His eyes filled with amused mockery. ‘Because it’s the sensible thing to do.’
Sensible! She seethed over the word, despite how true it was of her.
‘And you are always very sensible about money, Lucy,’ he added, rubbing it in. ‘You never do anything extravagant.’
That was even more true, she had to concede, but it was a truth she suddenly wanted to blow to bits, and to hell with being sensible! She wanted to wear outrageously sexy clothes like Buffy. She wanted to whiz around in a red sports convertible with the wind in her hair. She wanted to seize the pleasures of the day and forget about tomorrow. She wanted to rock James Hancock so far off his feet with her unpredictability he wouldn’t know if he was coming or going with her.
‘I’ll be taking Monday off, James,’ she stated recklessly.
He frowned, not liking this turn of events. ‘What for?’ he demanded.
‘I can claim my car on Monday and that’s exactly what I’m going to do,’ she went on, hurling common sense to the winds.
‘You’re taking it?’ His voice rose incredulously.
The tone of utter disbelief was music to Lucy’s ears. James Hancock could just pull her right out of the pigeon-hole he’d put her in and think again!
‘I hope it won’t inconvenience you too much,’ she said sweetly, ‘but I do need the time off. Of course, I won’t expect you to pay me for the day…’
His eyebrows beetled down. ‘I’m not that mean, Lucy.’
She smiled. ‘I can be quite extravagant when I choose to be, James. I don’t mind…’
‘Don’t be absurd,’ he cut in tersely. ‘You’ve never even taken a sick day off.’
Her smile tilted into irony. ‘It’s my curse to be healthy.’
‘And I’m very grateful for it. You’re entitled to a free day on full pay. It’s nonsense to suggest otherwise.’
‘As you wish,’ she conceded, feeling an exhilarating zing of triumph at having flouted his picture of her and extracted what she wanted from him.
‘Can you drive?’ he shot at her.
Lucy bristled. Did he think her so stodgy and narrow in the life she lived, that handling a car had never entered into it? She ungritted her teeth enough to say, ‘Like most people, James, I got my driving licence in my teens.’
‘Handling a sports car is a bit different to driving a sedate sedan.’
Sedate! Lucy’s teeth ground together again. She’d show him, she thought wildly. His worthy Miss Worthington was going to be the most unsedate secretary he’d ever seen, come Tuesday morning.
‘I think I’d better take Monday off, too, and come with you when you take possession of the car,’ he went on, frowning over her possible incompetence. ‘Run you through its paces so you can feel secure with it.’
Secure! He was hitting all the buttons that made her so unexciting! ‘That’s not necessary,’ she grated.
‘Lucy…’ He looked earnestly at her. ‘It’s often inexperience that causes accidents. I care about you.’
Did he? Did he really? Or was he worried about having to do without his secretary if she smashed herself up?
‘You could underestimate the power, the acceleration,’ he explained. ‘And because you’re lower to the ground in a sports car, the road will feel different, look different.’
‘James does know,’ Buffy put in helpfully. ‘He drives a Porsche.’
Such wonderful common sense, Lucy thought bitterly, and common sense had nothing to do with all the things she planned to do between now and Tuesday morning. While it was nice of James to offer help with the car—condescendingly nice—she didn’t want to be in his company again until she was good and ready. There was one way to squash this whole idea and she took it.
‘Josh drives an MG,’ she told Buffy, then turned to James. ‘It’s very kind of you to offer your services, but I truly don’t need them. I’ll be fine, thank you.’
He looked put out, his mouth tightening, his jaw jutting, his eyes momentarily flashing a savage glitter as he said, ‘Then I can confidently expect you in the office on Tuesday morning.’
‘No problem,’ she assured him, though she fiercely hoped she’d be giving him a lot of problems when she arrived.
‘James took me to the MG Restaurant where they have those cars on display,’ Buffy told Josh. ‘They looked fabulous.’
‘Mine is a much older vintage,’ he dryly informed her. ‘A fifties model which I’ve restored to its former glory.’
This sparked interest around the table and Lucy relaxed, glad the spotlight was now off her. Having embraced madness, she started plotting her moves for the next three days. The car was a windfall anyway, she argued rebelliously to the thrifty voice inside her head, and it wouldn’t break her to buy a few new clothes. The furniture could wait. The payments on her mortgage would simply stay the same.
But what about the cost of car registration?
Insurance?
Fuel?
Parking fees?
Stop it! she commanded. If James Hancock could be won with these tactics, she was going to do it, no matter what. A woman was entitled to one period of madness in her life. She might be dead next week. Seize the day. No shilly-shallying. Just go for it!
James sat in seething silence as the rest of the party carried on about vintage cars. Lucy’s determination to hold him at arm’s length was extremely frustrating. Even out of the office on her day off, it was no go. She had him pigeon-holed as her boss and there he was going to stay, despite the indications of what they could have together. And the deceptive image she had carried off all these months had clearly been designed to put him off, too.
Not that it had completely fooled him. His instincts had been aware there was more to Lucy Worthington than met the eye. Her real life was spilling out tonight.
He turned to her, suspicion wanting proof. ‘You wore this standby little black dress tonight because I’m here,’ he stated bluntly.
She looked startled. ‘I beg your pardon.’
‘It’s a work dress, isn’t it? And that’s your work hair-do, too.’
She affected bewilderment. ‘I’m sorry if you think I’m inappropriately dressed.’
‘Not at all. I’m just working you out, Lucy Worthington. It’s been quite an enlightening night,’ he declared tauntingly.
Her face lit with a smile that seemed to say he hadn’t even scratched the surface of her. She reached out, picked up her glass of champagne, and raised it in a toast. ‘Well, here’s to better days!’