Her Favourite Rival. Sarah Mayberry

didn’t set the record straight because I wanted an apology. I figured if we were working together it would be good if we were on the same page.”

      Very decent of him. Not that she deserved it. When she thought of all the different ways she’d misjudged him... It literally made her toes curl inside her shoes. When had she become such a horrible, narrow-minded, threatened person?

      “I feel like an enormous idiot, if it’s any consolation to you.” Along with a lot of other things—petty, smug, stupid, to name a few.

      “To be fair, I do own a Patek Philippe watch.”

      She realized a little dazedly that he was smiling, and she understood that he was very generously letting her off the hook.

      “Don’t forget your Hugo Boss shoes,” she said after a short pause.

      “And my Armani suit. Although today it’s Ermenegildo Zegna.”

      “Pretty impressive.” She meant it, too. Not because she was impressed by luxury brands, but because he’d clearly shaken off a behind-the-eight-ball start in life to get to a point where he could buy himself such beautiful things. That kind of commitment and hard work and determination took gumption and smarts and whole host of other damned fine characteristics.

      “The point has never been to impress anyone.”

      She believed him. He’d never been ostentatious about his belongings. If anything, he’d been understated—to the point where she’d assumed his nonchalance stemmed from contempt bred from familiarity.

      She picked up the photograph, studying seven-year-old Zach again. How she could have gotten it so wrong for so long was a question that was going to keep her awake into the small hours, squirming with discomfort. Which was as it should be.

      “It’s not a big deal, Audrey. I just wanted to clear the air.”

      She looked at him, studying him through the prism of her new understanding. The bump in his nose took on new significance, as did the breadth of his shoulders and the bright directness of his gaze. It struck her that she’d been right when she’d judged Zach as being different—she’d simply misunderstood the why of it.

      The beep of her phone registering an email broke the silence. She blinked and looked away from him, suddenly aware that ninety-five percent of the reasons she’d used to keep him at arm’s length had just dissolved in a puff of smoke.

      Instead of being an arrogant, overprivileged pretty boy with cockiness to spare, Zach was suddenly an approachable, high-achieving man with a very hot body and the world’s most delicious aftershave.

      And she was stuck in a meeting room with him for the foreseeable future.

      “Well. We should probably get stuck into this, or we’ll be here all night,” she said.

      They launched into work, reading over each other’s proposals and suggesting areas where more research might be required. Zach was sharp and focused, and her pride demanded that she bring her A-game, too, no matter how off-balance she felt. By seven-thirty they’d agreed to the parameters of the report and identified the data they would require to complete it.

      “Right. I guess we need to write up our separate parts and then meet again sometime next week to go over everything,” Zach said, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms over his head.

      She did her damnedest not to notice the way his shirt pulled across his belly and chest, but wasn’t sure she succeeded.

      “What day suits you? I’ve got late meetings Monday and Tuesday.”

      “We leave for conference Friday. Will Wednesday be cutting it too fine?” he asked.

      She called up the calendar on her phone and checked her schedule. If they had a first draft written by Wednesday night, they’d have Thursday night to finesse things into some kind of coherent presentation. A close call, but not impossible, and maybe they could find some time during the conference itself to do a dry run so they were prepared to present to Whitman when they returned.

      “I think it’s doable,” she said.

      “Okay. I’ll block out Wednesday and Thursday nights.”

      She sighed. Sleep and downtime were obviously going to be scarce commodities in the next week or so.

      “It could be worse. Gary could have asked someone else to do it,” Zach said.

      She couldn’t help grinning. He was totally on the money—she would be so ticked off if someone else had won this opportunity instead of her.

      “True.”

      They packed up their things in comfortable silence, the first Audrey could ever remember them sharing. Together they walked back to the merchandising department, both of them loaded down with files and laptops.

      “To infinity and beyond,” Zach said when it was time for them to part ways.

      It wasn’t until she was back in her office that Audrey recognized his words as a quote from Buzz Lightyear. It made her think of the photograph he’d shown her, of that skinny, raw-kneed boy with the too-long hair and too-serious expression.

      It was strange, knowing so much about him. What he looked like as a child. Where he grew up. The fact that he’d earned everything he had with his own efforts.

      And yet they weren’t friends. Not by a long shot. She wasn’t sure what they were.

      Not enemies anymore. Rivals? Colleagues? Both words didn’t feel quite right.

      Audrey gave herself a mental shake. It was late; she was tired and hungry. It was time to go home and pretend she had a life.

      * * *

      ZACH SPENT THE bulk of his spare time for the rest of the week working on the competitor analysis. He pulled company reports from Mathesons off the internet, paid for a media search, and spoke to various suppliers and industry bodies. He spent Saturday pulling all the information he’d gathered into some kind of shape, staring at his laptop until he was bleary-eyed. The only upside of any of it—apart from the potential payoff at the end when Whitman was blown away by the report—was knowing that Audrey was in the trench with him.

      Three o’clock. Sunday morning found him tapping away on his laptop, driven from his bed by restless thoughts. He swore out loud when the email notification pinged loudly in the quiet of the living room, startling him, then shook his head when he saw it was from Audrey. Nice to know he wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping.

      What’s wrong, Mathews? Did you wet the bed?

      He was tired enough that he’d hit Send before it occurred to him that even though their working relationship had improved since their little cards-on-the-table chat the other night, it might not be up to incontinence jokes just yet.

      “Good one, smart-ass,” he told his computer screen, scrubbing his face with his hands.

      A second later, another ping.

      Had to get up to see Sven and Lars out. Crazy night. Think we might have broken the bed.

      He barked out a laugh at her bold response.

      That’s the problem with the Swedes: too enthusiastic, he typed back.

      He stared at the screen, waiting for her response.

      Is there such a thing as being too enthusiastic? I’m not sure. Speaking of...I’ve finished my first draft. Want to correct my grammar?

      Thought you’d never ask. Here’s mine, just so you don’t feel left out. In an attempt to preempt any ridicule, I freely admit that spelling is not my forte. Have at it.

      Thanks for taking all the fun out of it. I was going to print off your worst offenses and show them to Megan on Monday.

      Feel