Abbey glanced down at the fingers cradling the stem of her glass. "I see." Her hand reached down under the table. Although Nick couldn't see, from the way she moved it appeared she was trying to cover up the split in her skirt. It didn't matter, the table cloth was floor length and covered everything from the waist down anyway.
As if suddenly realizing, Abbey's hand returned to the tabletop and she clasped her fingers together, placing her elbows on the table and resting her chin on her knuckles. Trying to cover her br**sts?
Had he made her feel that self-conscious? Impossible. Hookers didn't get uncomfortable in revealing outfits.
He sipped his wine, swirling it around his palette before swallowing. A nice vintage. He wondered whether Abbey had taken pot luck when she ordered it, or whether she actually knew a good wine from a bad one without a price tag to check. In reality, it was probably neither. No doubt she'd asked the waiter before she ordered.
"Nice wine," he said, wanting to fill the silence.
"It's one of my favorites. I always order it—" She stopped and glanced away.
Another awkward silence stretched between them, and Nick suddenly regretted coming. Sex was one thing, but making small talk with a woman he barely knew was awful. He'd much rather skip this part of the evening.
"How was your conference?" Abbey asked with a polite smile.
"How did you know about that?"
She shrugged. "They told me."
"They?"
"Hotel management. You know, complementary massage and all that. I asked what you're here for and they said a software conference at the Crown Complex."
"Seminar," Nick corrected. So she was going to stick with the free massage story. Fine, he could play along.
"So you're a salesman for a software firm. How exciting."
She was a terrible actress. Her eyes glazed over in boredom when she said the words salesman and software. He couldn't blame her—it did sound dull.
But it irritated him that she thought he was just a salesman, working for just another software company. Not the owner and CEO of the most prestigious and lucrative technology firm in the entire southern hemisphere.
It irritated him even more that he couldn't tell her the truth either. She thought he was Damien Vane. The hotel thought he was Damien Vane. The potential clients at the seminar thought he was Damien Vane.
He'd decided before he left Sydney that he couldn't tell anyone the truth. It could ruin his chances of selling the software. The clients were ruthless, and they knew Vane was one of the greatest marketing geniuses in the software industry. He'd been in software for twenty years, a long time in this rapidly changing business. He had a stellar reputation.
Nick Delaware had no marketing experience and no software experience. He was an investor who injected money and business acumen into financially struggling companies with loads of potential then sold them for huge profits. As far as the seminar attendees were concerned, Nick Delaware knew nothing about software. They'd be insulted if an investor—albeit a good one—was trying to sell them a solution to their data warehousing problems. They wouldn't touch Software Solutions' application with a barge pole if Nick Delaware was trying to sell it to them, but with Damien Vane up there on the podium conducting demonstrations, they would lap it up.
And they were. So far everyone assumed he was Vane. These men and women were I.T. professionals at heart who got a kick out of the latest technology. They sat at their computers most days; they didn't move in the circles he moved in, and they'd never met Vane, an American. Nick was media shy, preferring not to have photos of himself taken, even for the website. None of the attendees would ever know about the switch.
As soon as he got back to Sydney he was going to fire Vane, replace him with a tee-totaling celibate. He was slipping anyway, an unreliable has been. Still no one outside Software Solutions would know that it was the company's owner who'd done the demonstrations.
"Actually I'm the Vice President of Marketing."
Abbey nodded. "Right. Very impressive. So it all went well today?"
Nick nodded then caught himself. He needed to steer clear of this topic if he didn't want to reveal his identity. She thought she was getting Vane—he might as well take advantage of the misunderstanding. "Abbey, I don't really want to discuss work." He leaned back in his chair. "Tell me about you."
She sat up straight and blinked at him. "Um, okay. What do you want to know?"
Good question. What did he want to know? Did he want to know anything about her at all, or would he rather keep a safe, unemotional distance? Best to keep the conversation polite but friendly.
"Have you lived in Melbourne all your life?"
She nodded. "Like it?"
She shrugged. "It's okay. I'd really like to travel to Europe though."
"Anywhere in particular or just Europe in general?"
"France."
"Really? I was there last year."
Abbey's mouth dropped and her eyes widened. "What's it like? Is Paris as beautiful as they say?"
"I don't know who 'they' are or what they say about Paris, but yes, it's a beautiful city. Very romantic. Well, I was there for work, but I'm sure it would be romantic if I had female company."
Nick realized he should have said his wife. Vane was married. Did she even know Vane was married?
Abbey grinned. It was spectacular—the sort of smile that changed a pretty face into an extraordinary one. It was also highly contagious. He couldn't help but grin back.
"You should've had a holiday while you were there," she said. "You know, added another week on the end, after your business was finished. That's what I would have done if I were ever lucky enough to go to Paris for work."
"Easier said than done. I had to fly back to Sydney. It's difficult to be away from the office for long."
"Your boss sounds like a task master."
Nick laughed. "He is. But that's okay, I like what I do. It's my passion."
She frowned. "Strange passion. Perhaps if you had a hobby you'd learn to relax a little more. You could take up yoga or bush walking."
Nick crossed his arms in front of him on the table. This woman was getting a little presumptuous telling him what he should and shouldn't do. And who said he wasn't relaxed? He was; just enough to keep his staff happy without allowing them to walk all over him.
"I have responsibilities to my employees. I can't just take time off here and there when I feel like it."
She shrugged. "I don't see why not. All work and no play makes Damien a very dull man."
She thought he was dull? "I wasn't always a workaholic," he said defensively, not really sure why he felt the urge to alter her perception of him. "I used to be pretty wild when I was younger."
"Really? Tell me about it."
He laughed. "You're nosy, aren't you?"
She shrugged two deliciously naked shoulders. "I'm just being friendly."
Right. Friendly. She was just making small talk with the man who owed her money. It's what she did, a mechanism to lull him into a false sense of security, to loosen him up for later. This woman knew exactly what she was doing and it had nothing to do with being interested in his childhood. Well, she could forget about trying to make polite small talk with him. He wasn't about to fall for her tricks.