Buttoned-Up Secretary, British Boss (2 page)

Still, all that mattered was whether her work proved to come up to his exacting standards, he thought, and that she’d be prepared to work a very long day when necessary.

Mulling over his interview with Sabrina Gold again, he realized that she was going to be very different from Janet. For one thing, Janet was a grandmother obsessed with her family and their new babies, while Sabrina was young and, from what he’d gathered from their conversation, lived with a sister, free of any emotional ties. That had to be a good thing, he thought—no commitments which might stand in the way of her work and their business association.

Feeling restless, as he often did when beginning to reach the end of a novel, he decided to go for a stroll before settling back down to do some more work later.

It was a delightfully soft, still, warm evening as he wandered along the pavement towards the local park at the end of the road, and he suddenly thought nostalgically of his wonderful home in France. With some luck he could arrange to be there by the end of October. He’d only managed two quick visits so far this year, he reminded himself ruefully, so he might even try and stay on over Christmas this time. That thought definitely appealed, because it would mean avoiding family and all the tedious
joie de vivre
that always took over the festive season. He could make the excuse that he was already committed to his next book and needed space and solitude.

His luxurious place abroad filled his mind. It was a large converted barn, standing almost alone amongst vines and olive groves, and in his absence safely watched over by his near-neighbours Marcel and Simone. Its large swimming pool, always warm and soothing, was surrounded by an expansive patio where on placid evenings he and some local friends would share freshly baked baguettes, sip wine from local vineyards, savour
home-grown olives steeped in garlic-flavoured oil and just talk and let time slip by.

It was nearly dark as he wandered, lost in thought, through the almost-deserted park. He nearly fell over a courting couple lying on the grass. He stepped away quickly, muttering an awkward apology. But he needn’t have bothered. They were oblivious to anything but themselves, their intertwined bodies and audible cries demonstrating the erotic pleasure of their coupling.

For some reason which he couldn’t explain, a peculiar sadness came over Alexander for a few seconds. Those two were so young, so in love. He looked back to his own youth and the women he’d known. It seemed such a long time ago, another time, another country. Why had he indulged in no-strings-attached affairs for so long? Why had he never wanted true commitment? Was he that selfish? Had his disastrous relationship with Angelica put him off for ever? For heaven’s sake, that was nearly ten years ago.

When he got back home he poured a fresh glass of whisky, then flung himself down on his bed. Ten minutes’ sleep would do him good, he thought, before he returned to the study and perhaps the conclusion of that penultimate chapter which was worrying him.

Almost immediately, he fell into a deep sleep. A sleep filled with unbelievably colourful dreams which made his head move restlessly from side to side, his lips forming incomprehensible murmurings.

He was lying naked beside the beautiful, unclothed body of a woman. To his amazed delight, she was responding to his passionate advances with uninhibited ardour as she encouraged him to caress her body, her slender limbs, her cool, smooth breasts…When he knelt over her and possessed her completely, she parted her
moist lips to receive the warmth of his mouth, the urgent thrust of his tongue…

Suddenly, he awoke and sprang up into a sitting position, his brow beaded with sweat. What the hell was that all about? What had set those particular bells ringing? This wasn’t like him! He couldn’t begin to remember the last time his emotions had been stirred with such an erotic, white-hot passion, either consciously or subconsciously.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stripped off his clothes and went into the bathroom. What he needed now was a long, very cold shower, he told himself.

Because in that so-immediate dream, the woman he had been making such intense love to had been unmistakable. She had been small with long, fair hair, unpolished fingernails and green, green eyes like those of an enchanting cat.

J
UST
after eight o’clock the following morning, wearing black trousers and a grey-and-white pin-striped shirt, Sabrina found herself standing once again outside number thirteen. Just as she was about to ring the bell, the door was thrust open and she came face to face with a short, grey-haired, middle-aged woman who was just coming out of the house, a couple of carrier bags in her hands.

‘Oh, hi…’ Sabrina began uncertainly, and the woman moved back for the girl to enter.

