A Fragile Heart (BBW Billionaire Light Romance) Page 2

  “Where have you been living?”

  “On floors at people's rooms at first, then once my student loan was all gone, I moved into a sort of a squat and sometimes during the day I spend the time busking at the underground. At least its dry.”

  Elena took a deep breath and pushed to the back of her mind all the warnings of the dangers in living rough in any big city. If she’d known what was really going on she would have had even more sleepless nights worrying about her little brother.

  “You can come and sleep on my sofa until you sort yourself out,” she offered, “but I warn you, first a shower, then we'll take your clothes to the launderette, which just happens to be below the flat. You'll have to try and find at least a casual bar job or something. I can pay the rent and bills, but you must try and contribute towards food. And I don't earn enough to give you spending money. Okay?”

  He was exhausted and nodded in agreement. And so the temporary pact had been agreed.

  Surprisingly, it worked out reasonably well, as Elena worked during the day and Josh was often playing gigs at small pubs at night and coming back in the early hours. He would sleep until around mid-day and then usually had a few hours temporary bar work or casual washing up to go to.

  They’d both agreed to keep the truth from their parents for the time being. There was an understanding between them that they couldn't keep up the story for too much longer, and it must be Josh who would choose when to tell them the reality of the situation.

  Josh stirred.

  “So? How was the marathon?” he asked yawning.

  “It was only a fun run, not a marathon,” Elena replied. “Although it felt like it at times.”

  She hobbled across to the kettle.

  “Coffee?”

  “Thanks. Hey, what's wrong with your foot?”

  Elena made the coffee in two big, colourful pottery mugs, then sat down with Josh on the sofa.

  In a few words she explained how she had tripped and twisted her ankle, about the man who was just bringing his Sunday papers in and found her on his front doorstep, and the incident of the frozen peas.

  “Wait, hang on ... Did you say this was one of those Regency houses, near the park?”

  She nodded, sipping her coffee. She still felt thirsty and wished she’d made tea instead, or collected some fruit juice from the corner shop.

  “And he invited you in?”

  “Yes, he gave me a glass of water and put some peas on my ankle.”

  “You do realise this guy must be seriously loaded? There isn't anything around there that’s worth less than around seven or eight million, at least.”

  “Well, it was elegant inside,” she told him. “All marble floors, sweeping stairways, and huge vases of flowers.”

  “What about him? Was he young, old, married, surrounded by photos of family and kids?”

  It was unusual for Josh to take an interest in her activities, and Elena thought carefully before she replied.

  “He was around forty I’d say, and good-looking in a dark, lean sort of way, with the casual arrogance you get from knowing how rich and attractive you are and that there are people out there who work for you to make life easier – run your office, clean your house, chauffeur you around in your Porsche, cook you gourmet meals ... You know the sort.”

  Josh finished his coffee and rose to put his mug in the sink, shaking his head.

  “You missed an opportunity there. You should’ve seduced him, or at least pretended that you couldn't walk and stayed the night.”

  “Like he’s going to be blown away by the sight of an over-weight, sweaty woman in old jogging clothes and a dodgy ankle!” Elena laughed.

  But later, when she was in the shower, Elena found herself thinking again about Guy Silver, unable to get him out of her mind. It was a long time since she’d allowed herself to be attracted to a man, as she had been hurt in the past. However, she found herself remembering the dark designer stubble on his chin, and she let her fingers slip between her legs as she indulged in a fantasy where his strong, lean hands stroked her, insisting that he wanted to make sure she wasn't injured anywhere else, then carrying her up that wide staircase to his fabulous bedroom ...

  “Elena?” Josh shouted from the other room, interrupting her fantasy. “Have you seen my phone charger anywhere? I can’t find it ...”

  Chapter Four

  On Monday they were all talking about the charity run as they drifted into the office, hanging up their coats and switching on their computers ready or another week of work. Some people were definitely feeling inspired to continue with a jogging routine in order to keep fit, while others complained about aches in muscles they didn't even know they even had.

  This was what Elena liked about working at the agency: they were a great bunch of people who worked hard but were always interested in exchanging stories about the weekend and having a laugh together, too.

  She thought about the sponsor money she’d have to collect during the next few days. It might not have been a great deal, but at least it would be something to add to the final amount. And she suspected that it had only been the thought of contributing that had kept her going when her ankle was so painful.

  For some reason, Elena kept quiet about her incident with Guy Silver, only mentioning that she’d slightly twisted her ankle during the run. She didn't feel as though she wanted to go into any more details – she might arouse too much interest. No, better to keep it to herself …

  She also realised that her feelings about him were becoming quite intense and felt she might give this away, too. With the best will in the world, people at work were always trying to fix her up with a date, which she still wasn’t quite ready for, and they would totally pounce on any news of her meeting a new guy.

