What His Money Can't Hide. Maggie Cox

all men are bastards, Layla.’

      ‘I know that. I’d trust my brother Marc with my life.’

      ‘Speaking of your family—I knew your father, you know?’

      Her heartbeat quickened in surprise. ‘Really?’

      ‘Jerome’s was my local newsagent. That’s where I knew him from.’

      ‘It’s a small world.’

      ‘I used to go there as a kid. We’d chat about football together. We supported the same team, and he used to tell me about all the matches he’d seen when he was young.’

      ‘He was crazy about football. And he loved having the opportunity to talk to another fan about the game—also about how his team were doing. My dad always had time for the children who visited the shop. He had the kindest heart.’ Suddenly besieged by memories of the father she had adored, as well as by a great longing for his physical presence, Layla couldn’t help the tears that suddenly surged into her eyes.

      ‘Presumably he’s not around any more? What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?’

      ‘He died just three months after a diagnosis of cancer of the throat.’

      ‘I’m sorry. That must have been a very hard cross to bear for you and your brother.’

      ‘It was.’

      ‘And your mother? Is she still around?’

      ‘She died when I was nine. Look, Mr Ashton, I—’

      ‘I’d really like it if you called me Drake.’

      The invitation sounded so seductively appealing that even though she intuited that he’d used his past association with her father to break down her resistance, Layla found his skilful persuasion hard to ignore. Although her trust in men had been indisputably shattered by the dishonest behaviour of her boss, Drake’s regard for her father seemed perfectly genuine, she told herself.

      Her lips edged helplessly into a smile. ‘You don’t give up easily, do you?’

      ‘No, I don’t. You don’t get far in the world of business if you’re not tenacious.’

      ‘I hear that you’ve agreed to meet with my brother and give him some advice about the café?’

      ‘I’m coming to see him on Thursday. After our meeting at the café I’m visiting the site where the first new builds for residential housing are going to be erected. I expect I’ll be there until quite late.’

      Not knowing what to say, Layla shivered at the icy blast of wind that suddenly tore through her hair and swept the leaves on the path into a mini-cyclone.

      ‘Look … I really want to see you,’ he asserted, ‘but I don’t want to wait until Thursday. That’s far too long.’ He made no attempt to disguise his impatience. ‘How about throwing any caution you might be harbouring to the wind and going on just one date with me? If you come up to London I’ll take you out to dinner.’

      ‘When were you thinking of?’

      ‘Tomorrow … No, wait! Tonight … I want to see you tonight.’

      ‘Tonight is a bit short notice.’

      Her inner guidance was already sending a loud warning to be careful pounding through her bloodstream. When her brother had confessed that he’d given Drake her number she hadn’t been able to help feeling annoyed at both men. She wasn’t some desirable commodity to be bartered over, for goodness’ sake! Neither had she expected the architect to ring her so soon. She’d like more time to mull his invitation over … time to come to her senses, more like, she thought irritably. Her ex-boss had had a way with words too, and had been a master at devising clever strategies to get what he wanted—sometimes underhand ones. She shouldn’t forget that. Although when it came to sheer charisma she didn’t doubt that Drake Ashton easily had the market cornered.

      ‘Have you other plans for tonight?’

      ‘No, but tomorrow night would suit me better.’ Hardly knowing where she’d found the nerve to tell him that, Layla grimaced.

      ‘I might not be able to make it tomorrow night.’

      ‘Never mind.’ Holding on to her determination not to be railroaded into flying off to London at the drop of a hat simply because Drake demanded it, she shook her head. ‘It will have to be Thursday after all, then.’ She deliberately kept her tone matter-of-fact. The other end of the line went ominously quiet. ‘Are you still there, Drake?’

      His sharp intake of breath was followed by an equally audible sigh of frustration and her insides knotted.

      ‘I’m still here.’ Irritation was evident in every syllable. ‘Tomorrow night it is, then. Give me your address and I’ll send my driver to pick you up and bring you to my office. It’s close to the West End, and I’ll book us somewhere nice for dinner.’

      ‘You don’t have to send your driver. I can easily get the train into London.’

      ‘Are you always this bull-headed?’

      Even though Drake was probably still irked with her for trying to thwart him, disconcertingly he chuckled, and the husky sound sent shivers cascading up and down her spine like sparks from a firework.

      ‘Because if you are, Layla, then I think I might have just met my match …’

      CHAPTER THREE

      SHE was half an hour late.

      Having already been into his secretary’s office twice to see if Layla had left a message, Drake now found himself in front of the coffee machine on the landing outside his office, pressing the button for yet another cup of strong black Americano he didn’t really want.

      Time had moved through the day like silt through reeds—slowly and painfully and laboriously, going nowhere fast. Whenever he thought about seeing Layla his insides were seized by alternate sensations of excitement and disagreeable anxiety. And several times that day a couple of colleagues had enquired if anything was wrong.

      He hated the idea that they could see he was unsettled by something. Usually he endeavoured to keep his feelings strictly to himself—sometimes to the point of unsettling them because he expressed none of the usual emotional ‘ups and downs’ as they did. Yet he was quick to sing their praises when they did a good job for him, or worked overtime to help meet a deadline. Having built his reputation not on just designing builds to wow his clients but also by advising on and overseeing a project right up until the finish, Drake had ensured the people he employed were trustworthy and reliable team players. He might have grown up the quintessential ‘loner’ but he couldn’t do what he did without them.

      Glancing down at his watch, it jolted him to see the time. Damn it all to hell! Why hadn’t he insisted that Layla let him send Jimmy to collect her instead of allowing her to make her own way here? He hadn’t because he’d got the feeling if he had she would have cancelled their date altogether and told him just to forget it …

      ‘Your visitor has arrived, Mr Ashton.’

      The quiet, knowing tone of Monica, his secretary, broke into his unhappy reverie. To his dismay, he knew she’d guessed that the woman he was waiting to see was no run-of-the-mill visitor … that she was in some way special. If he quizzed her she’d call this instinct women’s intuition, and Drake couldn’t for the life of him understand why women had the gift in abundance and men didn’t. At any rate, he intensely disliked people expressing curiosity or interest in his private life—and that included unspoken interest.

      Monica’s announcement that Layla had arrived had him turning towards her so fast that the scalding coffee in his polystyrene cup splashed painfully onto his hand. He uttered a furious expletive.

      The secretary’s smile was replaced by an immediately