‘Miss Gold? Ah. Mr McDonald left a note saying I might see you. I’m Maria, his daily—or his three-times-a-week, I should say.’ She smiled. ‘I haven’t seen him this morning. He isn’t up yet—probably getting over a heavy night!’

‘Oh, I see,’ Sabrina said, slightly taken aback. From yesterday’s phone call, she’d imagined him to be an early riser. Shouldn’t he already be hard at work and ready to spell out his instructions for the day?

‘Anyway, go on up to the study—he said you knew where it was,’ Maria said. ‘I don’t expect he’ll be too long. By the way, the kitchen’s just along there in the hall, first door on the right. Have some coffee, why
don’t you?’ She paused, smiling again. ‘Make yourself at home—and good luck!’

With that, Maria departed, leaving Sabrina feeling like some sort of intruder.

She decided against making herself acquainted with Alexander McDonald’s kitchen just yet. Anyway, she’d had her usual light breakfast of cereal, yoghurt and honey and wouldn’t need any coffee for a while. There was no sound at all in the house and for some reason Sabrina felt distinctly embarrassed to think of her employer tucked up in bed. As she trod lightly up the stairs, she wondered which room he was still sleeping in, whether it was one of those on the next floor. Trying to contain her thoughts, she reached his study and went inside.

The place was a total shambles. The rug on the floor had been pushed at a slightly drunken angle, and numerous books on the desk were scattered everywhere haphazardly, only just making room for three empty, stained coffee-mugs. Two baskets on the floor alongside were full of crumpled, screwed-up paper, and there seemed to be dust everywhere; Sabrina could see its lazy motes moving and shifting in the shafts of strong sunlight streaming in from the windows. She made a face to herself. This room was obviously out of bounds to Maria, she thought. It also felt over-warm and stuffy; impulsively she went over and unlatched one of the windows, throwing it wide open to let in some fresh air. She didn’t know how long she would survive in this atmosphere.

Glancing down, she saw that the long, narrow garden was laid out in a strip of lawn, and here and there were clusters of stone pots filled with bright-red geraniums.

‘Good morning.’

Alexander’s voice made her turn quickly—she hadn’t heard him come in—and immediately her pulse quickened as she looked up at him. He was wearing chinos and a black shirt, his hair roughly brushed and still damp from his shower. His face was unshaven, the line of dark stubble along his chin drawing Sabrina’s helpless gaze to the seductive black hair just visible beneath his open-necked shirt. He came over to stand next to her and stared down, his dark, sensuous eyes trapping her enquiring green ones for a second.

‘Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you on your first morning,’ he said, swallowing. The memory of last night’s fantasy was still vivid, and uppermost in his mind. How was he going to rid himself of it and act normally? he thought briefly. He straightened his shoulders.

‘I didn’t get to bed until very late last night—well, it was early this morning, actually,’ he added. ‘But I have to keep going until I’m satisfied that I’ve got things right, whatever the hour. Not that it worked this time, I’m afraid,’ he added.

Sabrina frowned briefly, not knowing how to respond to that remark. She moved away from him and went towards her own desk.

‘Well, sometimes a new day can bring fresh ideas?’ she suggested, cross at the way her cheeks had flushed at being alone with Alexander McDonald. She hadn’t felt this way yesterday at the interview. But that was different. Then she had employed all her clinical instincts to get what she wanted—this job. It had kept her cool, calm and rational, deflecting her thoughts from any other feelings she might experience at being in close proximity to one of the most lusted-after—and apparently elusive—men on the London scene.

But this morning realization set in. She was going
to be closeted in this room with him for many hours for the foreseeable future, and once again Sabrina felt threatened and in danger of becoming emotionally affected by a member of the opposite sex. She didn’t need her professional qualifications to work that one out, yet she was quietly horrified. Hadn’t fate’s cruel hand made her decide to stick to work and to the needs of her sister from now on, for all time? She was not going to allow life ever again to bring her to the dizzy heights of supreme happiness, only to dash her to the ground and break her heart into pieces.

