PLAYING DIRTY WITH THE HOT CEO

chapter 22

Heidi

Alan joins us as we leave the room carrying our glasses, and we slowly wander through the house, looking at the large living room with its beautiful bay window, a dining room that contains an oak table which seats ten and looks as if it has a central section that can be extended to make it bigger, a smaller, cozier living room through an archway that has a huge TV and looks as if they spend a lot of time there, and a conservatory overlooking a terrace and the gorgeous landscaped garden with its manicured lawn. Then we go upstairs, and they show us around the six bedrooms, including the one in the tower.

“We thought about putting you in there,” Vicky confesses as the two men walk ahead, talking about fishing, “but I thought you’d prefer the privacy of the cottage. You can go skinny dipping in the river and nobody can see you.” She chuckles.

I blush at the thought of seeing Titus naked and wet. “Mm.”

“I’m glad you’re here at last,” she admits. “Alan has been looking forward to meeting you both. He’s so excited about this project. I hope the weekend doesn’t seem too daunting for you, but he insisted on pulling out all the stops. Between you and me, I know it’s a lot to ask you to move over here for two whole years, especially when New Zealand is such a beautiful country, but he’s really hoping Titus will oversee the project firsthand. It’s because of our daughters, you see. I presume Titus has told you about them?”

“Yes, I’m so sorry to hear they’ve had issues conceiving. It must be very upsetting for the whole family.”

“It’s been exceptionally tough on Carrie, and she and Alan are close, so he’s taken it hard. It’s crazy when you have all this money and yet there’s nothing you can do, you know? So when Alan heard about the Kiwi project, he was determined to help where he could. The new fertility drug is going to be essential, but it’s the AI component that Alan’s really interested in.”

“Oh, I thought he wanted Elizabeth to run the project.”

“No, he wanted Titus all along. Obviously, Acheron is a pharmaceutical firm, but Alan has always believed the major breakthroughs would come with AI, and Titus’s project is going to be revolutionary. I don’t know if you’re aware, but Alan first saw him speak at the International Joint Conference on Artificial Intelligence in Vienna, Austria, last year. Titus was one of the keynote speakers, and he spoke about AI’s role in IVF and fertility research. Alan was so impressed with him that he met up with him after his speech and told him right there and then that he wanted to invest.”

“Wow. No, I didn’t know that.”

“It wasn’t just that he was knowledgeable and erudite. It was that he didn’t just give facts and figures and talk about the marvels of AI. He spoke about the emotional strain that continued IVF cycles put on couples, and how he hopes computers will ease that pressure. That was very important to Alan.”

I knew Titus was smart, of course, and my sisters had told me that he’d spoken at conferences all over the world. But the way that Vicky talks about him, with respect and even reverence, brings goosebumps out all over my skin.

“And he’s gorgeous,” Vicky adds in a teasing voice. “You’ve really hit the jackpot!”

“I have,” I reply. “He’s a man in a million.”

“And a boss in a billion, too,” she says. “Alan’s spoken to some of his employees, and they all sing his praises. He sounds pretty perfect. Does he have any faults?” She’s teasing, but she looks at me for a genuine answer.

The guys are waiting by the top of the stairs, and they overhear her question as we approach.

Well, I think sarcastically, he’s a bit dense when it comes to explaining his love life.

Titus’s lips twist, suggesting he’s reading my mind.

“He’s exceptionally clumsy,” I say. “I hope you don’t have any priceless vases in the cottage, because they’re likely to end up on the floor in a million pieces.”

Vicky laughs. “No, nothing like that. I guess it’s a small price to pay for him to be ninety-nine percent perfect.”

“Don’t tell him that,” I scold, “he won’t be able to get his head out of the door,” and she and Alan chuckle.

We walk down the staircase, emerging into the reception area, and leave our glasses on a table. “Let’s take you down to the cottage,” Alan says, “and then you can have a rest before the cocktail party.”

“What time does it start?” Titus asks.

“We’ve planned for six until nine, although it wouldn’t surprise me if it goes on for longer.”

“Sounds great,” Titus says, and we follow him outside.

