The Wealthy Man's Waitress. Maggie CoxЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Returning to his desk, Piers flipped open his diary, glancing down at it unseeingly. There was now no doubt in his mind that Lawrence had deliberately sent the beguiling Emma Robards to do his dirty work for him, and for a moment rage swirled in his gut and clamped his vitals in a vice. Was there no road his feckless son would fail to go down in a bid to get what he wanted? Cursing beneath his breath, Piers dropped down into the black leather chair and deliberately loosened his tie, which just then felt as if it was strangling him. Things between himself and Lawrence just seemed to go from dire to disastrous and right now Piers couldn’t think of one damn thing he could do to improve relations. Been there, tried that, been let down more times than any law-abiding parent deserved, in his opinion.

      So Lawrence had thought to sweeten his father’s attitude towards him by presenting him with a bribe? Did he really believe that Piers wouldn’t take him up on it? Maybe he thought his father was too old to be attractive to a pretty young thing like Emma. At the memory of those innocent brown eyes staring back so fetchingly into his, Piers felt inevitable erotic heat settle in his groin. Lawrence should know by now that when it came to a challenge—whether business or personal—Piers was not a man to trifle with.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘SO, HOW did it go with the old man?’ His expression wary, blond hair tousled, chest bare and his jeans hung low on his youthful hips, Lawrence strolled into Emma’s living-room and dropped down onto the sofa. As he leant forward, his blue eyes were very intense as they flicked across Emma’s face. For a moment she didn’t know what to say. How was she going to tell him she had failed to get the help he needed when his gaze was so trusting and hopeful? It would be like kicking a dog when he was already down.

      ‘I take it you did get in to see him?’ His smile a little nervous, Lawrence helped himself to an apple from the cut-glass bowl on the coffee-table and took a bite. Momentarily surprised by his assumption that she’d actually got that far at least, Emma frowned as she looked at him. ‘Don’t you believe in wearing clothes? It’s November, not the middle of July!’

      ‘I’m OK.’ He shrugged his wide shoulders uncaringly. ‘I just had a shower. As soon as I heard you come back I just left everything and came downstairs.’

      Hearing footsteps walk across the floor above, Emma swallowed down the unexpected hurt that suddenly cramped her throat as she glanced knowingly up at the ceiling. ‘Have you got a girl up there?’

      For a moment the brilliant blue eyes clouded over. Throwing the half-eaten apple back into the bowl, Lawrence got to his feet and came to join her. ‘She means nothing, Em. You know how I’ve been lately. I just needed some comfort. Someone to hold.’ The unspoken censure was there in his eyes, Emma realised. He’d had to resort to someone who ‘meant nothing’ because Emma refused to go to bed with him. He slid his hands onto her shoulders, regret and concern competing for her understanding in his gaze.

      Emma swallowed down her disappointment and hurt and tried to rally her spirits, despite feeling like an ant that had just been stamped on by an elephant. ‘I have feelings too, Lawrence. I tried to explain to you that I needed more time. You tell me you want us to be closer, yet you go to bed with someone else at the first opportunity? I really don’t understand.’

      ‘I’m sorry I hurt you, angel. Please, don’t be angry with me. I know it’s hard for you to understand but a man has needs. You must realise I wouldn’t be interested in any other girl at all if you would just allow yourself to be a little more intimate with me.’

      Telling herself she was too damn forgiving for her own good, Emma wished she didn’t suddenly feel like crying…and she still hadn’t managed to give Lawrence the bad news yet. ‘Anyway, I did manage to see your father.’

      ‘I knew you would.’ His hand moved up from her shoulder to settle briefly at the side of her cheek. ‘So…how did it go?’

      ‘Not good, I’m afraid.’

      ‘Oh?’ Moving away from Emma, Lawrence strode back across the room to the sofa and stood in front of it with his arms folded across his bare chest.

      ‘I’m afraid he won’t help.’ Hating the fact she was forced to state things so baldly, Emma chewed down anxiously on her lip, fielding the hurt she already saw reflected in the dazzling blue irises and wishing there was some way she could eradicate it forever.

      ‘You explained everything to him? That I wanted to make a new start down in Cornwall? That I wouldn’t bother him again if he helps me out just this one last time?’

      ‘Lawrence, I did my best, I really did, but he was resolute. Nothing I said seemed to reach him.’

      ‘Then you clearly didn’t try hard enough!’ His lips twisting in a scowl, Lawrence glared at Emma as if she were solely responsible for the predicament he found himself in. As his words scorched into her brain, Emma stared back at him, feeling as if she’d just received a sudden, unexpected blow to the head.

      ‘What did you say?’ Nervously, she wove her hand through her shoulder-length hair then pulled it free again.

      ‘You know how desperate I am!’

      That was it, Emma told herself soothingly. He was only angry with her because he felt so desperate. When he calmed down, everything would be right again between them. But beneath her own assurance another feeling was rising, one that resembled something very close to resentment. Many of her friends—and she herself—had come from far more difficult situations and not everyone had had the cushion of comfort to fall back on that Lawrence had had. Was he right to always expect his father to bail him out of trouble? When did the boy become an adult and start to look after himself?

      Glancing at the tall, blond, handsome youth who graced her living-room, Emma experienced a sudden surge of shame that she was silently giving vent to some not so nice feelings about him. It was the ordeal she’d been through, she told herself. It was having Piers Redfield look at her as if he wanted to manoeuvre her up against a wall and take her there and then in his office, with the Lord Mayor’s procession weaving through the streets and his staff hanging out of the windows to watch it. Her body throbbed with shameful heat at the thought.

      ‘I’m really sorry that your father won’t help but maybe there’s another way? Between us we must be able to come up with something.’ Forever hopeful, Emma tried to smile consolingly but she could hardly bring herself to look Lawrence in the eye with the thoughts that were currently scorching her brain. Some friend she was.

      ‘Bastard!’ Without a thought for Emma’s furniture, Lawrence kicked the leg of the coffee-table and sent the glass bowl containing the fruit skidding along its polished surface.

      ‘Lawrence!’

      ‘I suppose he gave you a lecture on how irresponsible and selfish I was? How I don’t deserve help because I’m such a dismal failure? Then I suppose he told you how many jobs he’d got me interviews for, how many I didn’t turn up to or left after a few days? How I’m always coming up with crazy schemes that go nowhere instead of knuckling down to some ‘‘honest hard work’’?’

      ‘He didn’t run you down to me.’ Distressed by his anger, Emma crossed the room to go to him but he shrugged her off when she reached out to comfort him and glared at her instead.

      ‘What’s the matter with you?’ His eyes wild, he shook his head. ‘You’re supposed to be my friend. You know how desperate I’ve been. You may not mind living in this dump but I do mind! I’d do anything to get out of it…anything! Why couldn’t you have persuaded him to help me?’

      ‘Persuaded him?’ Her