Please Don't Hold This Against Me...

Actually now I think about it, that would be a GOOD title for a Mills and Boon :-) Here's my contribution to the Wrimo M&B challenge. The other five can be found by following the links to their blogs. If I'm going down, I'm taking them with me. Oooo also a potential Mills and Boon title haha...

Chapter Five of 'Steer Me Home' by Eloise Jaimeson.

Corina slammed the door of the office and threw the huge pile of paperwork onto her already shambolic desk. “That MAN!” she growled, turning towards her wide- eyed colleague, June.
“Ohhh...” said June, a look of comprehension crossing her face. “Back from the meeting with the lovely Max, I take it?”
“Don't even joke about it, June. He's insufferable. I swear to you, one of these days..” Corina left the sentence unfinished as she pulled the tie off her unruly hair, shaking it so it fell across her shoulders before attempting to scrape it back into some semblance of neatness. “I mean, I know I'm the redhead, but he makes Genghis Khan seem positively reasonable.”
“And I'm guessing you made sure he was aware of your feelings before you left?” enquired June, with a raised eyebrow.
Corina looked a little sheepish. “Well, what else was I supposed to do?” she said, grumpily. “He said he didn't like the menus.”
“Ah.” June turned with a sympathetic look. “Are you going to redo them?” she asked, calmly.
Corina sank into her chair, all rage spent. She ran her hand across her head. “I don't know.” she sighed. “It's such a good account, if we get it.. well you know. Our reputation will be sky high. But I just don't know if I can keep... he's so.. so...”
“Awkward?” June supplied.
“That's putting it mildly.”
“Do you want me to take it over?” June walked over to Corina's desk and picked up the top sheet. “If he's really that bad?”
Corina stood and took back the file. “No, no.. it's ok, really. You've more than enough on your plate; plus I've done most of the background already. I just need to get my professional head on, and not let him upset me so much. He's just a client for goodness' sakes. I'll be fine.” Forcing a smile, Corina gave June a hug. “Now, on with these menus. No, wait, cup of tea first!”

Max Clarkson had always known he would be a success. He'd bought his first classic car at the age of fifteen, a Bentley, with money he'd earned and saved from Saturday jobs and paper rounds. It was a wreck, but he'd read and learned and studied and worked, and eventually he'd sold it for twenty times the amount he'd bought it for. From that moment on, he was hooked, and even though he now owned and managed five sites, selling and renovating classic cars for the rich and famous, he still liked to get under the bonnet of a car, strip the engine down, feel the grease on his hands.
Lazily, he picked up one of the posters advertising the summer rally. She'd done a good job, and he wished he'd told her that. Not that she'd given him chance. She'd stormed out of the showroom door almost before he'd said anything. He sighed, and put the poster back on the desk. His hand hovered over the phone as he considered calling her to tell her, but then he pulled himself up. His life was complicated enough without getting involved with a crazy red-headed events manager. Even if she did have the most amazingly long legs. He smiled wryly to himself and picked up the phone. He was her customer. She could damn well be nice to him, the amount he was paying her. And she could damn well let him take her for dinner.

Corina wrapped a towel around her head and walked over to the wardrobe. Opening the doors she stood, wondering what on earth she could wear to a dinner she'd rather walk over hot coals than go to. One by one she started to take dresses out, holding them against her towel clad body, and looking in the full length mirror. “Too short....”she mused, discarding the dark green. Several others went the same way- the burnt orange chiffon was too revealing, the fail-safe black was too low cut. The last thing she wanted was him thinking she was making an effort. Finally she settled on the safe silver grey polo neck with black trousers. “Smart, casual,” she thought, though she knew the restaurant they were supposed to be going to was actually very dressy. She dried her hair and looped it round before clasping it at the back of her head, and once dressed, completed her outfit with the new knee length black boots she'd treated herself to at Christmas. Most of them would be hidden under her trousers, but the four inch heels gave her a satisfying boost, height wise, though she knew he'd still be an inch or two taller. Finishing with a spray of her favourite perfume, she looked at the result in the mirror.
“Professional. In control. I don't know what your game is, why you want dinner, Max Clarkson, but dinner is what you're going to get.” She smiled at herself, wishing she was as confident inside as she seemed on the outside. What was it about that man that made her so... volatile? She didn't like being near him, he unsettled her.
“It's just because this account means so much to you. That's why he bothers you,” she said out loud, decisively. Grabbing her bag from the bed, she headed out of the door of her first floor flat, trying hard to believe her own words.

