and propped himself on a stool alongside me. Rick didn’t look like a morning person, not at all. He was still yawning, stretching in his seat. His hair was ruffled and his eyes were sleepy.
Rick was gorgeous when he was sleepy.
Carl leaned over to kiss Rick’s hair, and then he kissed mine. He smelled fresh, and hot, and his lips were firm. He squeezed my shoulder and his fingers were forceful, and I wanted him. I really wanted him.
“Play nice, kids,” he said, and then he was gone, a briefcase in his hand and his phone already pressed to his ear.
“He’s a hot sonofabitch,” Rick laughed. “And thus begins another sixty hour working week, minimum. The guy doesn’t stop. Ever. I swear he works in his sleep, too.”
“What about you?” I said.
“Twenty-five max. It’s all about the creativity.” He grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. “So, pretty girl, what’s your plan for the day? Do I get to keep you?”
I wished. I liked the thought of being kept by Rick.
But urgh, no, sperm donor.
“I have to head out for one o’clock. Stupid piece of shit thing I can’t get out of.”
“Work?”
It didn’t occur to me to lie. I shook my head. “Just, some shitty thing. A meeting.”
He raised an eyebrow and didn’t look away, waiting for more, and I thought about spilling the truth, but every time I did people never let me hear the end of it.
David Faverley’s daughter?! You’re David Faverley’s daughter? The David Faverley? Of Favcom? Wow!
I heard he’s worth a billion. Is he really worth a billion?
Like I gave two shits what he was worth.
Everyone within a fifteen county radius knew David Faverley, and sometimes I was dumb enough to let it slip that I shared some of his shitty DNA. But not today.
Today I was just a girl who’d give David Faverley the finger and tell him where to stick his shitty little blackmail endeavour.
Asshole.
Rick changed the radio station and grabbed his laptop and started it up in front of me. Emails pinged in, and I caught sight of some of them, product briefs and blind testing feedback, and pictures of his adverts on billboards. Rick was amazing, and from the emails I saw it seemed that everyone else thought so, too.
In that one tiny moment I wished I was someone with a career, someone who could impress Rick and Carl the way they impressed me. But that wasn’t who I am.
Rick didn’t seem to care anyway.
He looked at his watch. “Seven thirty a.m. So, I’ve got you for a few hours?”
I nodded.
He closed his laptop and his eyes were hooded and gorgeous. “I think it’s about time I gave you a proper tour of the house.”
And now I was late, the woman on my navigation software blurting about a load of crap that didn’t make any sense to me. I’d been around the block twice, looped the entire Favcom complex, and still I couldn’t find where the crap I was supposed to park. Bollocks.
I was about to text him and say he could stuff his stupid meeting when I spotted a sign for visitor parking. Gleaming four-wheel drives, and little convertibles, and pushbikes, with a garish company cycle for life poster on the side of the bike rack.
Mine was the only heap of crap car there.
I was wearing my worst jeans on purpose, the ones with holes in the knees. I was wearing my most faded shitty t-shirt, too, once bright pink with ‘bite me, baby’ on the front. And I had my scuffed pumps on.
I hadn’t been here for years, not since I was small enough that it scared the shit out of me. Reception was now chrome and marble, and the reception desk was a huge aquarium with brightly coloured tropical fish swimming about. Talk about overkill. The receptionist was wearing grey, with one of those stupid ruffly neck ties. She smiled across the counter, but she was all gritted and condescending, I could see it in her eyes.
“David Faverley,” I said, and she raised an eyebrow.
“David Faverley?”
“Yes,” I said. “I have a meeting with him.” She flashed me a look designed to draw blood, but I didn’t flinch, just smiled.
“And who should I say is here for him?”
“Katie,” I said. “Katie Smith.”
She pursed her lips and eyeballed me before she picked up the handset. “I have a Katie Smith here for Mr Faverley. Claims she has an appointment.”
Claims. Cheeky cow.
And then her eyes turned wide and she was pale, unsettled.