Treasured

By Catherine Alba

Opposites attract in this steamy romance, featuring an American girl abroad for the first time and the man she never expected to fall for.

My internship at a prestigious London banking establishment was supposed to be the first step toward a successful career in financial management, but I didn't even make it through my first week there unscathed. Desperate to impress my boss, I take every opportunity to show him what I can do, even run errands into Soho late at night. A club owner in leather and denim is not my type at all, but there is something about Duke that makes me want to step outside of my comfort zone and have a little adventure. After all, I am far from home and no one will ever need to know. This can be our little secret. 

 

When the lovely Susan shows up at my club one Friday night, carrying boring legal documents for me to sign, the devil on my left shoulder is determined to have his way with her in the worst possible way. I do my best to hold him back. She is so young. So out of her element. So beautiful. And those curves ... Blimey! The ruffled angel on my right shoulder doesn't stand a chance. And neither will the stunning Susan. Bloody Peregrine always had the best toys. But just for tonight, she will be mine. 

 

Treasured is a curvy girl age-gap romance with lots of twists and thrills and a satisfying HEA.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alba Publishing
• Release date: May 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201235451

Book preview

Treasured

Treasured

Catherine Alba

Contents

Susan

Duke

Susan

Duke

Susan

Duke

Susan

Duke

Susan

Duke

Susan

Duke

Susan

Duke

Susan

Duke

Susan

Duke

Susan

Duke

Susan

Duke

Susan

Duke

Susan

Duke

Susan

Duke

Susan

Duke

Susan

Duke

Epilogue - Susan

Afterword

Also by Catherine Alba

Susan

The conference table was about a mile long and flanked on both sides by men in dark suits despite the unseasonably warm June weather outside the glass walls. Personally, I would have preferred proper walls on the 25th floor, but I did not have a say in the matter.

I did not have a say in any matter in this room, where strict, dull men, middle-aged and older, juggled millions and billions back and forth across the gleaming table without even batting an eyelid.

I was sitting behind my boss, Mr. Peregrine Wetherby, studying his fat neck bulging out over the starched collar of his shirt. This was only my fifth day here at the bank, but I had already decided that this would be a completely chaste summer. The room was filled with men, but there still wasn’t as much as a whiff of testosterone in the air-conditioned air.

It wasn’t that I didn’t fancy a man in a suit; of course I did. Who didn’t? And I intended to marry a man like that one day. Not one of these old fogies, but someone young and slender and without a stick up his butt, like the one every man in this room seemed to suffer from. And only once I’d risen to the top and made my own millions.

But these men? No. I’d heard all about the British and their stiff upper lips, but that must surely be the only thing stiff about them. In the three days I’d been here at the bank, I hadn’t seen as much as a hint of flirting or even an appreciative smile between co-workers. This was not a place where any personal connections were struck, that was for sure.

And that was fine by me. I wasn’t here to find love or even lust, for that matter. I was here to learn. I hadn’t believed my luck when I’d landed the prestigious internship at Roderick, Wetherby & Smythe, and I was determined to make the most out of the opportunity. When this summer was over, I planned to have made myself so indispensable to Mr. Wetherby that he’d insist on me staying on. And not as an intern and general office grunt, but as a member of his stellar and infamous staff of financial advisers and portfolio managers.

I was more than qualified for the job, having graduated at the top of my class back home, but here in London, I was a nobody. If you hadn’t gone to Oxford or Cambridge, you might as well not have gone to school at all, apparently. And certainly not in America.

But I was determined to prove them wrong. I was bright and hardworking, and I knew that I was going to make it.

The meeting came to an end, and the men along the table rose, shuffling papers, grabbing iPads and silenced cellphones. A couple of the other interns that had lined the wall next to me rushed up and took their boss’s belongings. I was still sitting there, my stylus poised above the tablet to take notes, but I must have spaced out because the digital page was blank.

Damn it, Susan!

I quickly got up and straightened my suit but remained by my chair until Mr. Wetherby came past me on his way toward the door. He looked straight through me, and I hurried to keep up with him down the long hall toward his corner office, also with glass walls and a spectacular view of the Thames and the London Eye. I tried to ignore it, still a bit dizzy from vertigo whenever I glanced in that direction. I stood in front of my boss’s desk, awaiting instructions. Surely, he’d have something important for me to do this time. Not just—

Get me a cup of coffee, er … He looked up at me over his glasses, trying to pin a name to me, but failing.

Susan, sir, I said, trying not to sound disappointed. Certainly, sir.

