Her Favourite Rival. Sarah Mayberry

she entered the room, but he simply gave another one of those small almost-smiles and pushed a printout her way.

      “There’s some good stuff in here about projected revenues. We can springboard off historical predictions and talk about how the entry of the second big-box retailer into the market has changed the environment.”

      “I’ll make a note of it.”

      She tried to concentrate on what she was doing, but she couldn’t let go of the fact that he’d sat next to her for more than half an hour, laughing privately at her striped face, amusing himself at her expense.

      The more she thought about it, the more steamed she got, and finally she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

      “You could have said something.”

      “Sorry?” He looked up from the page he was reading, his expression distracted.

      “The highlighter on my face. You could have said something.”

      His gaze went to her cheek. “Could I?”

      “Yes, you could have.”

      “But then we would have gotten into the whole ‘where is it?’ and ‘have I got it all?’ thing. Next thing you know, I’d be spitting on my hanky and wiping your face.” He smiled, inviting her to share the joke.

      At last.

      “You enjoy laughing at me, don’t you?” The words popped out of their own accord.

      He frowned. “Do I?”

      “You know you do.”

      “Actually, I don’t. Why would I want to laugh at you?”

      Because he thought he was better than her. Because it was the way of handsome, entitled, arrogant men to be amused by lesser beings.

      But she wasn’t about to say either of those things out loud. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

      “We don’t have time for this.” She made a big deal out of sorting through the papers in front of her.

      “You brought it up, not me.”

      “Forget I said anything.”

      “You can’t throw an accusation like that out there and then shut down the conversation. Why on earth would you think I was laughing at you?” He looked and sounded genuinely perplexed.

      “Because you always smile when you see me, for starters.”

      His eyebrows shot up, as though she’d astonished him. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe—crazy idea—I might actually enjoy your company?”

      It was her turn to be astonished. “No.”

      “Wow. Okay.” He shook his head as though she’d confused the hell out of him.

      “You want the next category manager’s role. Don’t pretend you don’t. And you know I’m your toughest competition.”

      “So, what, we can’t be friends?”

      She didn’t even need to think about it. “No. My career is too important for me to screw it up by allowing other considerations to enter into the equation.”

      “That’s uncanny. You sounded exactly like Gordon Gekko in Wall Street when you said that.”

      “I’m not ashamed of being ambitious. I’m the only person in the world I can rely on, and if I don’t make things happen, they don’t happen. I’m not going to apologize for that.”

      Suddenly he looked very serious. “You think I don’t understand that?”

      She caught herself before she scoffed out loud. He had to be kidding. He was a walking advertisement for indulgence, from the luxury watch to his silk-and-wool suit to his Italian leather shoes. His pen alone represented a mortgage payment on her tiny place. As the daughter of two hardworking GPs, she’d grown up in a house where money had never really been an issue, but Zach reeked of a whole different level of privilege. The kind where houses were “estates” and children had numerals after their names to differentiate them from their noble forebears.

      “There’s a difference between wanting something and needing it. For example, I’m sure you want your polo pony, but I need to pay my electricity bill.”

      He blinked. Then he sat back in his chair. He looked...stunned was the only word she could come up with. As though she’d sneaked up and goosed him.

      “You think I have a polo pony?”

      She had no idea how the other half lived—or, more accurately, the one percent—but her point still stood. No way would he ever be as hungry as she was.

      “If you’ve got it, flaunt it, right?” she said.

      When he continued to look baffled, she pointed to his shoes. “Hugo Boss.” She glanced at his wrist, where the gleam of his slim, elegant rose-gold watch peeked out beneath the cuff of his jacket. “Patek Philippe.” She indicated his suit. “Armani.”

      “Okay. I like nice things. Your point is?”

      “That you and I come from very different places in the world.”

      He stared at her. Up close, his eyes appeared almost gray instead of dark blue. The gunmetal color of the ocean before a storm.

      “Look. Maybe we should just concentrate on getting this project sorted and we can both get on with our lives,” she said.

      He still didn’t say anything and she shook her head slightly. She didn’t get why he was looking so gobsmacked. Did he really think people hadn’t noticed he was different?

      “I’ll take this stuff home and draw up an outline for my sections. If you do the same, we can meet again tomorrow after work and finalize our brief before diving in. How does that sound?”

      His frown was gone now, his expression impenetrable. “Whatever suits.”

      “Good. Same time tomorrow?”

      “That works for me.”

      He stood and scooped up his things.

      “Hang on, I think you’ve got my phone...” she said, frowning.

      He flipped up the protective cover and checked. “You’re right, sorry,” he said, his tone clipped as they swapped handsets.

      She was about to tell him that it was an easy enough mistake since they all had the same company-issued handsets and covers, but before she could say another word he was gone. She stared at the empty doorway. She felt uncomfortable about what had just happened. She should have bitten her tongue and swallowed her impulsive words, for the sake of the project if nothing else. If she hadn’t been feeling so dumb after the highlighter incident, maybe she would have, but she’d hated the thought of him being amused at her expense. Sitting there laughing at her up his sleeve while she’d been doing her best to make this project fly.

      She made a growling noise in her throat.

      Why did she always wind up second-guessing herself where Zach was concerned? No one else in her world made her feel so self-conscious and uneasy.

      She didn’t know what it was, but she didn’t like it. The sooner this project was over, the better.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      APPARENTLY, HE WAS an elitist snob, born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

      How ’bout that.

      Zach threw another folder into his briefcase, trying to work out if he was flattered by Audrey’s insanely inaccurate take on who he was or if he was, in fact, supremely pissed at being dismissed as a trust-fund playboy dabbling in a career for fun.

      He’d grown up with nothing, in both material and spiritual senses. Any money that came into the household had gone straight