A Fragile Heart (BBW Billionaire Light Romance) Read online

  Here she was, dressed in her heavy black winter coat, which must be at least five years old, scruffy boots, looking a bit frazzled at the end of a long working day, gazing at the unexpected sight of this unpredictable, fabulous man.

  Guy moved forward and held the door open for her. And in a daze she followed him across the busy street and into the brightly lit wine bar. It was practically empty in the early evening and he moved confidently to a small table in the window, pulling out a seat for her.

  “Red or white?” he asked with a gentle smile.

  “Red please, but just a small one,” Elena said, aware of her empty stomach.

  She’d been trying to cut down a little on her lunch at work, but one wholemeal sandwich and an apple didn't really last until evening and she was feeling pretty hungry.

  Guy returned with two glasses of red wine and sat down opposite her.

  “I wanted to thank you for the trouble you took sending that thank you card,” he said, his steely grey eyes flashing at hers once again, his perfectly-manicured hands folded in front of him on the table.

  “Oh, that's okay,” she replied. “We just needed to say a proper thanks for the donation.”

  “The Company does give to some of the large charities,” Guy continued. “But I can't think of any time they’ve bothered to send hand written thanks. Maybe it’s better to concentrate on the smaller organisations.”

  “It's a small hospice. I just felt you needed to know it was appreciated” Elena replied. And then, before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “How did you find me?”

  “I pay my P.A. a very good salary to do things like that,” Guy his handsome face lighting up in a warm smile.

  And Elena began to feel slightly overwhelmed by the situation, wondering what she could say next.

  “The other thing is,” he continued, “I felt that maybe we got off to a bad start the other Sunday. You see, I'm a bit of a workaholic, six days a week until quite late, so Sunday, my day off, I like to just get the papers in, make coffee, loaf around undisturbed. I may have been a little rude.”

  "Oh no, at least you provided the frozen peas," Elena replied.

  She gulped down the rest of her wine, which seemed to be going straight to her head. And common sense told her that she should get away, go home; this man was far too devastating, she was amazed that she was even here drinking with him.

  “You've finished your glass,” he said, making to rise from his seat. “Shall I get us a bottle?”

  “No, really. I shouldn't have any more, not without food. It makes me feel a bit dizzy ...”

  Guy grinned. “Well, we couldn't have that now could we? Know anywhere nearby that does good food? I haven't eaten yet, either.”

  Chapter Six

  The Golden Lion was an old London pub that had managed to escape modernisation. There were wooden floors, mismatched oak tables and chairs, and black and white photos on the walls of London back in the swinging Sixties; almost an atmosphere of times gone by. But a log fire blazed in the open hearth and the food was all home cooked, and it was a place Elena and her friends from work liked to visit when they’d been paid at the end of the month.

  “Grab a table,” Guy said, “and I'll get us a bottle. Red still okay?”

  Elena nodded. And as she found a table for two just near the cozy roaring fire, she still felt it was difficult to believe that she was actually here with Guy. But this was the first place she’d thought of, and she certainly hadn't wanted to go anywhere too smart.

  Guy returned with the wine bottle and two glasses. He remained standing while he poured out the wine, then said, “I'll go and get the menu.”

  Elena smiled and shook her head. “There isn't a menu,” she explained, “just a blackboard behind the bar. I'll have the beef casserole.”

  “How do you know it's on?” he asked, his right eyebrow raising quizzically.

  “Speciality of the house. It's always on.”

  Trying not to be too obvious, she watched Guy at the bar — the athletic broadness of his shoulders beneath his immaculately-tailored midnight blue suit — his whole personality so confident and self-assured, chatting to Fred the barman as though he was an old friend. The pub was quickly filling up, office workers and regulars popping in for a drink or meal at the end of the working day. It was lucky they’d got here early, another half hour and the pub would be packed.

  For a moment Elena wondered if anyone she knew might come in, then tried to tell herself to live in the moment, to stop thinking about who might come in or what might happen next, and just take the evening as it came ...