I left the grand office and returned down the corridor to the generously sized pantry kitchen where I used the state-of-the-art coffee machine to make my boss his favorite double espresso. I sighed while the machine whirred and spat and dribbled out the thick black liquid. I had worked at a coffee shop all through college, so I knew what I was doing, but this was not the skill I had hoped to impress my new boss with.

I took the small cup and carried it back to the corner office, trying hard not to regret having jumped at the chance of a lifetime. If I had stayed at home and worked at the coffee place, I would at least have had a laugh now and then. There was always a friendly bunch of people working there over the summer. I could have made some new friends. Perhaps even met a nice boy. Despite this building being the workplace of thousands, no one had as much as looked at me all week, never mind smiled at me. Yup, a summer of chastity and solace, that’s what this was going to be.

It would be worth it, though, if I would just get an opportunity to show my boss what I could do, given half a chance.

I placed the cup on my boss’s elegant dark mahogany desk without as much as a clatter against the saucer. See, even the most mundane task could be performed to perfection.

And I was a perfectionist.

I just hoped that Mr. Wetherby would come to realize that before long and that he would entrust me with more important tasks than just getting coffee and running errands. There was so much I could learn from a senior partner at a prestigious London bank, and that didn’t include how to make coffee. What was the point of coming all this way for that?

If he’d at least taught me how to make the perfect cup of tea … I sighed.

Then I froze.

I had forgotten that I was still standing right by Mr. Wetherby’s desk, and he had heard my resigned exhale. Now his hand with the heavy fountain pen had paused just above the document he was signing, and he was looking up. This time, he was definitely seeing me.

Damn it, Susan!

Is there a problem, … Susan? he asked slowly, taking off his glasses and leaning back in his elaborate desk chair that followed his every move.

No, sir, I said quickly. Was there something else you wanted me to do?

He was studying me. A quick glance down at the coffee cup I’d placed before him. No, thank you, he said. I’m fine.

As if I was the waitress at a diner! I was a wiz at everything to do with money and finances. Why couldn’t he give me a task—any task at all—that let me show off my skills? This was so frustrating.

Certainly, sir, I said, backing away from his desk.

Returning to the outer office where Margaret—Mr. Wetherby’s personal secretary—resided, I could have kicked myself. I had wanted him to notice me, sure, but for my brains and obvious financial talents. Not for being bored and rude.

Margaret was on the phone. Her fingers curled around the receiver in a way that perfectly showcased her impressively orange nail polish. It was surprisingly bold for such a boring woman. I had never seen her smile and didn’t think her thick makeup could take it if she did.

I was on my way over to the smaller desk in the corner that was my workplace for the summer when Margaret snapped her fingers at me. I looked up.

Uh-hmm, Margaret said into the phone, but at the same time, she pointed to a stack of folders on the edge of her sizable desk. Could you file these for me, dear? she mouthed before returning her attention to the phone call.

I put my tablet on her desk and grabbed the files. Fetching coffee, filing folders. Why didn’t they just ask me to get their dry-cleaning as well? Sure, I had only been here for a few days, but so far, it didn’t seem as if I would be trusted with any tasks that made use of my degree. They could have gotten anyone off the street to do this job.

But then, they would have had to pay them, of course. Interns didn’t get paid. I was working here all summer for free, just for a chance at learning from the greats.

But after having worked at the Brew Brothers for three summers straight, I already knew how to make coffee, and I was starting to regret having spent my entire savings, and a large chunk of my father’s retirement savings, on this internship. I’d been so confident that I’d be able to pay him back with generous interest. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

I sighed and held up my keycard against the reader next to the door of the archives. It flashed green just once and the dull brown door unlocked with a click.

As much as I wanted to show off my speed and skill at any task, I spent a few moments looking through the folders I’d been told to file. It was probably my only chance to learn anything this summer.

Damn it, Susan, I scolded myself. You’re in London, for crying out loud. The most exciting city in the world. If you’re tired of London, you’re tired of life, wasn’t that a saying?

I slipped the folders into their respective cabinet drawers and returned to my boss’s office.

As soon as I stepped through the door, I knew that something was wrong. Loud, angry voices could be heard from Mr. Wetherby’s office, and Margaret looked strained, even as she kept typing furiously, pretending she couldn’t hear the expletives and curses being hurled behind the closed door.

I didn’t know what to do. Before I could make a move in any direction, the door to Mr. Wetherby’s office was flung open, and a man stormed out. He was looking behind him, with one hand raised in a very un-gentlemanly gesture.