A beautiful, gleaming silver Merc is waiting outside. Alan opens the door and says, “Follow me down to the cottage.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you later,” Vicky calls from the doorway, and we wave goodbye.

We get into the Range Rover, and Titus starts it and eases it along the drive, following Alan down to the gatekeeper’s cottage.

“Did you get the third degree?” he asks.

“Not really,” I reply. “She mostly talked about you.”

“Oh?”

“She told me how Alan saw you speak in Vienna.”

“Oh yeah. That’s where we first met.”

“She was very complimentary.”

“That’s nice.”

I look across at him. He glances at me, catches my eye, and his lips curve up. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing. It was weird, that’s all. I’d gotten used to you being the clumsy guy who French-kissed me when I was sixteen. It’s odd to hear someone talking about you like a mogul.”

He laughs. “I like that word.”

“She made you sound like Bill Gates, Elon Musk, and Stephen Hawking all bundled up into one.”

“Wow. I’m impressive.”

“Titus, I’m serious. I feel like I’m in the presence of a rock star. Can I have your autograph?”

“It won’t go for much on eBay. Nobody outside the computer industry has a clue who I am.”

“I don’t know much about theoretical physics, but I know who Stephen Hawking is.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

I rest a hand on his where it sits on the gearstick. “It was nice to hear her talk about you like that. I appreciate that you’ve taken a few days out of your busy schedule to spend some time with me.”

“It’s been my pleasure, believe me. I haven’t felt so relaxed in years.” He pulls onto the small drive next to where Alan’s parked his car, and we get out.

“This way,” Alan says, and he leads us along the path, past well-tended flower borders, and up to the cottage’s front door. He unlocks it, then gives Titus the keys. “Come in.”

We follow him into the cottage, which is all one level. Ooh, it’s beautiful. It has an open-plan kitchen and dining room, a white Neptune kitchen, one bedroom with an Oh-My-God enormous bed decorated in spring colors—peach, light green, and yellow—and a bathroom with a huge sunken bath. Oh my.

“The cupboards and fridge are fully stocked,” he says, “but if you want anything at all at any time, please call the house—just dial zero on the phone. We have a permanent staff and a chef staying for the weekend, and someone will be happy to help.”

“Thank you.” Titus goes to the back door and looks out at the view. “It’s beautiful.”

Alan joins him. “It’s quite pleasant to sit out on the deck looking out over the river. Tomorrow we’ll go fly fishing. Heidi, you’re very welcome to join us.”

“No, thank you,” I say, sure that he wants some time alone with Titus. “I don’t know the first thing about fishing.”

“Well I know that Vicky goes to a yoga class on Saturday mornings, if you’d like to join her, or you can swim in the pool, or go shopping, or just have some time to yourself.”

“A yoga class would be lovely,” I say enthusiastically, “if she doesn’t mind me tagging along.”

“Not at all, she’ll love it. None of our girls are into it, and she’s always saying she’d love to go with someone.” He claps his hands together. “Okay, well that’s sorted. I’ll leave you to get settled in. Please, just call the house when you’re ready to come up this evening and I’ll send a car, then you won’t have to worry about driving back tonight.”

“Thanks,” Titus says, and they shake hands. Alan waves goodbye, goes out, and closes the door behind him.

We stare at each other, then both blow out a relieved breath. “Phase one complete,” he says. “Thank God.”

“So far, so good. Shall we get our cases out?”

“Yeah, okay.”

We head back out to the car, retrieve our bags, and bring them into the bedroom.

For a moment, we stand there looking at the giant bed. I glance at Titus and follow his gaze to the wardrobes. The fronts of the doors are mirrors, which give a perfect side-on view of the bed.

His gaze slides to mine.

“Don’t say a word,” I tell him, trying not to laugh.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Hurriedly, he slides open the doors, revealing the hanging space, and we spend five minutes hanging our clothes in the wardrobes before returning to the living room.

“Looks comfy enough,” I tease, gesturing at the leather sofa. “Shall we rock, paper, scissors for it?”

“I’ll be fine,” he says. “My punishment for being an idiot.”

