Best Of Makeovers Bundle Part 17

No.

Because she was still scared he'd hurt her?

He was going to have to address the issue. Starting now.

There are no guarantees this is all going to end in tears.

There are no guarantees it *won't*.

Ah, he'd had enough of this. Email was too distant. And he knew she was at her desk right this very moment. He dialled her direct line without looking it up-funny, he hadn't even realised he'd memorised it from the bottom of her email signature-and scowled as he got her voicemail.

He waited for the beep. 'Cyn. I know you're there. Be brave. Take a risk. Call me.'

He just hoped she would.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

SHE didn't.

And he couldn't leave it.

So, on Wednesday, Max sent Cyn a poem: Donne's 'The Good-Morrow'-the poem he'd quoted to her on the train; the poem he'd quoted the night they'd made love.

No response.

On Thursday, he hand-delivered a small package to her office. A CD containing the track the busker had played in the tube station, the night he'd kissed her by the Thames. With a handwritten note.

Still no response.

On the Friday, Max intended to go over to Cyn's office and talk her into having lunch with him. Even if it was only a quick sandwich in the local deli. He just wanted to see her. Talk to her. Persuade her to give him a chance-because she'd got under his skin more than any other woman he'd known. It wasn't the thrill of the chase. It was...something else. Something that he didn't want to a.n.a.lyse too closely in case it really was the L-word, the thing he'd been avoiding for years.

But then Lisa brought in his mail and all h.e.l.l broke loose.

Max read through the letter and slammed it down on his desk in disbelief. This was outrageous. Of course he hadn't submitted someone else's designs in the compet.i.tion he'd entered a couple of months ago! There must have been a mistake. Some kind of admin mix-up. He'd never even heard of Jason Henry.

He managed to hold onto his temper-just-and rang the organiser. When he finally replaced the receiver, he was ready to throw something small and heavy through a very large plate-gla.s.s window.

He had not stolen someone else's designs. And he could prove it. He'd kept a copy of his entry; all he had to do was duplicate it and courier it over. Proof that it was their mistake. He wasn't a cheat. He didn't need to cheat!

He stomped over to his filing cabinet, yanked out the drawer, and looked for the compet.i.tion file.

Nothing.

Maybe he'd misfiled it. Or Lisa had misfiled it. But it wasn't in the drawer where it should have been. Or in any of the other three drawers he kept for current work.

Okay, it was an easy mistake to make when you were busy; he must have just put it in the wrong cabinet.

But it wasn't under C in any of the other cabinets, either.

He strode out of his office. 'Have you seen the file for my compet.i.tion entry?' he asked.

'In your filing cabinet, under C,' Lisa said, without looking up from her screen. 'They're in alpha order, so try under COM.'

'It's not there.'

She must have heard the suppressed panic in his voice because, this time, she looked at him. 'Maybe you put it back in the wrong place.'

'I've just been through the entire "current" filing cabinet. And the C drawer for past clients, just in case. It isn't there.'

'Okay. I'll have a look.' She frowned. 'What's up?'

'Apparently, the design I submitted is the same as another architect's. And his firm is claiming that I stole his design.'

'That's ridiculous. You wouldn't do anything like that.'

'I'm a little fish and they're a whale. Who are you going to believe?'

'You, of course. It's just a stupid admin mix-up. As soon as we get the originals over to them, they'll see it's their mistake and they'll grovel abjectly at your feet.'

Her loyalty and trust in him made him feel slightly better. But unfortunately hers wasn't the view that would matter most. 'Slight problem. I can't find the b.l.o.o.d.y design. And if I can't prove it's mine, I'll be disqualified.' Not to mention having a huge stain on his reputation. A stain that would never go away. A stain that would stop people asking him to tender for restoration jobs-because the suspicion would always be there. Had he cheated or hadn't he? Was he reliable or wasn't he? Could they trust him or couldn't they?

Crashed and burned. Everything he'd worked for, turned to ashes. It didn't bear thinking about.

'You didn't chuck it out when you had your big decluttering session, a couple of months back?' Lisa suggested.

'Of course not.' Though he was even less certain than he knew he sounded. Could he have done something that stupid-thrown away a file by mistake?

'Well, at least you've got the computer files,' she said comfortingly. 'They'll prove your innocence.'

He hoped so.

