Tied Up With Love. Holly Martin

to some unknown tune in her head, completely ignoring him.

      She squatted down to put something in the bottom drawer and as she did she gave a little provocative wiggle. How inappropriate was that? She barely knew him. Though the thoughts that were suddenly running through his head were hardly appropriate either.

      ‘Isabelle.’

      Still no response and it was then that Ethan realised she was listening to her iPod, the headphones plugged into each ear.

      He tapped her on the shoulder and she nearly hit the roof with shock. She whirled around, her eyes wide with fear for just a second before she let out a little laugh of relief.

      She pulled the headphones out. ‘God you scared me, I was miles away then.’

      ‘What are you doing here?’

      She frowned, her grey eyes darkening slightly. ‘I work here, remember.’

      ‘I meant in here, how did you get in?’

      ‘The key under the mat. I wanted to get an early start. The place was quite a mess.’

      He looked around him, trying to find fault with what she’d done. ‘I hope you haven’t thrown away anything important.’

      ‘Like the coffee cups or the letter from the phone company telling you your internet will be switched on five years ago? No, definitely not thrown away anything important.’

      ‘Sit down, we need to talk.’

      ‘Ok.’

      To his utmost annoyance she sat in his chair, watching him carefully across his desk.

      ‘That’s my chair.’

      ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it had your name on it.’

      She got up and sat where she had sat the day before and Ethan imagined tying her up and gagging her again just so he could say his piece without any smart remarks. He sat down and nearly screamed with frustration when he realised she had adjusted the seat so his knees were nearly up to his chin. He ignored the smug smile of satisfaction from her and pumped up his chair so it was back to the normal height.

      ‘I’ve been doing some research on you Miss Franklin…’

      ‘Izzy.’

      He paused, assessing her, and then pulled out a wad of papers with her life history printed on. He had contacts, very good contacts who had obtained a wealth of information on the intriguing Isabelle Franklin. He didn’t like what he saw. Mostly because it was all good. Still he was going to wait to serve the bad apple amongst the glowing ones until the end of his speech.

      ‘You went to Kingston University in London?’

      ‘Yes, if you have it written down on that sheet of paper I doubt you need to ask me.’

      He ignored her. ‘Studied a degree in Business Studies with Media and Events Management?’

      She nodded again.

      ‘Got a first. Started your own business in your final year of the course. Went bankrupt within three years, so you’re obviously not good with money. Then a catalogue of –’

      ‘How dare you say that. You know nothing about me. You get a few facts and figures written down on that sheet and you think you have me all figured out. My business was a huge success I’ll have you know.’

      He looked at her over the paper, two pink spots of indignation coloured her pale cheeks.

      ‘Then tell me, what went wrong?’ He checked his sheet again. ‘Dream Proposals. It’s not a very original name.’

      ‘And Kidnap My Wife is?’

      ‘Touché. But I don’t imagine there was much call for a proposal service. Most men will just take their girlfriends to a fancy restaurant and pop the question over the oysters. Why make a big song and dance over it, if she loves you and wants to marry you she’d say yes if you asked her over a greasy burger.’

      ‘I take it you’re not married Ethan.’

      He shook his head, readying himself for the slur on his character. He was surprised when it didn’t come.

      ‘If you had found the woman that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, the one that you loved more than life itself, you would do anything to make her happy and the perfect proposal signifies how much effort you will go to in other areas of your life too. There was huge demand for my business. I would arrange harpists, hot air balloon rides, champagne picnics on private beaches, sky writers to adorn the skies with the question at the exact time, proposals written in flowers, diamond rings delivered in ice sculptures, fireworks displays, helicopter rides… whatever they wanted, they got. I could barely keep up with the demand.’

      He watched as her eyes filled with a fiery zeal as she talked about her job. She was obviously very proud of what she had achieved.

      ‘What happened?’

      And just like that the fire vanished and she looked down at her knees.

      ‘I had a website designer, I didn’t know a lot about that side of things at the time, so I let him have free rein. I should have been more vigilant about the wording. Emblazoned across almost every page were the fateful words, “One hundred percent satisfaction, guaranteed”.’

      Ethan winced, guessing where this was going next.

      ‘One man spent over five thousand pounds on his proposal – a beachside retreat in Mexico, champagne breakfast on the beach, swimming with dolphins, and a sunset hot air balloon ride. We had created the perfect day. He asked her to marry him and she said no. He sued me for every penny I had. I was just really starting out, and I didn’t charge very much. My fee was fifty pounds for UK proposals, a hundred for proposals abroad. Then they would pay for the extras, flowers, dinner, flights etc. I would just arrange it all but because of my contacts I could get things a bit cheaper than if they were trying to do it themselves. I made enough money each month to pay all my bills, mortgage, food and have a bit left over in savings. Of course he wanted his five thousand pounds back but that money had never been mine, that had all gone to pay for his holiday and there was no way I could claim that back. I didn’t have enough money in reserve to pay him and he took me to court. He sued me for costs and humiliation. The judge, bizarrely, sided with him. I lost my home, my car, everything.’

      He watched her pick at a stray thread on her trousers. She was ashamed of this and he felt guilty that he’d pushed her into telling him all this.

      ‘So once you’d gone bankrupt, why didn’t you restart under a new name?’

      ‘Another proposing company bought the rights to my company, offered me a small fee for the website and all names of my contacts. I suppose I was still licking my wounds at the time. I kind of wish I hadn’t sold it now.’

      Ethan straightened his thoughts. He wanted her out, he didn’t want to feel sorry for her.

      ‘And after that you’ve drifted from job to job, clearly not reliable.’

      ‘Temping. You go where you’re sent, some jobs it was just a few weeks’ holiday cover, some jobs it was covering an operation or maternity leave. I didn’t get sacked from any of the temping jobs, the contracts just came to an end.’

      He ignored this and pressed on. ‘You’ve done thirty-six different courses over the last three years – carpentry, car mechanics, painting, plumbing, art, French, guitar, sports coaching, various different computer courses including one on web design.’

      ‘Yes.’ She looked at him in confusion, possibly wondering how he was going to turn this into a bad thing. He was beginning to wonder that himself.

      He might as well go in for the kill now.

      ‘I’m sorry but this isn’t going to work. I’ve established a respectable business here and I can’t have some thug working for me who’s going to ruin all