  When Guy returned to the table he was carrying a plate of French bread and a small dish of butter.

  “Mustn't let the wine go to your head before the meal comes,” he smiled.

  Elena was really hungry and quickly buttered a piece of bread, chewing it eagerly, enjoying the crusty texture. After a moment, she became aware that he was watching her.

  “Sorry,” she said, feeling embarrassed and pushing the plate towards him. “Sometimes I get a bit carried away.”

  “No, carry on,” Guy said, sitting back, relaxed in his chair. “It's refreshing to see a woman actually enjoys eating.” There was a slight pause, then he carried on. “My ex-wife was a model, so going out for a meal with her could be a little ... difficult.”

  “I suppose she was watching her weight,” Elena offered.

  “Always. I can't tell you how many times we went out, somewhere really expensive, and she would order a green salad and a glass of tonic water, then spend the rest of the evening pushing a lettuce leaf around her plate. At the same time she’d be watching the room to see who was there that she knew and who might come in, and if there were any press photographers there. Olivia had two aims in life, you see: to be thin and to be famous.”

  “And is she?” Elena asked, curious now. “Famous, I mean?”

  “Olivia Kline.”

  “Wow.” Olivia Kline was only one of the most well known models in the world, always in the newspapers or magazines. Elena recalled seeing her in a recent advert for lipstick, ten-foot high on the side of a building. She really was beautiful, with great bone structure and dazzling features.

  “Looking back,” Guy continued, “it was inevitable that the marriage wouldn't last. She was only young when we met, she wanted the security of a wealthy husband and I suppose, at the time, I wanted a trophy wife. But she became very insecure. There were always other models coming up, younger, thinner. Anyway, enough of that,” he shrugged, shaking his head. “Sorry, I don't usually talk much about it.”

  Elena was surprised that they had so easily fallen into conversation. Here she was, chatting to a billionaire in a local pub and he’d just told her about his ex-wife! She wanted to ask further questions, find out more, but managed to restrain herself. It was surprising he’d revealed as much as he had. She was glad when the food arrived and noticed that Guy had also ordered the casserole which, as usual, was delicious.

  The food, the wine, the warmth from the log fire and the background buzz of conversations in the room were all relaxing. And when Guy asked her why she’d decided to leave Sheffield and live in London, Elena felt, unusually for her, able to open up. After all, he was a stranger, someone she would probably never see again, and he had already told her about his marriage problems.

  “Oh, the usual story,” she said. “The end of a romance. I needed to get away.”

  Guy nodded and poured her another glass of wine. Suddenly, for the first time in ages, she felt she could actually talk about her broken heart, just for tonight.

  “Dave and I were part of a group of friends, before we started going out. We got on well, moved into a flat in Sheffield, and I thought we’d eventually get married. All our friends were pairing off, getting married, having babies. We’d been together four years, but Dave always avoided any mention of being more serious. He said we still had plenty of time, that we were too young for commitment ...”

/>   She looked up. Guy was listening intently, his eyes fixed on hers, his sensual lips parted ever so slightly. So she went on.

  “Well, one Friday afternoon I came back from work and found he’d moved out! We hadn't had a row. No note, or phone call. Just everything of his taken from the flat. His CDs, his clothes, all his possessions ...”

  I was just numb with shock, but as I walked around the flat I found he’d also taken other things, too. Sheets, towels, pillows. Then I went into the kitchen and the fridge was empty – absolutely nothing left. How mean can you get?”

  “Sounds as though you were best out of it,” Guy observed quietly.

  “But the worse thing was, I discovered afterwards that he’d moved just a couple of streets away, living with a single mother of two children. And this from someone who didn't want any commitment! It must have been going on for some time, but I had no idea. I didn't know whether any of our friends were aware of the affair and had kept it from me. It was really humiliating. I couldn't face seeing him, bumping into him in the street or something, so I just packed my job in and came here, to London.”