She should have been married to Stephen by now, but in a tragic, mad moment destiny had taken over. Stephen had lost his life in a friendly rugby-game, never regaining consciousness from a one-in-a-million chance accident on the pitch.

Sabrina had considered herself the luckiest woman in the world when he’d asked her to marry him. Not just because he was so good-looking, with the most amazing deep-gold hair with eyes to match, but because he was funny, loyal and kind. He had promised Sabrina that Melly would always have a home with them, for as long as she needed it. Life had been so good—too good to be true. How many other men would have understood the sense of responsibility towards her sister made so acute by the family background? Their father had walked out a long time ago, and their mother, Philippa, had remarried when the girls were in their teens and at their most vulnerable. She was now living in Sydney with her husband, and rarely came back to the UK, confining her interest in her daughters to somewhat irregular phone-calls. So everything that had happened had made Sabrina feel as if she really was left holding the baby—and knowing with absolute certainty that now she’d never hold one
of her own. Because she’d never trust love again, never risk losing again, and she’d managed to convince herself that her need for a man, any man to share her existence, had died for ever.

Yet the burgeoning rush to her senses now told its own story. It was undeniable that Alexander McDonald was seducing her—in thought, if not in deed! It was hardly his fault, but it was the worst possible scenario for a successful business-arrangement, so she’d better get a grip and keep any wayward thoughts well under wraps, she told herself.

Alexander pushed back the chair by his desk and sat down heavily, glancing down with some distaste at the disorderly mess in front of him.

‘I should at least have washed up these mugs before I eventually went to bed,’ he said. He glanced across at Sabrina. ‘Do sit, Miss Gold.’

Sabrina didn’t sit down, returning his glance squarely. ‘I hope you’ll call me Sabrina,’ she said, thinking almost immediately that maybe Alexander McDonald preferred to be more formal with his staff.

But straight away he said, ‘Good. And I’m usually known as Alex. So at least we’ve cleared something up this morning.’

He smiled across at her briefly, his full lips parting to expose white, immaculate teeth. Desperately trying to rein in her imagination—and failing once again—Sabrina fleetingly wondered what it would feel like to have that sensuous mouth close in on hers. He was impossibly handsome, she thought, as his blue-black eyes searched her face. Yet Sabrina was aware that there was a hint of something more behind Alexander’s overtly masculine features, his obviously desirable appearance. There was something about him that both excited and
intrigued her. She tried to stem the annoying tingling at the back of her neck, and as he continued scrutinizing her Sabrina had the uncomfortable feeling that he was reading her mind. She certainly hoped not. She tore her eyes from his penetrating gaze, clearing her throat.

‘Do you have any sort of set plan for me…to make a beginning?’ she said tentatively, glancing around and wondering where on earth they were going to start. She hoped she wasn’t expected to come up with any brilliant ideas for the current project he seemed to be having difficulty with. She’d never tried her hand at creative writing, though she’d always been an avid reader from as far back as she could remember. Alexander McDonald’s books were known to be serious and highly literary tomes, and from what she’d read in the book reviews his plots were strong, often dark and with no happy endings guaranteed. They were not really her own choice of reading matter at the end of a working day spent trying to unravel troubled lives and situations for her patients. She wondered briefly when she’d be able to return to her own profession.

‘Have you ever read any of my books?’ Alexander asked bluntly, desperately trying not to keep looking at her. Sabrina coloured up again; he
was
reading her mind! She paused for only a fraction of a second.

‘No—I haven’t,’ she said simply. ‘I have read
about
your books in all the reviews, and they seem…somewhat heavier material than I can cope with.’ She hesitated. ‘My normal reading time is an hour or so before I go to sleep,’ she explained. ‘And what I need then is total relaxation, a distraction. I mean, I wouldn’t want to be thinking, dreaming, worrying about all your characters, to have them on my mind all night.’