  Luckily there was a new project to be started and for the next few days they were all kept busy, telephoning people from a prepared list of numbers, trying to get them to talk about which washing powder they used, and what they thought about it. Most people thought they were trying to sell something over the phone and were unwilling to talk without persuasion. Any results were entered onto the computers and then the statistics were completed for the client.

  It wasn’t particularly interesting or specialised work, but the office was warm, Yvonne bought everyone doughnuts at coffee break, and Maggie kept them enthralled with the news of her latest steamy romance with a weight lifter from Camden …

  §

  Elena was a little late for work on Thursday. The bus had been held up in heavier than usual traffic, and she arrived at the office flustered. She usually liked to be in early and slide slowly into the working day.

  She expected to see everyone busily working at their desks by the time she arrived and was ready with her explanation, but that morning she was surprised to see the desks empty and all the staff clustered around Yvonne's office, some inside and others squashed into the open doorway.

  For a dreadful moment, Elena felt sick with worry. She’d heard about this sort of thing happening quite a lot recently: a sudden fall in new business or profits, offices closing without notice or staff being made redundant. There had been items on the television news showing workers walking out of their offices with cardboard boxes containing their belongings. No notice or chance to find another job, just out onto the street. She approached the back of the group holding her breath, hoping that this would not be the case.

  Yvonne spotted her.

  “You've just missed the most exciting news,” she said. “I was in early so I decided to have a look at the donations list for the hospice so far, and there it was!”

  “What?” Elena asked, her panic gradually subsiding.

  “Only a donation for five thousand pounds from some company called Silverton Associates. Five grand! Can you believe it?”

  “Are you sure there isn't any mistake?” someone called out.

  Yvonne shook her head.

  “I couldn't believe it myself so I doubled checked with the ban
k online. It's genuine, the only thing is, who the hell are Silverton Associates? Any ideas? Anyone heard of them?”

  There was a general buzz as people shook their heads and talked about the fantastic donation.

  Elena slipped back to her desk and sat down, trying to sort out her jumbled thoughts. Guy Silver?

  Silverton Associates? It seemed such a coincidence. Could there be any connection?

  She tried to remember what she’d actually said about the run when she’d been with Guy on Sunday morning. She’d certainly mentioned the charity and probably the name of the hospice, but what else had she rabbited on about?

  §

  The rest of the day passed in a blur, but from time to time someone would comment on the donation and wonder where it had come from. Elena tried to concentrate on her work and waited until she was on her way home before she rang Josh on his mobile.

  “Are you in the flat, and are you going out this evening?” she said.

  “Yeah, later,” he replied. “I’m seeing Pete around eight. Why?”

  “Because I want you to do a bit of detective work on my laptop, tracing a company. You're much better at it than I am. You'll be finished before eight.”

  “Boring,” he replied.

  “I'll bring home Chinese takeaway,” Elena promised.

  “Alright. It's a deal.”

  Josh had always been instinctively good with computers. And it took him just a few minutes to discover that Silverton Associates was indeed a company set up by a Guy Silver and Graham Ashton, a merging of their names. They were highly successful with offices in Canary Wharf, London, Montreal and Hong Kong dealing in property, shipping and the leisure industry. Josh continued searching around online and dug up a photo, too.

  “Is this your Guy?” he asked.

  “He’s not mine,” Elena blushed. “But yes, that's him.”

  It was a newspaper article and photo taken at a function in some expensive up-market hotel. An awards ceremony for business promotion. There he was, the man from Sunday, looking impossibly suave and handsome in a tuxedo, and next to him a younger man, slim and intense looking with rimless glasses. Silverton Associates. They were flanked by two elegant women, to the left of Graham Ashton a petite blonde with a neat slim figure, in a silver shift dress. And next to Guy, her arm looped through his, stood a tall, stunning brunette in what was obviously a designer dress, black and figure-hugging, her long neck circled with glittering diamonds.

  “So, he’s the donor?” Josh said, peering at the screen. “You must have made quite an impression on him.”

  Elena couldn't drag her eyes away from the woman next to Guy. Of course she must be his wife; someone like him would have to be married to a beautiful woman, and would move in charmed circles, protected by his wealth from the normal world.

  The donation was probably some form of tax concession, she decided. But even so, when she thought about the amount, she wondered if she’d given the impression that she was asking for money for the hospice, and hoped that was not the case. She felt that he should be properly thanked, however it had happened, as it was still an extremely generous gift.

  “The company will get an email of recognition from the hospice probably,” Josh said when she mentioned this to him.

  §

  That evening, Josh went out to meet his friend and Elena found herself thinking once more about the large donation.

  Okay, it was from a prosperous business, and was possibly tax deductible, but even so, she felt somehow responsible. After all, if she hadn't landed on his front step, then the hospice would never have received their five thousand pounds.

