Best Of Makeovers Bundle Part 8

At least breakfast would give them some s.p.a.ce.

Except it didn't. Neither of them knew where to look, Cyn spilled her coffee all over the tablecloth, and Max was trying very hard not to watch her eating toast and honey because her mouth was just too tempting. There was a smear of honey on her lower lip and he itched to lean over and lick it off. Which was bad. He wasn't going to get involved. Been there, done that, and mopped up the disaster afterwards. Never again.

At least the recovery company was on time. His beautiful-crunched-car was. .h.i.tched to the back of the tow truck. And a quiet word with the driver ensured that he'd break the rules and drop Cyn home before taking Max and the car to the repair shop.

Going back to London couldn't have been more different from their journey out, Cyn thought. On the way to the wedding, she'd been nervous, but at least they'd been talking. She'd been dressed to kill. They'd had good music on the stereo, something she'd been able to sing along to.

On the way home, there was nothing to say. Her clothes were looking crumpled. She might just as well have a tattoo on her forehead saying, 'Pity me, I'm desperate'. And as for the music: the tow-truck driver had chosen a country and western station. Not her taste at all, but she didn't want to make a fuss. Particularly as Max wasn't saying anything, either.

How could time stretch like this? Every time she glanced at her watch, she was sure that whole minutes had pa.s.sed. But no. Just a second or two.

It seemed like for ever, but then the tow truck pulled up outside her house.

Last night, Max had said that the recovery company would only make one stop: the coach works. How...? The question must have been written on her face, because Max said, sotto voce, 'I asked nicely.'

'Right. Um, thank you.' All her instincts were screaming at her to run-to wrench open the truck door, sprint down the path, and slam her front door safely behind her. But she'd been brought up properly. 'Would you like to come in for coffee?'

He smiled. A smile that looked suspiciously professional to her-she'd bet he'd learned to fake it when dealing with difficult clients. Just as she did. 'Thanks, but I have to go with the car.'

It was true-but she could guess what lay behind his smile. Relief. He had the perfect excuse to leave.

Well, that was good. Because now she could go indoors, face Lisa and tell her housemate what a horrible mess she'd made of everything.

'Well, thank you for...' Everything. The word stuck in her throat. No. she wasn't going to make this worse by saying something he could misinterpret. 'Thank you for coming to the wedding with me. I appreciate it.'

'Any time.'

Meaning: Thank G.o.d, it's all over and we never have to see each other again. Okay. She could deal with that.

'And I'm sorry about the car.'

He shrugged. 'These things happen.'

She climbed out of the tow truck. 'Bye.' She wasn't going to embarra.s.s them both with, 'See you.' Because they wouldn't see each other again. Which was a good thing...wasn't it?

Cyn noted that he waited until she'd unlocked the front door before letting the truck drive off. Max's courtesy and manners were impeccable. So were hers-and, because he'd refused to let her pay even her share of the hotel room, the least she could do was send him something to say thank you. She knew he loved music, but she couldn't send him concert tickets-he might think she was fis.h.i.+ng for a date, or feel obliged to ask her along. Flowers were out, too-women appreciated them and men didn't. A plant for his office? No, that was too much like sending him something he'd have to pa.s.s every day and think of her. Ick.

She flicked through her favourite Internet shops, and smiled. Yeah! Handmade chocolates. Hadn't Max himself said that he'd love to have a chocolatier for a client, especially if he got to try new flavours? Within five minutes, Cyn had placed her order, checked Max's office address on the Internet, typed in a suitable thank-you note to go with the delivery-the Gold Service so the chocolates would hit his desk by courier tomorrow morning-and paid for it.

Done and dusted.

They'd never have to cross each other's paths again.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

MAX sifted through his post. Another 'Sorry, I've changed my mind' letter. Sure, it was part of business-you didn't get every job you tendered for-but it didn't happen to him very often. Where he was concerned, it usually happened when a client's circ.u.mstances changed, or if there was a particularly time-consuming difficulty with planning and the client decided it wasn't worth going ahead. But this was the third loss in a month, and that wasn't normal. Something was going on...but what?

He knew he had a solid reputation. He wasn't the cheapest architect, but he wasn't the most expensive either. And he lived by the rule of underpromising and overdelivering-which meant he always delighted his clients. So why was he losing tenders now?

It had all started with Phil Watkins-who had gone on to use a design very, very similar to the one Max had produced. Different enough for Max not to be able to take legal action. But still similar enough to make him wonder.

He buzzed through to Lisa. 'Call me paranoid,' he said, 'but can you run me off a list of people who've changed their mind in the last year?'

