Secretary On Demand. Cathy Williams
TWO
‘YOU want me to work for you?’ Shannon asked incredulously. ‘But you don’t know me! Not really! You don’t even have any references! You’ve seen me wait tables at Alfredo’s for a few months, and we’ve chatted off and now, and now you’re offering me a job as your secretary because you feel obligated?’ Her eyes dropped from Kane’s face to his big hands, cradling the sides of his mug. Somehow the thought of working for this man frankly terrified her.
‘And are you qualified to throw job offers around willy-nilly?’ she pressed on, frowning. ‘What will your boss say?’
‘I am the boss. I own the company, lock, stock and barrel. I told you that already. Everyone in the company reports to me, reds.’
‘I told you to stop calling me by that name,’ Shannon said absent-mindedly. ‘Anyway, aren’t there more suitable candidates lining up for the job? And how come you’ve coincidentally got a position vacant?’ She chewed her lip, mulling over this wildly improbable development and trying to read between the lines to the hidden agenda. Because there must be a hidden agenda. Job offers involved interviews and references and procedures. They didn’t land like ripe plums into your lap without there being one or two glaring catches.
‘I mean, top executives are never without a secretary. Someone is always available to handle things like that, to make sure that vacant positions get filled.’ If he owned the company, he need only snap fingers and there would be someone on the scene, saluting and racing off to make sure that a suitable secretary was located pronto. He wouldn’t be lounging around, making do on the offchance that someone might show up at some point in time.
‘Oh, dear. In that case, perhaps I’m lying. Perhaps I don’t own Lindley publications after all.’ He laughed with genuine amusement and gave her a long, leisurely and far too all-encompassing a look for her liking. ‘Don’t worry, reds, you’re asking all the right questions. The job exists because my old secretary retired to live in Dorset with her widowed sister two months ago and since then I’ve been using a selection of secretaries, none of whom has been particularly suitable. My only alternative at the moment is to usurp one of my director’s personal assistants who would be able to cope with the workload, but it’s not an ideal choice because it would entail leaving someone else facing the same problem. Aside from that obvious problem, there are one or two other considerations that need to be met, and I assure you, not that I need to, that the lady in question would be unable to meet them.’
As far as Shannon was concerned, the situation was getting more and more bizarre by the moment. ‘What other considerations?’ she asked slowly. She nibbled one of the pastries and looked at him steadily as she did so.
‘Before we get to those, just tell me whether or not you’re interested in the job.’
‘Naturally, I’m interested in getting a job. Having just been forced into early retirement from the last one.’
‘Well, shall we skip the arguments for the moment so that I can try and establish what sort of secretarial experience you possess? Obviously, if your experience is insufficient, you can be slotted in somewhere a bit lower down the scale, although working for me is more than a matter of relevant secretarial experience. I’m looking for an attitude and I think you’ve got it.’
‘Because I’ve been so successful as a waitress? Except for today when I flung a plate of hot food over a customer?’
‘I particularly liked the way you pointed out the stray mange-tout he had missed on his shoe.’ He gave her a crooked smile, then before she could respond he leaned forward and casually brushed the side of her mouth with his finger. ‘Pastry crumbs,’ he murmured. ‘So, run your background by me.’
‘All right. What do you want to know?’ She had to clasp her hands very tightly together to stop herself from touching the spot where his finger had been.
‘A brief job history would be nice. Details of what your actual jobs involved.’
‘School, secretarial college, several temporary positions and then, for the past three years, a permanent job working for a radio station just outside Dublin. A local radio station that focused on good music and gossip. Generally speaking, I did all the office work and also updated their computer programs to accommodate their growth. They were in a bit of an administrative mess when I arrived, actually, so it was a challenge to get things straight. It was a fantastic job,’ she added wistfully. ‘Never a dull moment and the people there were great fun.’
‘So, bored with the personal satisfaction of it all, you decided to leave…’
‘Not quite.’
‘Then why did you leave?’ He looked at her evenly. ‘I’m not asking out of morbid curiosity, but as your potential employer I have to establish whether your abrupt departure might influence my decision. I mean, did you leave for the pay?’
‘I left…for personal reasons,’ she said, flushing. Passing conversations with him had not prepared her for his tenacity.
‘Which might be…what?’
‘I don’t see that that’s relevant.’
‘Of course it’s relevant.’ He drained his cup of coffee. ‘What if you left for the personal reason of, let’s say, theft?’
‘Theft!’
‘Or…flamboyant insubordination. Or immoral conduct…’
Shannon burst out laughing. ‘Immoral conduct? Oh, please! What kind of immoral conduct?’
‘Stripping at the office party? Smoking on the premises? Sex in the boss’s office when there was no one around?’ His voice was mild, so why did she suddenly feel her skin begin to prickle? She imagined herself lying on a desk in his office, with those long fingers touching every part of her body, and she shrank back in shaken horror from the image. It had been as forceful as it had been unexpected.
‘I have all my references back at my bedsit,’ she told him primly.
‘At your bedsit?’
‘Correct.’
‘You live in a bedsit?’
‘It’s all I could afford. Anyway…’ she paused and reluctantly flashed him a wry smile ‘…a bedsit is the height of luxury after you’ve grown up in a house with seven siblings.’
‘You have…’ He looked green at the thought of it. Hates children, she thought smugly, perversely pleased that she had managed to shake some of that formidable self-control. Probably an only child. She and Sandy had never actually speculated on his family background but she would have bet money that he was the cosseted son of doting parents who had given in to his every whim, hence his unspoken assumption that he could get whatever he wanted at the click of a finger.
‘I know. That’s how most English people react when I tell them that. My mother maintains that she wanted each and every one of us, but I think she just got a bit carried away after she was married. I suppose you’re an only child? Only children are particularly appalled at the thought of sharing a house with lots of other brothers and sisters.’
‘I’m…well, we’re not really here to discuss my background, Miss McKee…’
It didn’t escape her notice that he had reverted to a formal appellation now that he was no longer manipulating their conversation. ‘Oh, it was merely a question. Are you an only child?’
‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I am.’
‘I thought so. Poor you. My mum always said that an only child is a lonely child. Were you lonely as a child?’
‘This is a ridiculous digression,’ Kane muttered darkly. ‘We were talking about your living arrangements.’
‘So we were,’ Shannon agreed readily. She took a small sip from her coffee, enjoying the sensation of sitting and having someone else do the waiting for a change. Their cups had