I laugh, go through to the sparkling kitchen, and open some of the cupboards. “Oh my God, Titus, look at this.” I show him the selection of groceries, which range from pantry items like pasta and rice all the way to boxes of chocolates, including several boxes of After Eight Mints—my favorites.

Titus opens the fridge and gapes at the array of fresh fruit and vegetables inside, along with several bottles of champagne and white wine. There’s also a rack to one side with a dozen assorted bottles.

“Hold on,” he says, and he strides into the living room. I follow him and watch him glance around, then walk over to a cabinet against the wall. He opens it and makes an odd kind of strangled sigh, the type I might make if I saw him exiting the riversansclothes. I look at the contents. It contains a dozen bottles of amber-colored whisky.

“f**k me,” he says, taking one out. “It’s a twenty-two-year-old rare-cask Ardbeg. That’s, like, four thousand dollars. A twenty-one-year-old Lagavulin, six grand a bottle. And a limited edition twenty-year-old Mr. Porter Glenfiddich! Fifteen grand a bottle!” He stares at me. “They’re all Islay malts—my favorites. How did he know?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “He also got my favorite chocolates—I love After Eight Mints.”

He lifts the Glenfiddich out, holds it as if it’s a priceless artifact, and strokes the label.

“Do you touch your women like that?” I ask.

He gives me an amused look, then returns his gaze to the bottle. “Is it too early to try it?”

“Touching a woman?”

“I meant having a whisky, but if you’re game…”

I chuckle. “Alan said the sun’s over the yard arm. Come on.”

We go back into the kitchen, retrieve some ice from the freezer, and pour a generous measure of the Glenfiddich over it. I make him roll his eyes by adding a splash of cold water to mine from the fridge, and then we both take a sip.

“Ooh,” he says, “caramel and creamy lemonade, and a touch of vanilla.”

I wince. “If you say so. It’s f*****g strong.”

“Philistine. We’ll have to have a tasting session. I’ll teach you how to appreciate a good malt.”

“Only if I can teach you about gin.”He pulls a face but says, “All right.” Then he grins. “Want to take a walk along the river?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He has a mouthful of the whisky, and then says, “I’ll finish that when I get back.”

Leaving my glass beside his, I undo the sliding back door and head out into the balmy late afternoon.

“Phew,” I say as we start walking slowly along the path beside the river. “It’s so warm.”

“Very Kiwi,” he says. “Do you miss the weather?”

“It does rain a lot here. But I don’t mind.”

“Have you seen much of the rest of the country?”

I tell him a little about my trip to Kent and Sussex in the southeast, mainly to visit the remains of the Roman Saxon Shore forts, the site of the Battle of Hastings, and the medieval castles like Leeds and Bodiam.

“I’d like to go to Wales,” I say, “and see Harlech Castle, and Caernarfon, and up to Hadrian’s Wall, and Stonehenge, and all the sites I didn’t see in London. There’s so much history here.”

“Should keep you busy for a while,” he says.

I smile, but he looks away, across the river. We walk quietly for a while. Butterflies flutter around in my stomach. For the first time, I wonder whether he was secretly hoping that when we go back to New Zealand, I’d stay there? It’s a big presumption. I know he likes me, but he’s only been in Devon for three days. It’s hardly the love of a lifetime. I wish I had the courage to ask him to kiss me, or to just kiss him, but I don’t.

He’s a mogul, for God’s sake; a billionaire businessman who does keynote speeches at top conferences. I know he has an IQ of 159 because Oliver teases him that he’s thick because it’s less than Einstein’s. He might want to get in my knickers, but he’s not going to be interested in having a relationship with a primary school teacher, I’m sure.

Besides which, he’s a guy, and guys tend to be able to sleep with girls without forming emotional attachments. The only person likely to get hurt if we were to have a fling would be me.

I sigh. Part of me wishes I’d said no to coming here with him, especially now we’re supposed to act like a couple for a few days. It’s just a bit of fun. But I have to make sure my heart stays locked away, because I’m pretty sure that if I let Lawrence Oates get anywhere near it, he could easily shatter it into a thousand irreparable pieces.