LITMIR.BIZ

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she looked at it, reluctant to actually make contact. What was the matter with her? It wasn’t as if they’d combust if they touched.

      And of course they didn’t. Yet as she placed her hand in his she registered strength and warmth. A tingle shivered over her skin and she stared down at their clasped hands.

      She looked up as he smiled at her. ‘I’m sorry. I should have explained this better, but now we’re properly introduced would you come and have dinner with me? I’d really like to continue our conversation and get more of an insight into how sales assistants think and work. Maybe I’ve lost touch with what’s going on at ground level, in the real world, and maybe you’re the right person to set me straight.’

      ‘So you want to go out for dinner with me to get my take, as a sales assistant, on the viewpoint of the ordinary woman on the street?’

      ‘Exactly. No strings attached.’

      Their gazes caught for a heartbeat and her brain scrambled. ‘Strings? Um...yes. I mean, no. I’m good, thanks.’

      Thanks? What was she thanking him for? And why was she still holding his hand?

      Amusement glinted in his sapphire eyes now, but there was something else too—an awareness. And who could blame him? The signals she’d just sent out weren’t hard to read; she’d practically drooled and this man was no doubt an expert in the art of body language. This was nuts. She had barely noticed a man in the past six years.

      If she had any sense at all she’d refuse his offer, go home and have a nice cup of tea with her mum. Mind you, her mum would think she’d lost the plot; her hormones certainly knew she had. What possible harm could there be in having dinner with him? One meal. In a restaurant for the stars. With the man who headed up Sahara Fashions.

      Whoa. Hang on.

      The man headed up an entire retail corporation. It was time to get over her hormones and start using her brain. This was an opportunity. A chance to get herself a job. If Ben Gardiner recommended her to one of the Sahara stores, perhaps she could wangle an interview. But first she had to let go of his damn hand.

      Doing exactly that, she stepped backwards. ‘Um... Dinner sounds great. Though I do have a request.’

      ‘Go ahead.’

      ‘I told you I used to work in a clothes store. Unfortunately it closed and I lost my job. I would love to work in a Sahara outlet and I wonder if you could interview me over dinner to see if you think I’m a good fit. And if you do maybe you could recommend me for a sales assistant job.’

      Sarah paused for breath, aware that she had dug her nails so deeply into the palms of her hand that it hurt. She forced herself to relax as he studied her expression.

      ‘I leave recruitment to my managers—I don’t tend to interfere. If you’re interested in a vacancy, why haven’t you applied online? With your experience you would have a good chance of an interview anyway.’

      In theory he was spot-on. But there was the small matter of her criminal conviction. She almost never made it to interview stage. These days she didn’t even bother applying.

      For a stupid moment she was tempted to tell him the truth, explain the facts, but what was the point? Yes, she’d been completely innocent, but why should he believe that? No one else had, and she could still taste the hopelessness, the fear, as she’d told the truth only to have it rejected. She would never forget the moment she had realised that she’d been set up and that her boyfriend was leaving her to take the fall.

      But she could not explain that to this man in the here and now.

      ‘I understand that, but your recommendation would give me an edge.’

      He hesitated, and then shrugged. ‘If after dinner I think you’re suitable, I’ll recommend you for an interview. Not for a job. Because that is the store manager’s call—he or she knows the existing team and requirements better than I do.’

      ‘That’s fabulous. Thank you. Really.’ She couldn’t help the smile that lifted her lips; this could be the break she’d been hoping for.

      ‘Then let’s go.’

      ‘Yes. But...’ She looked down. ‘I can’t go to Tatiana’s in this. I’ll need to meet you there after...’ After she’d magicked up a suitable outfit from thin air.

      ‘We’ll stop at a Sahara store on the way and you can pick something out.’

      Sarah hesitated. Logic dictated that for Ben Gardiner the gift of an outfit was the equivalent of a chocolate bar. Yet her scruples protested. ‘That seems wrong.’

      ‘We’re going to a Michelin-starred restaurant; it’s good publicity for Sahara if you’re seen wearing the label. Look at it as an interview test. We expect our sales assistants to be able to help customers pick the right clothing—this will show me if you can do that.’

      Panic fluttered inside her, but no way would she show it. This was her chance to land an interview, secure a job, pay her bills and afford ballet lessons for Jodie. The idea galvanised her.

      ‘Sounds good,’ she said, her mind already playing with ideas so she’d know what to look for. ‘I just need to put my cleaning stuff away and sign out.’

      ‘Go ahead. I’ll close down in here.’

      Pushing the trolley ahead of her, Sarah exited the office and headed to the room that housed the cleaning supplies. She put everything away and then dialled her mum’s number. ‘Hi, Mum. It’s a long story but I’ve been asked out to dinner.’

      ‘A date?’ Her mum sounded thrilled—she was always telling Sarah she needed to get out more. But Sarah had no intention of doing that. Jodie came first, and she didn’t want the complication of introducing a man into her daughter’s life. It was hard enough to explain Jodie’s actual father—or rather the conspicuous absence of said father.

      Telling her, Well, darling, last I heard Daddy was in prison, and long may he stay there, wasn’t ideal.

      ‘No. Not a date. It’s complicated.’

      No need to tell her mum about the possibility of a job interview recommendation; she didn’t want to get her hopes up. So maybe it would be best not to even mention Ben Gardiner until she got home.

      ‘It’s still a chance for you to go out for dinner. Take it. Jodie is fast asleep, and even if she does wake up I’m here.’

      ‘I know you are, Mum. Thank you. I owe you.’ More than she could say.

      Again guilt piled onto her. After Imogen’s death twelve years previously Sarah had behaved appallingly—gone so far off the rails she hadn’t even been able to see the tracks. She’d messed up her education, and had sprinted, danced, whirled and run with the wrong crowd. All in a desperate attempt to feel something, to block out the horror of her guilt and grief over her sister’s death.

      God knew her parents had tried to help, but they had had their own grief to deal with. In the end, trying to cope with that as well as Sarah had driven her father to the bottle and led to the disintegration of their marriage.

       Enough.

      Her mother had forgiven her, taken her and Jodie in, and now the three of them were a happy family unit. As for her father... It was best not to go there; he was lost to her. His descent into alcoholism had changed him beyond all recognition and he wanted nothing to do with her.

      ‘You don’t owe me anything, sweetheart. Enjoy yourself. Really. I’ll ask Georgia over and we’ll have a good old catch-up.’

      ‘OK, Mum. I shouldn’t be too late. Give my love to Georgia.’ Georgia was her mother’s best friend and like a second grandmother to Jodie.

      Right. Deep breath. The die was cast and she was going out to dinner with the head honcho.

      As if on cue, the office

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