There was a moment’s silence after that and Sabrina
hoped she hadn’t put a nail in her own coffin. If she wasn’t careful this could turn out to be a very short-term employment. She didn’t think Alexander McDonald appreciated criticism—or, worse, a lack of interest—especially from someone like her.

But she couldn’t have been more wrong, because she was treated once more to a brief, heart-wrenching smile as he looked at her, his eyes narrowing. The woman might have said she’d read everything he’d ever written and that she considered it all wonderful, he thought. But she’d been honest enough to say she’d never even read the first page of any of his books.

He got up and came around to stand in front of his desk, leaning casually against it and staring down at her.

‘Good. That means you’ve got no preconceived ideas. Your opinion on something that may be a sticking point for me is going to be invaluable.’ He paused. ‘Janet—my faithful secretary for the last fifteen years—was a useful contributor in this way now and again, but lately it had become a matter of her trying to please me, to tell me what she thought I wanted to hear. That’s no good.’ He thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘It was something of a relief when she decided to retire.’

Sabrina swallowed, biting her lip. By the sound of it, this job was certainly not going to be stereotypical, as he’d made clear from the start. But she’d not envisaged it including her having to offer her opinion on the esteemed writing of one of the most successful authors in the world. But then, she thought, she’d read most of the classics—read and re-read them—and was a regular visitor to the library and bookshops, keeping up with all the modern output. Maybe she’d be some use after all, in a small way. She wanted to be useful to Alexander
McDonald. And it might prove to be an interesting diversion for her.

He turned around now, picking up a large diary and handing it over to Sabrina

‘This is an essential part of my life,’ he said. ‘And from now on, you’re in charge of it, Sabrina. I need you to remind me at frequent intervals what’s coming up and where I’m meant to be, and who with. I tend to be forgetful most of the time.’ He moved beside her, flicking the pages over. ‘Oh, and I would rather you always answer the telephone—just tell the caller to hold while I decide whether I want to talk or not. If I do, I’ll pick up my extension; if not, I’ll give you the thumbs down and you can think up some excuse.’

For the next hour, Sabrina listened as he explained how he liked everything done, and learned that he didn’t like things moved about unnecessarily. ‘If you tidy up too much, we’ll never remember where anything is,’ he said flatly, and Sabrina smiled inwardly. She’d been right in thinking that Maria wasn’t welcome here. She threw discretion to the winds; she did have some requests of her own.

‘Am I at least allowed to clean some dust from my desk—and from yours?’ she said. She feigned a dainty sneeze. ‘It would be advantageous for both of us,’ she added.

He shrugged, as if the matter of dust had never entered his head. ‘Feel free,’ he said casually.

Finally, she was handed an A4 note pad with pages full of scribbled writing.

‘Type this up and print it out, will you? See if you can make sense of my scrawl.’

Sabrina took a long, deep breath, feeling upbeat for a moment. She knew she could handle this job, because
she wanted to, desperately. Twenty-four hours ago she hadn’t even met Alexander McDonald, but she owned up again to a feeling of warmth towards him. He seemed quite nice, as new bosses went, though it was obvious to her that he might be touchy at times. Well, she could handle touchy, she thought.

They were standing close together now, their heads bent over the script they were looking at. His tall frame made Sabrina feel tiny, insignificant and distinctly shivery as he towered above her, the titillating musk of his bronzed skin reaching her nostrils. As he turned another page, their hands touched briefly and Sabrina was painfully aware of his long, sensitive fingers.

She moved away from him slightly, trying to keep her mind from intrusive thoughts, and went across to boot up her computer, thinking that all that writing didn’t look too impossible to interpret, but it was full of alterations and crossings-out which would take time to sort. She bit her lip, feeling that the worst part of the job was the fact that she and her employer were going to be here in this room together all the time. She’d much rather have an office of her own—a decent cupboard would do—where she wouldn’t feel those eyes judging her, assessing her every move. Surely he’d go out sometimes and leave her in peace?

Reading her thoughts, as usual, he said, ‘I’m due at the gym for a couple of hours this morning. But first I’m going to make us some coffee.’