw, naked misery that crumpled Orla’s face for a split second before it disappeared and her expression was once again unreadable.
But he’d caught a glimpse behind the mask, thank God, and, while it killed him to see, it also had hope and relief roaring through him because she wasn’t as indifferent to him as she was trying to make out. She wasn’t indifferent at all.
***