Talking Dirty with the CEO - By Jackie Ashenden Page 0,52
couple of weeks ago, would have made her sick.
But now, as she and Joseph entered the room, all her earlier nerves seemed to have dropped away, the horrible feeling in her stomach gone.
He was holding her hand, his warm strong fingers laced with hers, and the words he’d spoken to her out in the car seemed to have lodged deep in her soul.
You’re strong and brave and beautiful. You’re perfect.
Just words. Just one man’s belief. And yet they’d given her a strength that all the steel-capped Doc Marten boots in the world couldn’t.
“Christie, darling!”
Helene St. John, picture-perfect in an expensive green silk cocktail outfit that matched her eyes, came forward to greet them. She kissed Christie on both cheeks, enveloping her in a wave of soft perfume. “You’re a bit late of course but being fashionably late is the in thing, isn’t it?”
“Hi Mum,” Christie said. Joseph’s fingers tightened around hers, a subtle reminder. And something inside her became even stronger.
Her mother waved a hand. “Oh, no, darling. Not mum. Sounds so old.” She cast a sidelong glance at Joseph, standing at Christie’s side, a tall, restless presence. “So I see you didn’t make him up after all. Introduce us, there’s a dear.” There was a flirtatious note in her voice. Helene playing the socialite again.
“This is Joseph. Joseph Ashton.”
Helene blinked, green eyes wide. “As in Ashton Technology?”
“Yes, Mrs. St. John. The very same.” Joseph smiled, dark and devastating.
“Mrs. St. John? Oh no, not that, either, please,” she simpered. “Makes me sound like my mother-in-law. Call me Helene.” Another flirtatious glance at him that made Christie cringe. “So you’re Christie’s…what do they call them these days? Boyfriend?”
Joseph’s smile didn’t falter. “I believe they call them lovers, Helene.”
Christie’s teeth sunk into her lip, a laugh bubbling in her throat at the look on her mother’s face.
Helene, clearly flustered, gave a false giggle. “Oh, how…lovely. Haven’t you done well for yourself, darling?”
Holding Joseph’s hand very firmly, Christie looked her mother in the eye. “Yes, haven’t I, Mum?”
The look in Helene’s eyes flickered for an instant at the firm, steady note in her daughter’s voice, her mouth pursing in disapproval. A frown appeared. “We’re privileged, I see. A dress instead of jeans. Lovely, darling. Though I’m not sure about that color on you. You have a tendency toward sallowness.”
And so it begins.
The rain of criticisms. Such mild complaints by themselves, but taken together they were the death of a thousand cuts. Making her feel so small and plain and ugly.
But not today. Because today she was beautiful. Today she was perfect.
“Actually, Mum, I thought the color looked good on me.”
“Oh no, sweetheart. Sorry, but it’s true. I know fashion has always been a bit of a challenge for you so take it from me.”
“May I respectfully disagree, Helene?” Joseph said from beside her. “I thought she looked beautiful in it.”
Another flustered expression passed over her mother’s face. “You did? But then you must admit, men don’t know much about fashion.” She gave him a condescending smile. “I bet you’d probably think Christie would look fabulous in a paper bag.”
“She would.” The smile that curved his mouth was pure wolf. “Though I prefer her in nothing at all.”
Christie felt herself blushing, alternating between embarrassment at Joseph’s frankness and pleasure at Helene’s shock. Her mother was never put off-balance or caught by surprise, and boy was Christie going to enjoy the moment.
It didn’t last of, course. Because Helene always had to have the last word.
Sure enough, she gave them both a fixed smile then said to Joseph, “You must let me introduce you to my husband, and Andrew, my son.” She made a beckoning motion and Christie realized that her father and brother had been hovering in the background for a while now, like courtiers waiting for the queen’s summons.
Helene began taking charge of the introductions while her father and Andrew fawned all over Joseph.
“Well, Christie, you never told me he was the Joseph Ashton,” Helene said as her father beamed, shaking Joseph’s hand. “How ever did you meet him? I didn’t think you moved in quite the same circles.”
Joseph answered before Christie could open her mouth. “She interviewed me for her magazine. And she was so articulate, so interesting, I couldn’t resist looking her up after the interview.” He raised his eyebrows at the rest of her family. “Do you know how talented this woman is?”
Mark, Christie’s father, gave him a faint disbelieving smile. “Talented?”
Joseph nodded slowly, as if to a child. “Yes. Extremely.