'Sure. What's happened?' she asked.

'That's what I'm trying to find out,' Max said.

A few minutes later, she walked in with a mug of coffee, a couple of sheets of paper and a box.

'Here,' she said.

'What's this?' Max asked, glancing at the box.

'Just came by courier.'

He opened it. Exclusive handmade chocolates. The type he particularly liked. He smiled. 'Hey. Maybe today isn't going to be quite as bad as I thought.'

Lisa's eyes widened. 'You're not going to eat them all at once?'

'Watch me,' he said dryly. 'Actually, you'd better grab a couple now. While there are some left.'

She grinned. 'It's supposed to be women who reach for chocolate when they're stressed.'

Max grinned back. 'Honey, women don't have a monopoly on something this good.' His smile faded. 'And I'm not stressed.' Not yet. Just...suspicious. And he was checking out a hunch.

Then he read the card that came with it. 'Thanks for escorting me. Best, Cyn.' Very cool and calm.

Hmm. He could remember her being distinctly hot and bothered. In the nicest way.

'So who are they from?' Lisa asked.

'Grateful client.' Not a complete lie. It had been a job, of sorts. Just not one in his usual line of work. He offered the box to Lisa, though he was careful not to show her the card. 'I might need you to make a few phone calls this morning, when I've worked through this list.'

He must have sounded worried-or she was just in super-PA mode and had tuned in to the way his mind worked, because she picked it up straight away. 'What's going on, Max?'

'Right now, I'm not sure,' he admitted. 'I think someone might be trying to poach my client list.'

'What-but, why? Who?'

'I don't know who or why or how. But I need to find out and stop it before there's serious damage.'

She bit her lip. 'Bad enough to...?'

To bring his business cras.h.i.+ng down and put her out of a job? 'Not if I can find out what's going on.'

She nodded. 'Okay, boss. Just let me know what I can do.'

'For now, it's business as usual,' Max said. 'Oh-and I need Cyn's work number, when you've got a minute.'

One eyebrow arched. 'Cyn's?'

'Mmm-hmm. Business.'

Lisa gave him a look that said she didn't believe a word of it, but took a pencil from his desk and scribbled Cyn's number on a sticky note. 'She's usually in wall-to-wall meetings on Monday mornings, so you'll probably get her voicemail. I've given you her email address as well.'

'Thanks.' He'd call Cyn later. Just to thank her for the chocolates. Once he'd got more of an idea about what the h.e.l.l was going on with his client list.

Karl walked into the meeting room and glanced at Cyn.

Then he stopped dead and looked again. 'Cyn?'

'Yes?'

He smiled and sat down. 'Hi, how are you?'

It was the most attention Karl, the marketing manager at RCS, had ever paid her. Usually, he smiled politely and pretty much ignored the quiet woman in the grey suit. But, over the weekend, Lisa had whisked away Cyn's usual wardrobe and this morning had insisted that her new look of the weekend should continue into her work life. And clearly how Cyn looked mattered more than what she could do, because Karl was the fourth male colleague in a row today who'd noticed the change and suddenly paid her a lot more attention.

And that really rankled.

'I'm fine, thank you,' Cyn said politely.

'Nice weekend?'

'Um, yes. And you?'

'Fine.' He smiled at her. A real killer smile. Half the women in the office mooned over Karl Fiennes, with his blond good looks and cornflower blue eyes. Half the women in the office would want to murder her, for getting this much attention from him.

'Are you busy at lunchtime?'

Was he asking her out? Oh, get real! He meant he needed to squeeze in an extra business meeting. 'Um, I'll check,' she said, and fiddled with her PDA. 'I can fit you in at half past one for about twenty minutes.' She could always ask one of her team to bring her a sandwich and an espresso on their way back from lunch. 'Which client are we talking about?'

'We're not. I was asking you to have lunch with me,' Karl said, giving her another of those killer smiles.

'Oh. I, um...' Tail-spin. She hadn't expected this. She shook herself mentally. 'Sorry, I don't really have time for a lunch-break today.'

'Tomorrow, then? Or maybe dinner tonight?'

'I...Er...' To her relief, the rest of the team came into the meeting, so she was saved having to answer. Dinner with Karl Fiennes? A week ago, she would probably have said yes. Well, after a bit of prodding from Lisa-Cyn really wasn't that bothered about looking for Mr Right. Her career was more important to her. The only problem was, since the weekend, she'd had someone else in her head...someone with dark hair, not blond...someone with slate-blue eyes and the s.e.xiest smile ever...