  “Good for you,” Guy smiled, his perfect white teeth flashing. “A new start, different surroundings. So, have you settled in well? Done all the sights?”

  Elena shook her head. “London seemed so exciting at first and I had plans to visit all the well known tourist things. You know, the Tower of London, take a boat down the river to Greenwich, visit all the art galleries and so on. But time just seems to disappear and, to be honest, it's not much fun on your own.”

  “Same here,” said Guy. “And I was even born here, in the East End, but my childhood didn't include trips out. Once work took over there wasn't time for sight-seeing. I think you must realise I'm a bit of a workaholic.”

  “Sorry to go on,” Elena said. “I don't usually talk about why I moved down here.”

  “I think it’s easier to talk to a stranger.”

  Guy looked at his watch, a Rolex. It just had to be, thought Elena.

  "Sorry about this,” he said, “but talking of work, I have to take a long distance call back at the office in an hour. Can I give you a lift home?”

  Elena glanced nervously at the empty bottle of wine; he must be well over the limit to drive.

  “It's okay,” he explained, when he caught her hesitant glance. “My driver’s on stand by to pick us up. I just need to text him.”

  "Does he take you everywhere?"

  Elena wouldn’t normally have asked quite so many questions, but the wine was making her a little too relaxed.

  “It's easier to work in the car when I'm being driven,” he replied, “and he takes me to airports and so on. Henry also does maintenance at the London house and his wife, Marie, is my housekeeper.”

  She’d not meant to pry, but was fascinated to hear of his lifestyle.

  ‘The London house,’ he’d said – which surely meant there were others, too, perhaps an apartment in New York or a villa in the South of France? For someone who sometimes struggled to pay the rent on a single, miniscule apartment, it was just out of this world ...

  §

  Elena couldn't believe she was being driven home by chauffeur in a luxury car with tinted windows. The whole evening seemed to have taken on the feeling of a dream. Guy's mobile had rung moments after they started off and now he was deep into a business discussion as the car purred through the dark evening streets.

  Just then, the driver, Henry, asked Elena where she lived and she told him.

  As they approached the line of shops next to the launderette, the car slowed.

  “Thank you, just here is fine,” Elena said, glancing embarrassedly at the scruffy, graffiti-marked door which led up to her flat.

  Guy took something out of his wallet and wrote on it.

  “This is my private number,” he said, catching her once more in his intense gaze, causing another flutter of excitement deep within her. “If you fancy going to the Tower on Sunday morning, send me a text with the time, say around eleven, and we could meet at Tower Bridge. It’s your call.”

  Before Elena could answer, the driver had opened the car door, and out she had stumbled.

  “Thank you for the meal,” she called as the car pulled away, its engine purring.

  Sunday morning! Had she really heard him correctly? Her thoughts were in a total whirl as she fumbled for her key, trying desperately to make sense of the evening. And in her other hand she tightly clutched the card with his phone number, as though it was some kind of magic talisman …

  Chapter Seven

  Elena's bedroom was situated at the back of the flat. In proportion with everything else, it wasn’t very big, but the landlord had arranged for it to be painted in a warm cream colour before she moved in and had provided a new double bed. She’d made some pretty lace curtains and bought a few cushions and some pictures from a charity shop. It was a relaxing room and Elena usually tried to keep it as neat as possible, however today her bed was covered with untidy piles of clothes. She’d emptied her wardrobe and separated everything out: trousers, jumpers, tops, jackets, coats, all of them in either black or drab colours.

  She was always aware of her weight and generally gravitated towards dark, fairly loose-fitting clothes in the hope that they might make her look slimmer. She must have read that in a magazine article some time ago and had no idea whether, in fact, it actually worked.

  Looking down at the collection, she realised that it had been some time since she’d treated herself to anything new, and the whole lot should probably go to a charity shop soon. If she was going to meet Guy on Sunday morning, she would need something smarter or at least more flattering to wear.