But when he switched the computer on, he couldn't find the files. Anywhere. They'd just vanished-along with what looked like most of the contents of his computer. There certainly wasn't a program where he could look up his files. 'Oh, my G.o.d. What's happened?' he asked in dismay.

Lisa took a look. 'I think your computer just got fried. Didn't you have the anti-virus thingy on?'

'Yes, of course I did. And it checks for updates automatically every morning.' He swallowed sickly. 'I hope to h.e.l.l I can get those files back. I'd better ring the dealer.'

'I'll do it.' But when Lisa came back into his office, Max knew from her expression what she was going to say.

'Just give me the bad news,' he said.

'They're stacked up. They can't help until next Wednesday at the earliest.'

Max grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled hard. Nope, it wasn't a nightmare. It hurt, therefore this was really happening. 'I don't believe this. What the h.e.l.l am I going to do? If I can't prove that design is mine, I'll be disqualified. That's my reputation gone-because mud sticks. And, without a reputation, I won't have a business for much longer. I'm already losing clients as it is.' And was that connected? He hadn't seen the link before. Had his lost clients gone to Jason Henry? Had Jason Henry been the one to copy his designs for the Watkins property? Max would have to check. Dig deeper, if he had to. And then he'd act.

He shook his head. 'I can't wait until next Wednesday. I need to sort this now.' Now, before rumours started spreading.

What he needed was someone who was brilliant with computers. Someone who loved troubleshooting. And he knew just the person-except, right now, Cyn wasn't exactly speaking to him.

Ah, h.e.l.l. How could he possibly ask her?

But if he didn't, he could lose everything. His throat felt so full, he could barely breathe. Time to swallow his pride. Ask for her help. And hope that she didn't say no-that she didn't think he was just using her. 'I'm going to make a phone call,' he said, and left the office before Lisa had the chance to say anything.

Cyn reread the letter for the third time, hoping she'd completely misread it. But no, it was all there in black and white. The job had gone to an external candidate. She was going to have to work for someone else-someone who'd got her job. But the bit that really stuck in her craw was the comment that the interviewers felt she put too many hours in and they were looking for someone with a more rounded social profile.

How the h.e.l.l could you put too many hours in at work? They'd asked her to do it, in the first place! It just wasn't fair to ask someone to do you a favour-then slam them for doing it. If she'd said no, worked her set hours, they'd have labelled her a clock watcher. She'd said yes, and they'd stuck a different label on her-but one that was just as damaging.

And what was a 'more rounded social profile' anyway? Someone who was happy to sit in the pub and talk shop? Someone who leaped at the idea of those outdoor team-building training courses where you had to abseil down cliffs and trust people in your team to catch you when you fell backwards?

When her phone rang, Cyn was tempted to let it go through to her voicemail. But maybe keeping herself busy was the best way of dealing with her disappointment. She picked up the receiver. 'Cyn Reynolds.' No cheery 'good morning' from her today. Because it wasn't a good morning. At all. The only saving grace was that it was Friday. And as she supposedly worked flexible hours, she'd be out of RCS on the dot of half past three.

'Cyn, thank G.o.d you're there.' He paused. 'It's Max.'

As if she hadn't recognised his voice. 'Oh.'

He must have heard the wariness in her tone because his voice sharpened. 'Look, I'm not going to ha.s.sle you about us.'

What us? There was no 'us'!

'I just...' He sucked in a breath. 'You're busy, so I'll cut to the chase. I'm in a mess. A real mess. My computer's fried.'

'That's what dealers are for,' Cyn pointed out. 'You have a maintenance contract, don't you?'

'Yes, but they can't do it in time. I need help now, not next week.'

Cyn had heard this kind of story so many times before. 'Then check the backup disks. You do keep backups, I a.s.sume?' Though they probably weren't up to date. She knew from experience that it always took a virus attack to make people keep proper daily backups, and even then the habit rarely lasted more than a fortnight.

'Cyn, I wouldn't be calling you if I wasn't desperate.'

'Uh-huh.'

He groaned. 'That didn't come out right. I meant, this is business. And I know you're busy. And I'll pay for your time. And...I just need help. Fast. From the best.'

He thought she was the best in her field? And, from the desperation in his voice, he wasn't flattering her. He really had called her because he needed a computer systems troubleshooter-someone who would do the job fast, and do it brilliantly. A warm glow started somewhere in the region of her heart. 'What's happened?' she asked.