Except Max had made it clear he wasn't interested in taking their relations.h.i.+p further. He hadn't even responded to the chocolates she'd sent him-well, not that she'd expected much. Just an email or something to say he'd got them. And she definitely wasn't going to make her mother's mistake and eat her heart out, waiting for someone who didn't really want her. So maybe she should go out with Karl. He wasn't the serious type-but she wasn't looking for that kind of relations.h.i.+p anyway.

She just had to put Max Taylor out of her mind.

She managed it through the entire meeting. But then it was over, and Karl was at her side again. 'So are we on for dinner tonight?'

'I...I'm a bit tied up with work,' she prevaricated. 'There's that art gallery launch on Friday-the Wharf Gallery in Docklands. One of my team said something about a bug in the video installation systems-it needs fixing before the launch. And I'm managing the project, so I want to have a look at what's going on.'

Karl nodded, as if understanding. 'Tell you what-why don't we go to the launch party together? As the marketing manager, I should be there. You're the project manager and lead programmer, so you really ought to be there too.'

'In case of last-minute glitches that need fixing,' Cyn agreed. 'You know what touch screens are like. Temperamental.'

'No, I meant so you get your share of the glory-the backroom boys are always underappreciated.' Karl smiled.

Backroom boys. Hmm. She wasn't a boy, thank you very much.

Not that he'd noticed her narrowed gaze, because he continued, 'And I live quite near you, don't I? So it makes sense that we share a taxi.'

He didn't give her the chance to say no. And it was work-related. So it didn't quite count as a date. Not that she should be worrying about two-timing Max. She wasn't going out with him anyway, was she? One unexpected night together did not a relations.h.i.+p make. 'Okay,' she replied.

'Good. I'll catch you later and we'll sort out the details.' Karl gave her a slow, s.e.xy wink. 'Ciao, bella.'

He was talking Italian to her, now?

Last week she'd been everyone's favourite geek. The one everyone rang when they were in a flap and needed something fixed fast, and then invited her to the pub afterwards as part of the crowd. This week, she had men winking at her, asking her out to dinner-one on one-and speaking to her in Italian.

Maybe Lisa was right. She should have ditched the grey suits years ago.

By the time Max finished working through his list, he was seriously perplexed. One of the clients hadn't gone ahead because of a change in circ.u.mstances. Another had had a huge row with the planning department and had cancelled all the plans in a fit of pique-which had probably been a lucky escape for him, Max thought, because he could do without the kind of clients who insisted on overseeing everything rather than trusting to a professional's expertise. And there had been no further planning notices for those particular properties, so he knew the jobs hadn't gone elsewhere. He could tick those off his list.

Three clients had said they were going with another architect who'd tendered; one of those cited cost and the other two cited design. Planning permission had been granted for those three; he made a note to check who the contractor was and who had done the final designs. Maybe there would be a common factor.

The three who'd cancelled in the past month all just said they'd changed their mind. One, he could accept. Three was too much of a coincidence. Particularly when the planning permission was still outstanding-the requests hadn't been withdrawn. So although they'd said they'd changed their mind, they were still intending to go ahead. Just with someone else rather than him.

It looked as if someone was trying to cut in on his business. But who? Why?

Max couldn't remember any business disputes with a client, or a contractor or a supplier. He didn't tender at low prices and bring in the final job at a much higher rate; he always met his deadlines; he was clear and direct about his plans; and although he'd heard rumours of corruption he'd never been asked for a backhander to get planning permission or building regulations through.

An ex making trouble, maybe? He couldn't see it. According to his mum, Gina was happily married with the second of her much-wanted babies on the way. And his past girlfriends...well, they'd all known the score right from the outset and accepted it. At least, they'd told him they accepted it, and he'd had no reason to think otherwise.

When Lisa came back from lunch, he'd ask her to do a little schmoozing. See if she could pick up anything on the grapevine.

Then he realised he'd eaten well over half the chocolates. And he still hadn't phoned Cyn to thank her for them. She might be at lunch; on the other hand, Lisa claimed Cyn was a workaholic. Maybe she worked through lunch, ate a sandwich at her desk.

Only one way to find out. He dialled the number Lisa had scribbled on the sticky note.

'Cyn Reynolds' phone.'

Max straightened in his chair. He hadn't been expecting a man to answer her phone. Probably a colleague. Most techies were male, weren't they? 'Hi. Is Cyn there, please?'

'She's not at her desk at the moment. Can anyone else help, or can I take a message?'

'Could you ask her to ring me, please? Max Taylor.' He gave his direct line number.