came to visit usually once a week for a catch-up. She always looked forward to seeing him. But socialising was the last thing on her mind right then.
She had a zillion things to do. Even with all their units occupied, the business was still struggling. She was using every cent she earned to pay off the debt her mother had amassed. Just yesterday she’d had to let another one of the staff go. Apart from cleaning up the pool area, she had to go pick up some supplies for the restaurant, there was an electrician coming in to fix the air-conditioner at number eight and the website was down again. She was going to have to call the service provider. And this all before ten o’clock. But first and foremost, she had to take those cupcakes out of the oven. They had to be perfect for this afternoon, if they were going to do her any favours.
Mark Crawford darkened her doorway at about twenty past six that evening, though she had been ready since five. Behind the counter she had arranged two chairs facing each other. On the desk, she had set out teacups and a plate of iced vanilla and raspberry cupcakes. In a prominent position in front of the plate were her list and a red pen. She intended to tick off items as they went.
She should have realised that any such intentions were futile when he walked into reception looking like he was about to clear the area for demolition.
‘If you’ll just hand me the list, Ms Templeton, I’ll be on my way.’
He’d obviously come straight from work, as he was still dressed in the Barnes site uniform. One glance at his tall and intimidating frame made Charlotte straighten her own to get some more height. It didn’t quite work but it did give her a little more confidence. Especially against those turbulent eyes, a strange wintry grey that sliced through her like cyclone rain.
‘Good evening, Mr Crawford. Glad you could come. I hope you had a nice day.’
He frowned. ‘It was terrible and it doesn’t appear to be getting any better.’
‘Right, well, I’m sure you’d like to sit down.’
‘No, I came to get the list.’
She straightened her shoulders. ‘Right, the list. Actually I was hoping we could talk through it. Can I get you a cup of tea?’ She rose out of her seat and half turned towards the kettle plugged in against the back wall.
‘No.’
She frowned as she moved the teacups next to the kettle.
Someone needs to teach this guy some manners.
‘Well I’m having one.’
She pressed the red button on the kettle to boil. As it bubbled away she pulled out the visitor’s chair next to her own behind the counter and politely indicated for him to sit.
His mouth twisted in annoyance. For a moment she thought he was going to refuse again. The man was as prickly as a rose bush. Even if she did find him
mildly
attractive, she was in absolutely no danger of being seduced. After another second of hesitation, he walked around the counter and sat down. She was careful to hide her triumph as he folded his lithe frame into the chair. Not so careful, however, in preventing her gaze from drawing briefly to the way his pants pulled tight around his buttocks and thighs.
Now? Really?
She ripped her gaze away, mentally slapping herself.
To her relief the kettle boiled at that moment so she filled the teapot. Cheekily, she poured them each a cup as soon as the aroma of the brew rose. ‘Why don’t you have one of my delicious cupcakes?’ she suggested. ‘It’ll make the time go quicker.’
As she looked up, she noticed an expression on his face that she had never seen before. It looked like pain. Her professional curiosity was tickled.
‘Did I say something wrong?’
He wiped his face, as you would clean a doodle board. ‘No.’
The tightness of his response belied the truth. She had learned through experience and study at university that aggressive behaviour was always triggered by something. Abuse in childhood, trauma in adult life, loss, guilt, suffering. But it wasn’t her
She had a zillion things to do. Even with all their units occupied, the business was still struggling. She was using every cent she earned to pay off the debt her mother had amassed. Just yesterday she’d had to let another one of the staff go. Apart from cleaning up the pool area, she had to go pick up some supplies for the restaurant, there was an electrician coming in to fix the air-conditioner at number eight and the website was down again. She was going to have to call the service provider. And this all before ten o’clock. But first and foremost, she had to take those cupcakes out of the oven. They had to be perfect for this afternoon, if they were going to do her any favours.
Mark Crawford darkened her doorway at about twenty past six that evening, though she had been ready since five. Behind the counter she had arranged two chairs facing each other. On the desk, she had set out teacups and a plate of iced vanilla and raspberry cupcakes. In a prominent position in front of the plate were her list and a red pen. She intended to tick off items as they went.
She should have realised that any such intentions were futile when he walked into reception looking like he was about to clear the area for demolition.
‘If you’ll just hand me the list, Ms Templeton, I’ll be on my way.’
He’d obviously come straight from work, as he was still dressed in the Barnes site uniform. One glance at his tall and intimidating frame made Charlotte straighten her own to get some more height. It didn’t quite work but it did give her a little more confidence. Especially against those turbulent eyes, a strange wintry grey that sliced through her like cyclone rain.
‘Good evening, Mr Crawford. Glad you could come. I hope you had a nice day.’
He frowned. ‘It was terrible and it doesn’t appear to be getting any better.’
‘Right, well, I’m sure you’d like to sit down.’
‘No, I came to get the list.’
She straightened her shoulders. ‘Right, the list. Actually I was hoping we could talk through it. Can I get you a cup of tea?’ She rose out of her seat and half turned towards the kettle plugged in against the back wall.
‘No.’
She frowned as she moved the teacups next to the kettle.
Someone needs to teach this guy some manners.
‘Well I’m having one.’
She pressed the red button on the kettle to boil. As it bubbled away she pulled out the visitor’s chair next to her own behind the counter and politely indicated for him to sit.
His mouth twisted in annoyance. For a moment she thought he was going to refuse again. The man was as prickly as a rose bush. Even if she did find him
mildly
attractive, she was in absolutely no danger of being seduced. After another second of hesitation, he walked around the counter and sat down. She was careful to hide her triumph as he folded his lithe frame into the chair. Not so careful, however, in preventing her gaze from drawing briefly to the way his pants pulled tight around his buttocks and thighs.
Now? Really?
She ripped her gaze away, mentally slapping herself.
To her relief the kettle boiled at that moment so she filled the teapot. Cheekily, she poured them each a cup as soon as the aroma of the brew rose. ‘Why don’t you have one of my delicious cupcakes?’ she suggested. ‘It’ll make the time go quicker.’
As she looked up, she noticed an expression on his face that she had never seen before. It looked like pain. Her professional curiosity was tickled.
‘Did I say something wrong?’
He wiped his face, as you would clean a doodle board. ‘No.’
The tightness of his response belied the truth. She had learned through experience and study at university that aggressive behaviour was always triggered by something. Abuse in childhood, trauma in adult life, loss, guilt, suffering. But it wasn’t her
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