The Boss's Convenient Bride. Jennie Adams

      CHAPTER TWO

      THE grooves beside Nicholas’s mouth deepened, curved into something more than sternness but less than a smile. ‘Thank you, Claire. You’ve made me a happy man.’

      A certain stiffness eased out of his posture. He had probably been poised to banish her back to the clerical pool post-haste if she said no to his preposterous marriage proposal!

      ‘You might end up sorry you ever asked.’

      In fact, I’m quite sure of it. Although I doubt you’ll be half as sorry as I am right at this moment.

      She glanced at the calendar on the wall. Today was Thursday. On a Thursday three months ahead exactly, Sophie would finally be out of the clutches of her ex-boss. The day and date for that final payment were stamped indelibly on Claire’s consciousness.

      She recalled another significant Thursday from a history lesson long since gone. The Wall Street Crash of 1929 had occurred on a Thursday, and it had eventually led to the Great Depression.

      At this point the comparison seemed apt.

      Well, the words had been spoken now. They couldn’t be taken back. But she could and would take control of what happened next. Of everything that happened from here on. She had to if she didn’t want to go mad.

      ‘As I said, I accept your proposal, but I do have conditions.’

      ‘Do you?’ One brow rose in haughty enquiry. ‘Spit them out. I’m all ears.’

      All ears and aggressive waiting. She couldn’t let him intimidate her.

      ‘What I would like to suggest is a six-month engagement period.’ Her glance was direct, determined. Calm, she hoped. ‘We may have worked together for a while, but I couldn’t go ahead with such a major step as marriage without getting to know you a whole lot better than I do now.’

      In a written contract she would have referred to this as the escape clause. The six-month period would allow plenty of time for her to make the final payment to Sophie’s blackmailer, break off the engagement, and walk away. Nicholas would have to accept it. Would have to accept that she had left room for doubt right from the start.

      I’m sorry, Nicholas, but on reflection I’ve decided I can’t marry you after all. We just wouldn’t suit, you see, because I’m a romantic and you’re—well, you’re not.

      There would be no position for her then, even in the clerical pool. Indeed, it would be unbearable to stay on. She would leave Monroe’s, and Nicholas, for ever. It was a price she would have to pay.

      ‘Unless you had planned to wait longer than that to marry, anyway?’

      ‘No.’ The uncompromising word suited the man who had uttered it. ‘I see no point in prevaricating once my mind is made up. In fact, I’d prefer to make the period of engagement three months.’

      He stood from his chair, the sleek lines of his body hard beneath the tailored grey suit.

      In moments he was at her side. His broad shoulders loomed over her lighter frame, crowding her, making her aware of him all over again. Of his strength, his scent, and the aura of power that surged through every square inch of him, calling to every part of her.

      ‘That’s more than enough time for you to get to know me in any way you feel is lacking at this stage. I see no need for us to wait longer.’

      Claire fought the pull of attraction that urged her to forget reason, to break out of her caution and give him whatever he wanted. With interest.

      ‘Five months would be better.’

      She gave him the benefit of a determined look down the length of her nose. Not an easy feat when she had to look up at him to do it. When she wanted to melt into a puddle at his feet and agree to anything he suggested, and then some.

      His irritation showed in the deepening furrow between the sharp, piercing eyes. ‘Four months.’

      Claire ran mental calculations. If everything went okay she should be able to manage it. Provided they didn’t go into extravagant plans that could get too complicated too soon. ‘All right. I’m willing to accept that. Four months it is.’

      All she needed now was a little time to pull herself together. To get control of the maddening awareness that arced and jolted through her, that insisted she get closer, despite how stupid that would be. To stop her foolish emotions from trying to do cartwheels of excitement because Nicholas had asked her to marry him. She could rest assured that his emotions hadn’t been anywhere near the building at the time.

      He smiled. The cat that had got the cream. ‘We’ll marry on the first Saturday after those four months are up. So you’re even gaining a couple of days on top of your bargain. You should be pleased. You negotiate well.’

      ‘When I’m falling in with your terms.’ It felt more like a sentence than an agreement. She couldn’t share his pleasure.

      ‘Something like that,’ he agreed.

      From here, she could reach out and touch his jaw if she wanted. Could trace the tanned skin that even this early in the day carried a hint of dark beard stubble. Could ruffle his thick black hair. The knowledge that she did want to do all of those things didn’t help her state of mind.

      ‘What of your other conditions?’ For a moment heat had darkened his eyes again, but it was masked now. He glanced at the view, then turned back to her. ‘You’ll be well provided for should I drop dead early, if that’s the kind of thing you’re wondering about.’

      ‘It’s not.’ She drew a steadying breath. This was the tricky part. ‘I’d like to keep our engagement secret, then marry quietly when the four months is up.’

      ‘Why?’ The warmth melted away as though it had never been.

      Because that way there’ll be no fuss when I call it all off.

      ‘I don’t like fanfare, and my sister…’ In this instance Sophie would prove conveniently useful. ‘Sophie’s out of the country. She and Tom are taking an extended vacation in Europe. After that they plan to visit some of our neighbouring countries, to drum up good feeling for Australia.’

      ‘Along with good feeling for Senator Tom Cranshaw.’ Nicholas knew of her brother-in-law’s political aspirations. His bland comment was a statement of fact, nothing more. ‘What do they have to do with keeping things secret until our marriage?’

      ‘My sister is all I have in the way of family. I want to tell her about this face to face.’ I’ll never breathe a word of it to her at all, and I’m sorry for letting you believe otherwise, but I have no choice. ‘It would upset me if she read it in the newspapers, or heard it some other impersonal way.’

      ‘Why not simply phone her?’ His stark tone left no room for argument. ‘Give her the news, and we can get on with our plans without worrying about secrecy.’

      ‘Not good enough.’ She injected an equal measure of determination into her answer. ‘It has to be face to face. That’s it.’

      After what seemed interminable minutes, but was probably only seconds, he spoke. ‘How long will she be gone?’

      ‘As