She had known, of course, that she was sexually attracted to him. But the possibility of forming a romantic attachment was inconceivable.
But instead of skittering back into her shell or distancing herself the way she knew she should, she folded her arms on the table and leaned forward, keen to learn even more about this intriguing man. “I didn’t realize you knew Sam Brand so well.”
“I’ve known him for about six years. His company handles security for Hollingsworth Holdings. As well as personal security for my family.”
“And for you.”
“To a certain extent. I don’t have a security detail or anything like that.”
“Why not?” Surely a man as powerful and wealthy as Miles Hollingsworth, chairman of the board to one of the most successful holding companies in Europe, would need some form of personal protection?
“I’m reclusive.” He used air quotes to frame the word “reclusive” and his tone was light, but the tongue in cheek response didn’t satisfy her. It seemed negligent of a man in his position to allow himself to be so vulnerable. Charity knew how swiftly someone who meant to do violence could strike. From one second to the next, you could go from seemingly fine to prone, in pain and powerless.
“You shouldn’t be so flippant about your safety,” she heard herself berating him, and instantly wished the words back when he pinned her with a searching look. She had sounded too grim and her intensity didn’t match the tone of the conversation.
“Uh…I’m not,” he said, after a long pause. “When I know I’m heading into an unknown situation, or into a crowd, we always take extra precautions. I don’t take unnecessary risks. Not in business and not with my life.”
“You did with your health.” She pointed out.
He grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “You got me there. It was stupid. It felt like a cold and I ignored it but it kept getting worse. I saw a doctor when my concentration became impaired. He suggested I take time off and I—foolishly, I admit—disregarded him. I took the medication he prescribed and kept pushing myself. It was a fucking bug, I thought I had it under control. Right up until the point I found myself waking up in the hospital with my mother and sister crying at my bedside like I’d already died.”
“What did you have?”
“I had the flu…” He waved his hand when she started to say something in response to that. “Seriously. That’s how it started. Influenza Type B. Sore throat, runny nose, chills, the works. It all felt manageable, and I worked from home because I didn’t want to spread it and debilitate my entire company. But when I work from home, I tend to overdo it. I schedule international conference calls at all hours, work on contracts till late into the night, research new acquisitions…I wasn’t joking earlier when I said I’m reclusive. That’s pretty much my life. And it was easier to ignore my symptoms without anyone around to nag me about them.”
“But your sister and brother must have checked up on you. Your mother?”
“They’re used to me being fine. Hugh was adjusting to his new role in the company—he’s just been promoted to a junior executive position and is assisting my COO. He had a lot on his plate. And Vicki was traumatized, she was mugged a day or two before I was hospitalized. My mother was taking care of her. I just had the flu.”
The statement was telling. It seemed like his family relied on him to be the strong one, to take care of them when they were sick or in trouble. Miles was the previously infallible head of the family.
“How’s Vicki?”
“She’s fine.” He shook his head with a wry chuckle that attractively accentuated his dimple. “She hates that I had Brand assign a close protection officer to her after the mugging. I imagine she must be making the poor guy’s life hell.”
“So why were you hospitalized?”
“Are you ready to order?”
They both looked up when their server—a woman who looked around seventy—spoke.
Charity had been so engrossed in the conversation that she hadn’t even noticed the woman approach. And she definitely hadn’t given any thought to what she would eat. And, judging by the startled look on his face, neither had Miles.
“I think I’ll have the chicken and mushroom pie,” Charity decided impulsively. “With milk tart for dessert.”
“Same for me. Pie. But I’ll have the cake for dessert.”
“Anything for the pup?” The server—Estie, according to her name tag—asked