He didn't say that in his Lord Steamy voice. I think he's genuinely disappointed that I wouldn't take his arm. Does Hugh have a gentlemanly side? That doesn't jibe with what I know about him, but then, I don't know that much. Mostly what I read in tabloids. His mother had been reluctant to offer details, which I understood. Lady Sommerleigh might be paying me, but Hugh is my client.
I grab my purse, and Hugh opens the door for me. I thank him with a nod of acknowledgment. He informs Trudy that he's taking me out to the factory but that first we will stop in at the vice president's office down the hall to introduce Sommerleigh Sweets' new business consultant.
The farce has begun.
Hugh leads me down the hall to a doorway marked with a plaque that identifies the occupant as "Rupert Parrish, Vice President." After two crisp knocks, Hugh ushers me into the office.
A man with salt-and-pepper hair sits behind a desk in front of a big window. He doesn't have a corner office, like the CEO. The man glances up at us and smiles. "Hugh, what a lovely surprise. I'd heard you might not come in today."
"Who told you that? I never said anything of the sort."
"Ah, well, I think it was more of a rumor." The man fusses with his tie and glances at me, then looks at Hugh. "Who is your guest?"
"This is Avery Hahn. She's a business consultant who has graciously agreed to help us through this difficult time. Avery, meet my cousin Rupert. I couldn't run this company without him."
I shake hands with Rupert. "Are you a viscount or something too?"
"Afraid not. I'm just a normal bloke."
"But you're instrumental in running this company. That means you're not just a normal guy. Don't be so modest."
Rupert fusses with his tie again while staring down at his shirt. "Well, Hugh is the CEO."
Have I embarrassed him? I didn't mean to, but it seems like I did.
"Now that you two have met," Hugh says, "it's time for that tour of the factory. Would you care to join us, Rupert?"
"Sorry. I'm driving Lizzie to school. It's her first day at Oxford, you know."
"Of course. Well then, Avery and I will be off."
We exit his cousin's office and board an elevator. Hugh's office is on the top floor of a ten-story building that houses the offices of various other companies too. I briefly worry that he might try to kiss me again, but he behaves like a true gentleman.
Am I a little disappointed? Maybe. But I will never admit that to Hugh.
Chapter Seven
Hugh
A factory tour must be the most boring activity I have ever undertaken as CEO of Sommerleigh Sweets. Honestly, I haven't visited the factory often. Once or twice a year at most. As CEO, I'm not expected to go there. I often wonder if I should have more of a presence, but I always feel like I'd be in the way if I tried to cultivate a more hands-on style.
It's a factory. I know nothing about that rubbish.
But I convince the foreman, Len Jones, to give us the grand tour. He seems rather surprised when I suggest it because tours are for, well, tourists. I try not to flinch when Len announces loudly that Lord Sommerleigh has come for a visit. I wondered why he made us wait in his office while he "got things ready" for me and Avery. Now I know.
He instructed all the employees to line up in two rows, all the better for me to prance down the aisle between them like a sodding royal. I'm a viscount, not a prince. For pity's sake, this is overkill.
I do my bit, though. I smile and shake everyone's hand and tell them how much I appreciate their hard work. That's not a load of pig's wallow. I do appreciate it. These working-class folk toil away so my family can get richer. Yet now my behavior has put all their livelihoods at risk. Everything I do from this moment on must serve to rescue my company so the people who work for me won't lose their sole source of income.
Every time I feel like whingeing about my life, I should remember these people.
After the tour, I drop Avery off at her hotel. Mum has set her up at one of the most expensive hotels in London. Well, Avery deserves the best. She agreed to become my fake girlfriend to improve my chances of convincing the world I'm not a bloody stupid arse who accidentally slept with the Duchess of Wackenbourne. I shagged her on purpose, but I had no idea who she was.
When I get back to the office, I fight the unconscious impulse to ask Trudy to ring the bloke in charge of Jenkins Foods, our largest distributor. I need to do this myself, from start to finish. So I ask Trudy for the number, which causes her to stare at me as if I've asked my executive assistant to show me her knickers. I don't normally handle calls in this manner, so I can't blame her for being surprised.
She jots down the number and hands me the slip of paper.
I thank her and hurry into my office, shutting the door to ensure Trudy won't hear it if I cock this up. I've just sat down when my mobile rings. The caller ID tells me who it is, and I can't help groaning.