The Mistress Contract. HELEN BROOKS
that she had had anything to do with him, to be fair, but it was common knowledge that thirteen years ago, at the age of twenty-five, Conrad Quentin had had a meteoric rise in the business world, and his power and wealth were legendary. As was his taste for beautiful women. He was the original love ’em and leave ’em type, but, judging by the number of times his picture appeared in the paper with a different glittering female hanging adoringly on his arm at some spectacular function or other, one had to assume his attraction outshone his reputation.
Or perhaps the sort of women Conrad Quentin chose thought they were beautiful and desirable enough to tame the wolf? Sephy’s clear brow wrinkled. Maybe they even relished the challenge? Whatever, in spite of his well-publicised affairs over the years, with some of the precious darlings of the jet-set, no one had managed to snare him yet.
Oh, what was she doing wasting time thinking about Mr Quentin’s love-life? Sephy shook herself irritably and then quickly fixed her face in a purposely blank expression as Pat sailed out of Ted Harper’s office and said cheerfully, ‘Right, that’s settled, then. I’ve told him I’ll get a temp here for tomorrow morning and he can manage for one afternoon. Are you ready?’
For Conrad Quentin? Absolutely not. ‘Yes, I’m ready,’ Sephy said, with what she considered admirable calm in the circumstances, resisting the temptation to nip to the ladies’ cloakroom. All the titivating in the world wouldn’t make any difference to the medium height, gentle-eyed, dark-haired girl who would stare back at her from the long rectangular mirror above the three basins.
She wasn’t plain, she knew that, but she was…nondescript, she admitted silently as she followed Pat out of the office and along the corridor towards the lift for the exalted top floor. Her honey-brown eyes, shoulder-length thick brown hair and small neat nose were all pleasant, but unremarkable, and to cap it all she had an abundance of freckles scattered across her smooth, creamy skin that made her look heaps younger than her twenty-six years.
‘Here we are, then.’ They had emerged from the lift and Pat was being deliberately hearty as she led Sephy past her own office and that of the company secretary and financial director. Conrad Quentin’s vast suite took up all the rest of the top floor, and to say the opulence was intimidating was putting it mildly. ‘Your home from home for the next little while.’
‘I said an afternoon, Pat,’ Sephy hissed quietly as the other woman opened the door in front of them. Sephy had visited the top floor a few times—rapid calls which had lasted as long as the delivery of files or whatever had necessitated—and she found the lavish surroundings somewhat surreal. ‘He’s bound to treat me the same as the rest.’
‘And how, exactly, did I treat the rest, Miss…?’
Sephy heard Pat’s sudden intake of breath, but all her senses were focused on the tall, dark man who had obviously been about to leave the room when they had opened the door. She had spoken to Conrad Quentin a few times in the six years she had been working at the firm—brief, polite words at the obligatory Christmas party and on the rare occasions their paths had crossed in the lift—but she had always been overcome with nerves at the prospect of saying the wrong thing and had escaped at the earliest opportunity. But now she certainly had said the wrong thing, and there was no retreat possible.
She stared desperately into the hard, chiselled face; the piercing blue of his eyes threw his tanned skin into even more prominence, picking up the ebony sheen in his jet-black hair, and she saw his straight black eyebrows were lifted in mockingly cruel enquiry.
And it did something to her, causing anger to slice through her body and tighten her stomach, and before she knew she had spoken she said, her voice tight and very controlled, ‘You know that better than me, Mr Quentin,’ and held his glance.
Pat looked as if she was going to faint at the side of her, and for the first time ever Sephy heard the company secretary’s cool dragon of a secretary babbling as she said, ‘This is Seraphina, Mr Quentin, from Customer Services. She’s been with us six years and I thought she would be suitable for temporarily standing in for Miss Watkins. Of course, if you think—’
The man in front of them raised an authoritative hand and immediately Pat’s voice was cut off. ‘You think I treat my staff unfairly, Seraphina?’ he asked silkily.
All sorts of things were racing through Sephy’s frantic mind. She couldn’t believe she had spoken to Conrad Quentin like that, and her heart was pounding like a drum even as tiny pinpricks of sheer, unmitigated panic hit every nerve and sinew. This could be the end of her extremely well-paid and interesting job. And the end of her job could threaten the new flat she had just moved into, the flat it had taken so long to find. And if she left with a black mark over her, if he refused to allow Mr Harper to give her a good reference, how soon could she get other work?
Conrad Quentin was the ultimate in ruthlessness—everyone, everyone knew that—and people didn’t talk back to him! People didn’t even breathe without his say-so. She must have had a brainstorm; it was the only explanation. Maybe if she grovelled low enough he’d overlook the matter?
And then something in the icy sapphire gaze told her he knew exactly what she was thinking and that he was fully expecting her to abase herself.
In the split second it took for the decision to be made Sephy heard herself saying, ‘If everything I have heard is true it would appear so, Mr Quentin, but not having worked for you personally I can’t be positive, of course.’ And she raised her small chin a notch higher as she waited for the storm to break over her head.
As he stared at her she was aware that the hard, masculine face—which just missed being handsome and instead held a magnetic attractiveness that was a thousand times more compelling than any pretty-boy good looks—was betraying nothing of what he was feeling. It was unnerving. Very unnerving. And she would dare bet her life he was fully aware of just that very thing.
‘Then we had better rectify that small point so that you can make a judgement based on fact rather than hearsay,’ he said smoothly, inclining his head towards Pat as he added, ‘Thank you, Pat. I’m sure Seraphina is capable of managing on her own.’ The tone was not complimentary.
‘Yes, of course. I was just going to show her where everything is…the filing cabinets and so on… But, yes, of course…’ Pat had backed out of the doorway as she had spoken, her one glance at Sephy saying quite clearly, You rather than me, kid, but you asked for it! before she shut the door behind her, leaving Sephy standing in front of the brilliant and eminent head of Quentin Dynamics.
He was very tall. The observation came from nowhere and it didn’t help Sephy’s confidence. And big—muscle-type big—with a leanness that suggested regular workouts and a passion for fitness.
‘So you have worked for Quentin Dynamics for six years?’
His voice was deep, with an edge of huskiness that took it out of the ordinary and into the unforgettable. Sephy took several steadying breaths until she was sure her voice was under control, and then she said quietly, ‘Yes, that’s right. That’s one of the reasons Pat thought you would prefer me to a temp.’
‘I don’t use temps.’
The laser-blue eyes hadn’t left hers for a moment, and Sephy was finding it incredibly difficult not to give in to the temptation to drop her gaze. ‘Oh…’ She didn’t know what else to say.
‘My secretary always aligns her holidays with mine and she is rarely ill,’ he continued coolly. ‘It doesn’t fit in with my schedule.’
The sweeping pretension brought her thickly lashed eyes widening, before she saw the mocking glint in his own and said weakly, ‘You’re joking.’
‘Many a true word is spoken in jest, Seraphina.’
They were standing in the outer office, part of which was kitted out as a small reception area. Deep easy seats were clustered around a couple of wood tables laden with glossy magazines, to the side of which were lush potted palms and a water chiller. Now he turned and walked past the sitting area to where his secretary’s huge desk and chair stood, just