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This was a question she decided it was politic to avoid. ‘Why didn’t he just sack me?’ she wondered out loud. She bit down firmly on her trembling lower lip.
‘Because that would leave him open to an accusation of unfair dismissal,’ Benedict said gently. He didn’t doubt his father would have used this method had it been an option.
‘I hope you told him he had nothing to worry about. A kiss, a bit of mild flirtation…I’m sure you’re much more pragmatic than he thinks. It would certainly take more than me to distract you from your great future.’
‘I’m much more selfish than either of you think.’
She didn’t quite know what to make of this cryptic utterance, and mysteriously Benedict’s expression wasn’t showing much of the relief she’d expected after she’d so generously let him off the hook. She didn’t think for a minute he’d consider the effort of continuing to pursue her would be worth the aggravation.
Her slender shoulders lifted fractionally and she gave a brittle laugh. ‘I’d hate to be the cause of dissent.’
‘Dissent is the natural state between my father and me.’
‘Fine, if that suits you, but I don’t feel happy being in the middle of your private battleground.’ Her eyes filled slowly with tears and angrily she blinked back the stinging heat. ‘Hearing you discuss me…it made me feel soiled and…’ She shook her head as she swallowed the constriction in her throat.
‘Hurt,’ Benedict supplied gently.
‘No matter,’ she said with a sniff. Hurt implied she cared to begin with. ‘I know some people think just being a single parent automatically means that you’re on the look-out to rectify the situation.’ She swallowed and cleared her throat. Losing her cool now wasn’t going to help. ‘About lunch; shall I book you a table for two for tomorrow?’ She could be the perfect secretary for a few more days, maybe less—how hard could it be?
‘What makes you think I’ll need a table for two?’
‘I thought you might want to lunch with Sabrina; she did leave a message to that effect. Didn’t you get it?’
‘I did.’
‘She looks a very persuasive sort of girl.’ Perhaps I can take night classes in eyelash-fluttering, she thought viciously as she smiled generously.
‘She’s also a great cook,’ he agreed readily. ‘It makes you wonder why I settled for an indifferent cheese sandwich instead of the full works, doesn’t it? Yes,’ he agreed, folding his arms across his chest as she looked up with a startled expression. ‘I was on my way there when Charlie kidnapped me. Can you take a letter?’
‘Of course,’ she replied, her professional dignity stung as she knocked all the neatly sharpened pencils onto the floor.
‘It’s a letter of resignation,’ he continued calmly as she scrabbled about on her knees, retrieving the scattered pencils.
‘A what?’ she yelped, straightening up and hitting her head on the desk. ‘Ouch! You want me to resign?’
‘My letter of resignation.’
‘You can’t resign because of me!’ she said in a horror-struck tone. She sat back on her heels, wondering how she’d managed to get caught up in the middle of this chaos.
‘I’m not resigning because of you.’
‘Oh! Of course not.’ That’s what happens when you get ideas above your station, my girl, she told herself. If the father could humiliate her, why not the son?
‘Although I can see that would be quite a gesture.’ His frivolous tone made her frown.
‘I think you should think very seriously about this, Ben.’
‘I know you believe I’m a capricious party animal, incapable of sober reflection.’ The ironic flick of his eyes made her flush guiltily. ‘But I have actually thought this out. It’s something I’ve been thinking about ever since I came back from Australia. I’m going back…’
And there was me thinking I had something to do with his decision. The dark irony was like a dagger-thrust.
‘I see.’ It’s about time you opened your eyes and did just that, girl, she told herself sternly. ‘And how you spend your leisure time is nothing to do with me. You’re single, eligible, and it’s very natural that you like to let your hair down.’ These pragmatic words succeeded in focusing his eyes on her own hair, which fell softly around her shoulders. ‘The London social scene will probably grind to a halt without you,’ she added quickly.
‘That sounds a bit impersonal; I’d prefer to picture pillows wet with tears.’