  If she was going to meet Guy. That was the problem. When fantasy turns into possibility, problems often occur.

  First, she hadn't sent a text to confirm a time and her mind was still in turmoil as she asked herself again and again what this meeting was supposed to be and whether she should go. She could hardly believe that it was a date. So, looking at it in the cold light of day, maybe it was just a one off idea to get together for a bit of sight-seeing, and he was probably regretting the suggestion already.

  Secondly, how could he want to be with her for the day when he was used to the company of fabulously beautiful women, such as his supermodel ex-wife or the stunning brunette in the newspaper article Elena had seen on her laptop?

  Thirdly, and the worst possibility of all, what if he didn't even turn up?

  Elena knew she should be spending some time tidying up the flat, cleaning out the fridge and shopping for food, checking her precariously balanced bank account online, all those boring but essential weekend tasks, but her mind wasn't focused on domestic duties anymore. No. Her thoughts were swirling around again and again, always coming back to the same uncertainty.

  “Having a jumble sale?” Josh said, leaning casually against the open door of her bedroom.

  It was Saturday morning and he was still sleepy and hungover from last night's gig. At least he’d been quiet when he came home late and didn't disturb her.

  “That's just what it looks like: jumble,” Elena moaned.

  “Throw it all out then,” Josh suggested helpfully.

  “Yeah, and turn up tomorrow stark naked?” Elena snapped.

  “What's tomorrow? A hot date?”

  Elena could have bitten off her tongue. She hadn't told anyone about her second meeting with Guy and the fact that they’d gone for a meal at the pub. It still didn't seem real to her. But now Josh's interest was stirred, and in the usual manner of an irritating younger brother, she knew he would just keep on asking questions and drag the truth out of her bit by bit, so she might as well just tell him the whole thing.

  For once, he was momentarily at a loss for words as she described her meal with Guy, the lift home in the chauffeur driven car and the idea of meeting again to visit the Tower of London on Sunday. He moved further into the bedroom, keeping his eyes on the mound of clothes on E
lena's bed.

  “You definitely need to do some serious shopping,” he advised. “Get someone who knows about clothes to go with you, and just max out your credit card.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “No, really. If you’re going to go along with this and meet him on Sunday, you need to give it your best shot. Buy something new. You can look okay sometimes, you know.”

  This was probably the nearest Elena would ever get to a flat-out compliment from her brother. She slumped down on her bed amongst the piles of clothes and admitted to herself that for once Josh was actually right, and offering good advice. She would ring Yvonne from the office and see if she could spare a couple of hours to mingle with the Saturday shoppers and help her find something to wear.

  To be fair, she would have to tell Yvonne that she was going out with a man on Sunday, too, but she’d make sure to play down any romantic ideas and certainly not reveal his identity or, at this stage, mention that he was the person who’d given that large charity donation.

  There was one more thing to do before she spent any hard-earned money on new clothes, however ... She must decide whether she was actually going to meet him or not, and if so, when she would send the text to Guy.

  She put it to the back of her mind, hoping a decision would come to her later.

  §

  Oxford Street was busy, crowds thronging the pavements and jostling in the shop doorways. Some of the shop windows were displaying ‘Winter Sale!’ signs and Elena hoped to spot a bargain. It was still chilly and people were glad to be inside in the warm, looking through the colourful racks of outfits.

  Elena and Yvonne made their way steadily. There was to be no rushing into buying the first thing that fitted and simply looked fine. Yvonne was a discerning shopper and had decided that Elena's best black trousers and coat simply wouldn’t do. What they needed to find was a really good cashmere jumper in a bold plain colour and a dazzling, patterned scarf. Complete the outfit with some expensive looking ear-rings and a new lipstick, she’d advised, as people always notice the top half of what someone was wearing, rather than the bottom. Yvonne herself always looked smart and in fashion, while dressing for her age, and she was a good person to take shopping.