  She wanted somehow to acknowledge his gift. She thought around the possible ways: an email to his office? Too impersonal. A phone call? No number. So, what to do?

  Then she thought of her mother when they were young, insisting that she and Josh always wrote out thank you notes for their birthday and Christmas presents.

  A full letter might be too personal, and she wouldn't know how to phrase it, but what about a simple thank you card?

  With that, Elena had made up her mind. She would buy a card on the way to work, write a brief line or two inside, and post it on her lunch break.

  The only problem with this plan was that she didn't actually know his address. The only solution would be to retrace her steps from the park last Sunday and see if she could recognise the house, and hope that she could pop the card through his letterbox unseen. After all, he’d said that he usually worked long hours in the week and enjoyed Sundays off.

  She stopped at the newsagent's and selected an unfussy thank-you card, then thought long and hard about the correct way to address the envelope and the message to put inside.

  In the end, she kept it simple:

  To Guy Silver, Silverton Associates,

  Thank you for your generous gift which was much appreciated,

  Elena Walsh (Number 56)

  §

  With her coat collar turned up and a long scarf wound around her neck, Elena walked slowly down the pavement, scrutinising the expensive Regency houses. They all looked similar – brass door knockers and letter boxes, bay trees in lead planters, marble steps. But which one was his?

  Then she spotted the gate into the park, where she’d crossed the road and stumbled, but had she crossed in a straight line or veered slightly to the right?

  She felt very conspicuous in the quiet, leafy road and her heart began to race. There would surely be CCTV security cameras all around this area and she could be spotted as a possible burglar or, at the very least, someone acting suspiciously. The card was gripped tightly in her pocket and she began to doubt the sense of what she was attempting ...

  There it was!

  She remembered the glossy, dark navy door. It had to be the right one. Taking a deep breath and glancing around to make sure no-one was watching, she ran quickly up the steps and pushed the card through the brass letterbox. Down the steps and back up the road, it was done.

  She must now put Guy Silver out of her mind. After all some people never even meet a billionaire in their whole lives, let alone have one put frozen peas on their ankle. And in time it would make a good story, the next time she found herself in the wine bar with her friends.

  However, she must get back to reality and stop day dreaming about him. He lived in another world and was most probably happily married.

  Chapter Five

  The long winter was hanging on even in the middle of March. It should have been a time for daffodils in the park and a promise of Spring, but the icy wind from the North swept down the streets, creeping into gaps under doors and around windows. People huddled into heavy winter coats, boots and scarves. Elena took pity on a couple of stringy, hungry looking pigeons which tried to land on the window-sill of the flat and started putting out some bread for them; they were obviously feeling the winter chill and foraging for any food they could find.

  Elena was relieved that Josh had found a regular part-time washing up job in a little Greek restaurant nearby. At least he would be out of the flat during the day instead of running up the heating bills, and they even fed him at the end of his shift.

  From time to time she thought about having a serious chat with him about his future, but somehow the days slipped past, as they settled into a placid routine around each other.

  Occasionally, she thought that perhaps she should contact an employment agency herself and see if there were any jobs going which were better paid, so that she might be able to afford a larger apartment, but she put this off, too. She was happy working where she was and where the staff were friendly as she still felt a bit of a new-comer in London. She might well be able to earn more money, but she also didn't feel ready for any lifestyle changes, quite at the moment …

  §

  The working day had reached its end. Elena switched off her computer and took her tea mug to rinse it out in the kitchen. She found Yvonne there, putting the remainder of the milk into the small fridge. />
  “Any plans tonight?” she enquired.

  “Not really,” Elena replied. “Just looking forward to a night in front of the TV, I think. It's too cold to go out.”

  Yvonne nodded, saying they should all go to the wine bar over the road on Friday after work, just to chill out for an hour or two.

  Elena pulled on her long black coat and wound a striped scarf around her neck. She noticed that her leather boots were looking rather worn. She really must watch out for the sales in the Spring and see if she could get some new ones, ready for next Winter.

  Next Winter, she thought. What will I be doing then? Still working here probably and worrying about Josh.

  She closed the door to the open plan office and stepped through into the little lobby which acted as reception. There was someone waiting, leaning on the counter, his back to her.

  “I'm afraid we’re closed now,” she called out, walking towards the door.

  “It's you I came to see.”

  Elena turned round, sure she knew that voice. The man from Sunday stood there — Guy Silver, expensively dressed in a charcoal grey cashmere overcoat, a deep purple scarf loosely knotted at the neck, his slightly long, dark hair curling over his collar, his steely eyes fixed on hers. She stood still, frozen in shock, unable to gather her thoughts.

  “I noticed a wine bar across the road,” he said. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  Elena managed to nod, pulling her coat closer, her mind racing.