No Escaping Love. Sharon Kendrick
what she really wanted to do with her life. But then again, he hadn’t offered it to her, had he? No doubt it would be the old, old story of ‘I’ve several other people to see’.
‘It sounds very—adequate,’ she said cautiously.
This last remark inspired a throaty laugh. ‘Adequate? What a ghastly word! Miss Wilde, if you’re going to work for me you must promise me faithfully that you will never use the word “adequate” ever again.’
She let the flippancy go. ‘You mean—you’re—you’re offering…?’
His face was quite serious again. He gestured to the sheaf of papers on his desk. ‘I’ve seen your references, which are excellent—though you, Miss Wilde, would probably have said “adequate”. You satisfy all my other criteria—your Portuguese is fluent, you seem bright enough—oh, and you don’t fall into the man-eating tigress mould.’
Meaning, thought Shauna acidly, that I’m a plain Jane.
‘And one other thing,’ his voice was lower now. ‘You need this job, don’t you?’
Yes, she needed the job, but she wasn’t desperate. She knew that nothing was a bigger turn-off than desperation. ‘There are other jobs,’ she said coolly.
He smiled. ‘The job’s yours if you want it.’
She had actually been reaching for her holdall, when she stared at him, not believing her ears. ‘Pardon?’
‘The job’s yours,’ he repeated. ‘If you want it.’
She still didn’t believe it. ‘Just like that?’ she asked cautiously.
‘Just like that.’
She pretended to hesitate, but she got the impression that he wasn’t fooled for a minute.
‘In that case,’ she said, resisting the temptation to leap up into the air, ‘I’d be happy to accept.’
‘Good.’
‘When would you like me to start?’
He frowned. ‘Is tomorrow too soon?’
She wanted to make amends for her earlier flights of fancy. ‘Tomorrow’s fine.’
A piercing look came into his eyes. ‘Today, you were late,’ he accused.
‘There was a…’ she began, but he held his hand up.
‘I’m not interested. I’m prepared to overlook it once—it won’t happen again.’
‘No,’ she said quietly—she wouldn’t dare!
He closed his eyes briefly for a moment, and yawned. She noticed how intensely weary he looked, and wondered whether that was work, or play. When he opened them again, he found Shauna staring at him intently.
He blinked. ‘What is it?’
‘Your last assistant,’ she ventured. ‘Why did she leave?’
He stiffened, and the green eyes became cold again. Shrugging his shoulders, he said, ‘For—personal reasons.’
Repressing hysterical thoughts, she forced her voice to sound casual. ‘Oh? And what were they?’
He paused for a second. ‘I’m afraid it was the old story—she fell in love with her boss. That by itself isn’t a sackable offence, but I’m afraid she let it affect her work.’
There was no mistaking the warning in his voice. Don’t make the same mistake, it seemed to say.
Resisting an urge to comment on the girl’s mental state at the time, for surely she must have been loopy to fall for such an insufferably arrogant man, Shauna gave a prim smile. ‘Well, don’t worry, Mr Ryder—I can assure you that I will not fall into the same trap.’
‘Good,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’m very glad to hear it.’
But Shauna thought he didn’t sound one little bit convinced.
MAX RYDER’S next words were, however, brisk and businesslike. ‘I assume that you’ve clothes and stuff to collect?’ He looked down at Shauna’s rather battered suitcase. ‘Or do I take it that’s the sum total of your worldly goods?’ he asked sarcastically.
‘No, you do not!’ she retorted indignantly, pushing away a dark curl which was tickling the corner of her mouth. ‘Don’t forget—I have just come off the boat. As a matter of fact—I’ve got two more suitcases.’
‘So where have you left them?’
‘They’ve been in store at some friends’ flat.’
The green eyes beneath the dark brows were looking at her questioningly. ‘Local?’
‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘In London.’
He gave a heavy sigh. ‘Are you being deliberately obtuse, Miss Wilde?’ He glanced at the pale gold watch. ‘I’m expecting a call from Paris at eight—I can give you a lift to collect your belongings, then when we get back I’ll show you over the flat.’
She shook her head, so that two more curls wiggled out. For some reason, she was reluctant to be driven there by this man. He was her boss, and—she had to admit—dangerously attractive. She didn’t want contact with him spilling over into her private life. ‘That’s very kind of you, but I can manage on my own, honestly.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ he exclaimed impatiently. ‘I’m not trying to unlock the secrets of your soul—I’m simply offering you a lift. Why struggle on the Tube when you can do it in comfort? And if you’re worried about some boyfriend—ex or otherwise—rushing out to hit me on the jaw, then don’t. Like the proverbial wise man—I’ll hear, see nor speak evil!’
The very idea was laughable. She simply couldn’t imagine anyone having the temerity to hit this man on the jaw! Quite apart from anything else it looked as though it were fashioned from granite.
‘I happened to share with two lawyers, not cavemen,’ she retorted. ‘And they live in Hampstead.’
To her surprise, the questioning ceased. ‘Hampstead’s miles away,’ he said briefly. ‘It would take you all night to get there. Come on—we’ll take the car.’
She followed him in silence out of the office and into the lift. At the ground floor he introduced her to Charlie, the commissionaire. Then he ushered her through heavy revolving glass doors and outside, where the light was fading rapidly from the sky. The typically October temperature had plummeted rapidly now that the sun had disappeared and Shauna shivered involuntarily, her linen jacket seeming totally inadequate. She hadn’t thought he’d been looking, but he noticed immediately.
‘I hope there’s a thicker coat among your things?’ he commented.
‘Yes, I’ve got an overcoat.’ She didn’t like to say that all her things would probably look to him as if they’d come out of the Ark! Two years was a long time in fashion, and department stores had only recently begun to realise that not all women were of medium height and build. Shauna, being tall and very slim, had always found it notoriously difficult to find clothes to fit her.
Their steps led them to the back of the building, where he unlocked a cunningly concealed car-port to reveal the low, sleek lines of a Mercedes. He was a good driver—confident, but not over-confident. He drove the powerful machine well within the limits of the city’s speed restrictions. She thought it rather a waste to have such a powerful car if he lived in town. They headed north.
‘So tell me,’ he said, ‘how on earth you managed to survive two years working in a foreign country on your own.’
‘What’s that supposed