'I've been accused of stealing someone else's designs.'

'What?' Max might be untrustworthy where her heart was concerned, but in other respects he had more integrity than any other man she'd ever met. 'Sounds as if you need a lawyer, not a techie.'

'Later, maybe. But not right now. Look, my paperwork's vanished. I have files on my computer, but if I can't retrieve them I can't prove anything. If my reputation goes, so does my business. I need to prove I'm innocent. Can you help me? Please?'

You owe me a favour, Cyn Reynolds. And I'll collect...some time.

The memory sent a s.h.i.+ver through Cyn, and she hastily pushed it out of her mind. This was a work favour-and it would more than repay what he'd done for her. And, right now, Cyn didn't want to be at RCS anyway. 'All right. I'm owed some time.' Which was putting it mildly. If she took all the time she was owed, they'd have to find themselves another lead programmer for the next six months. 'Don't turn the computer off. I'm on my way.'

'You're a star.' Max gave her rapid directions to his office from Bayswater Tube station.

Just as well. She couldn't remember the way. Not after-no, she wasn't going to think about that night. About how he'd kissed her all the way home.

'I'll have coffee waiting for you,' he promised.

'No worries.'

'And, Cyn?'

'Yes?'

'Thank you,' he said softly. 'I mean it. I really appreciate this.'

Cyn replaced the receiver and slipped her utilities disks into a carry-case. 'I'm taking some time in lieu,' she said to Rob. 'I'll ring in later and tell you how long I'll be.'

'What? But you never take time in lieu,' Rob said, looking surprised.

'I do now.' She gave him a tight smile. If she wasn't good enough for the promotion, she also wasn't good enough to work for more hours than she was contracted to work. And her employers were the ones who said she put too many hours in. QED. She was taking time off and there was absolutely nothing they could say about it. 'If anyone wants me...' She shrugged. 'Well, they'll just have to wait, won't they?'

Ignoring the shock on Rob's face, she switched off her computer, took her handbag from her desk drawer and the laptop case from under her desk, and walked out of the office.

The nearer Cyn got to Bayswater, the faster her heart was beating. Every stop on the tube raised her pulse a notch. Adrenaline tingled at the back of her neck and the tips of her fingers. She was going to see Max again. The man who'd sent her exceptional chocolate. The man who'd quoted poetry to her. The man who'd kissed her on the bank of the Thames and sent her into such a whirl she'd forgotten where she was.

The man she'd turned down, because she didn't want her heart broken.

Then a really nasty thought struck her. This wouldn't be a ruse, a way to get her to talk to him because she'd ignored his gifts and messages?

No, of course not. Max had integrity. He wouldn't lie to get sympathy. Besides, she'd recognised the slightly panicky note in his voice. She'd heard it before when a client had had problems with a computer system-they knew how to use the system but not how to fix the problems if it crashed.

Which was where she came in. Today, she'd fix Max's computer, retrieve his files, and then leave. Debt paid. Nothing more to say.

And at least Lisa would be there. She'd be a buffer between them. Max wouldn't make any moves in front of his secretary-Cyn's best friend. Would he?

To Cyn's surprise, Max answered the door himself. He looked stunning, in dark trousers and a dark round-necked sweater; the same as he'd worn the night of the gallery party. The night where he'd kissed her beside the Thames. The night she'd spent here, in his bed. Her heart missed a beat at the memory.

He also looked worried sick and there were shadows under his eyes. She itched to reach out and touch his cheek, smooth away the worry lines. Though she wouldn't. Touching him would be a bad move. Weaken her resolve. She'd fall into bed with him again-and he'd break her heart.

'h.e.l.lo, Cyn. Thanks for coming,' he said quietly.

'You're welcome.' Her voice would have to squeak, wouldn't it? Oh, great. Well, she didn't want him thinking it was his nearness that had that effect on her-even though it was. 'I'm doing this because I owe you for rescuing me at the wedding,' she told him quietly. 'Paying my debt.'

Once she'd fixed his computer, they'd be quits. And she could walk out of his life. For ever.

'You're not in my debt. But if you fix this, I'm sure as h.e.l.l going to be in yours. Can I get you some coffee before you start?' he asked.

She shook her head. 'No, thanks. Where's Lisa?'