Sod off, Peregrine, he gnarled and walked straight into me, knocking me to the floor. I didn’t even have time to register the fall properly before my head hit the doorframe on the way down, and everything went black.

Duke

Fucking Peregrine. It was all his fault, the stuck-up old miser. And now, look what I’d done. I’d knocked some poor girl unconscious.

For goodness’ sake, Marmaduke, Peregrine said behind me, coming out of his office.

I didn’t look at him. Instead, I fell to my knees, pushing a stray strand of honey-blond hair from the young woman’s face. God, she was young.

Are you hiring school kids now, Peregrine? I said through gritted teeth, placing a couple of fingers against her neck to feel for a pulse.

Should I call an ambulance, sir? my brother’s bloody secretary said.

I scowled at her. Just give her a minute, I said. The girl’s skin was soft and smooth, and her pulse was calm and steady. Her cheeks didn’t seem excessively pale, and she was breathing calmly. I slid one hand around the back of her head and felt where she must have hit the doorframe on her way down.

When I knocked her over. It was all my fault.

The hair on the back of her head was warm and wet, and when I pulled them back, my fingers were red.

Fuck!

I turned toward the witless secretary. Have you got a first aid kit?

She looked to my brother for permission before scrambling over to a cabinet in the corner and bringing over a largish green box with a white cross on the lid. It looked unused, and when she opened it, the contents were all still in its sterile protective covers.

The girl gave off a soft moan that stirred something inside of me. I hadn’t meant to hurt her, of course not. I’d just been so furious with bloody Peregrine that I hadn’t looked where I was going.

He had always been able to wind me up in a way that no one else could.

The girl’s eyelids twitched a few times and then slowly opened. She looked confused, and her eyes wandered around the room, taking in my brother and his secretary standing there with the green first aid kit before she looked up at me.

The moment our eyes met, I knew I was in trouble.

Are you alright, love? I said softly.

She looked even more confused. W-what happened? she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

You’ve hit your head, love, I said. My fault, I’m afraid.

She started to sit up, and I helped her get up on her feet. The witless secretary pulled out a visitor’s chair, and I led the girl over to it.

You really should look where you’re going, my brother said, his voice dripping with contempt and annoyance at the spectacle I’d caused.

Well, that wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Shut up, Peregrine, I said, forcing the worst of the animosity from my voice. Not for my brother’s sake. But for her.

She was really just a girl, a beautiful young girl with dangerous curves hidden away underneath that dreadful strict business suit. The skirt was scandalously short, though, and revealed bare, gorgeous legs with smooth, unblemished skin.

She lifted one hand to her head and winced.

Let me clean that up for you, I said, taking the green box from the secretary. I looked up at my brother. Get back to work, both of you, I said dismissively. I’ll deal with this.

My brother wrinkled his aristocratic nose in that way he’d always done, since we were boys forty years ago. Well, it is your mess, he said. You clean it up. Then he nodded to his secretary. Margaret, I want to dictate a couple of memos.

They both disappeared into my brother’s office, leaving me alone with the young girl. She was still looking confused.

I found some antiseptic wipes in the well-stocked first aid box and cleaned her wound. It wasn’t big and not that deep either. She’d be fine. But I still felt guilty. I’d let my temper get the best of me again, even though I had promised myself that things would be different this time.

Bloody Peregrine. It was all his fault.

The girl looked around the office.

How are you feeling, love? I asked her.

She turned those beautiful eyes at me. I … What happened? she asked, her voice a bit trembly.

You got run over, love, I said. By a thoughtless old brute. I put a piece of gauze on top of the small cut at the back of her head and fixed it on with a piece of surgical tape. Her silky soft hair covered up my sins once I let it fall back into place. Well, not all of them, unfortunately.

She still looked confused. I heard shouting, she said.

I nodded. Sorry about that. And about your head. That bloody Peregrine gets on my nerves. I gave her a crooked smile. But if you work for him, then I’m sure you know all about that.

A faint smile curved her full, pink lips. Mr. Wetherby? Is that his name? I didn’t know that.

She had a cool American accent that made her sound as if she was on telly or in the movies. She certainly had the looks for it. But if she thought that Peregrine was a funny name, I wasn’t going to introduce myself. I’d always hated being called Marmaduke and hadn’t answered to anything but Duke since I first went off to school. Peregrine was the only one who called me Marmaduke, and I was sure that he only did it to piss me off.

Well, it worked.

I