Dinner was hardly a joyful affair. Max was charming, the perfect gentleman, but Corina knew she was on less than sparkling form. As they'd read the menus in the quiet bistro he'd taken them to, having ditched the five star when he saw what she was wearing, he'd commented again on the menus she'd prepared for the coming car rally. Feeling the fury rise in her stomach again, she'd swallowed hard, and from then on had been determined to bite her tongue. She knew this made her seem aloof, cold even, and she hated herself for it, but it was the only way she could stay in control.
An increasingly frustrated Max tried again and again to engage her, even resorting to talking about the rugby team he'd played in when he was twelve in a vain attempt to keep the conversation afloat. Finally, when she'd declined both dessert and coffee, he gave up, and called for the bill.
“I'm sorry you've had such an unpleasant evening,” he said, as he handed over his credit card.
Corina felt faintly ashamed of herself. “It... it wasn't unpleasant,” she stammered, looking down.
“No, really, don't worry about it,” he said, getting to his feet. “I'd hoped we'd be able to be friends as well as colleagues, but clearly that's not to be the case. I'm sure you're right, I'm sure it's for the best.” He picked her coat from off her chair and held it out for her to put on. She stood too, and eased her arm in, turning so he could offer the other arm. She felt his hand on her shoulder and a dart of electricity went through her, making her jump away from him.
A dark look crossed his eyes, and his face set. “Goodbye, Corina.” he said, and not even bothering to shake her hand, he walked away, throwing a note on the table in front of her. “Call yourself a cab, won't you?”

Corina looked down at the note in front of her and back at the closing door, and suddenly her eyes filled with tears. Brushing them away impatiently, she stood and picked up the money. Nodding to the waiter, she left and stood outside on the pavement, trying to get her bearings. It was a very quiet area, not somewhere Corina knew, and there were few cars or people around. She felt the tears welling up again and decided to walk for a while, clear her head. Why had she been so horrible to him? What WAS it about him that upset her so much? He'd been charming and funny, and so what if he'd mentioned the menus again. That was what she was there for, as his events manager, his employee... it's not like she was his lover, for goodness' sakes...
As she left that thought hanging in the air, she felt her face gradually redden. She thought back to the touch of his hand on her shoulder, and how intimate it had felt. Clasping her hands to her cheeks she realised, in shock, the reason he affected her so much. “Ohhh.. you silly, silly,..”

“Talking to yourself in the street. That'll get you locked up if you're not careful.” She jumped as he slammed the Bentley door, and walked round to her side of the car. She looked down, afraid he'd read her thoughts in her eyes.
“I thought you might struggle to get a taxi. I came back,” he said, his voice so soft and warm she felt the tears filling her eyes again. “It's a cold night and... Corina? Are you ok?” he asked, puzzled by her lack of response.
“Yes,” she whispered, and he drew closer to hear her.
“What's the... you're crying? What ever's wrong?” he said, and then his arms were round her, and she couldn't help it, she looked up at him.
For a moment the street disappeared and all that mattered was the strength of his arms, the depth in his eyes, his sweet full lips; and the look she saw reflected on his face made her knees weaken. She felt his arms tighten around her, pulling him to her, holding her safe.
“But you.... hate me....?” he whispered, wonderingly, searching her face for confirmation of what he was seeing.
Seeing the look of vulnerability in his eyes, Corina felt a rush of affection, and she smiled slightly.
“Turns out I'm not ALWAYS right,” she whispered, and could say no more as her words were drowned in his lips, her arms round his back, his hands caressing the bare nape of her neck, his tongue insistently seeking hers. A car horn suddenly sounded in the distance breaking the spell, making them both jump, and she could feel that he was shaking as he pulled away from her. He smiled at her and, holding her hand, he led her to the car in silent wonder, kissing her gently again before closing the door.