The Boss's Secret Mistress. Alison Fraser
was where.
It had been like a scent, bypassing the brain and going straight for the senses. For a few moments it had been almost overpowering, as if she were drowning and had forgotten how to swim.
It hadn’t lasted, of course. She’d surfaced pretty damn quickly when he’d begun to talk. She still bristled at his criticism on the single mothers documentary, regardless of whether it might be fair, and regardless of the fact that he’d bought Eastwich and along with it the right to express such opinions. She just had to recall what he’d said in that deep American drawl and she should be safe enough.
The question floated into her head. ‘Safe from what?’
Tory, however, resolutely ignored it. Some things were better left well alone.
CHAPTER TWO
BY MORNING Tory had rationalised away any threat presented by Lucas Ryecart.
It could have been a simple chat-up line when he’d asked if they’d met before. Even if he’d seen a photograph of her, it would have left only the vaguest of impressions. And why should he make the connection between a girl student named Vicki and the Tory Lloyd who worked for him? She hadn’t between Luc and Lucas until Simon had talked about his past and no one in Eastwich really knew about hers.
No, chances were he’d already forgotten her. He’d be like all the other chief executives before him—remote and faceless to someone in her junior position.
Reassured, Tory did as promised and went in to work, dressed casually in white T-shirt and cotton chinos. As it was Saturday, there were no calls to answer and, within an hour, she had dealt with most outstanding correspondence on her desk. The rest she took down the corridor for her boss’s personal attention.
She didn’t expect to find Alex Simpson there, not on a Saturday, and was initially pleased when she did. She imagined he’d come in to catch up on his own work.
That was before she noticed his appearance. There was several days’ growth of beard on his chin and his eyes were bleary with sleep. His clothes were equally dishevelled and a quilt was draped along what he called his ‘thinking’ sofa, transforming it into a bed.
At thirty Alex Simpson had been hailed as a dynamic young programme-maker, destined for the highest awards. He had gone on to win several. Now he was pushing forty and, somewhere along the way, he had lost it.
‘It’s not how it looks.’ He grimaced but was obviously relieved it was Tory and no one else. ‘It’s just that Sue’s husband is home on leave and I’ve had no time to make other arrangements.’
Tory held in a sigh but she couldn’t do anything about the disapproving look on her face. Officially Alex was lodging with Sue Baxter, a secretary at Eastwich, while he fixed himself up with more permanent accommodation. Unofficially he was sleeping with her while her Naval Engineer husband was on tour of duty. Tory knew this because indiscretion was Sue Baxter’s middle name.
She was a shallow, slightly vacuous woman, and what attraction Sue held for Alex was hard to fathom, but Tory kept her opinion to herself. Alex seemed intent on pushing his own self-destruct button and Tory felt ill-qualified to prevent him.
‘You won’t say anything, will you?’ He smiled a little boyishly at Tory, already knowing the answer.
She shook her head, her loyalty guaranteed. She didn’t fancy Alex, though many women did. Nor was she sure if she liked him at times. But he had a vulnerable quality that brought out a protective streak in her.
‘You’d better not hang round here, looking like that,’ she said with some frankness.
‘I suppose not.’ Alex made another face. ‘I hear the new chief exec appeared in person yesterday.’
Tory nodded. ‘I said you were out researching a programme.’
‘I was, sort of,’ he claimed. It was as unconvincing as his rider of, ‘Pity I missed him.’
Tory looked at him sceptically, but refrained from pointing out that, had Lucas Ryecart met Alex while he was in this condition, Alex might not still be on the Eastwich payroll.
‘Tory, I was wondering—’ he gave her an appealing look ‘—if I could go to your place. Just to clean up. And maybe get my head down for an hour or two.’
Tory’s heart sank. She told herself to refuse point-blank, but it came out as a less definite, ‘I’m not sure, Alex. You know how tongues wag round here and if anyone saw you—’
‘They won’t,’ he promised. ‘ I’ll be the soul of discretion.’
‘Yes, but—’ Tory didn’t get the chance to finish before Alex smiled in gratitude at her.
‘You’re a great girl.’ He jumped up from his desk with some of his old enthusiasm. ‘A wash and brush-up, that’s all I need, and I’ll be a new man.’
‘All right.’ Tory was already regretting it as she relayed, ‘I have a spare key in my desk.’
Alex picked up the quilt from the couch and stuffed it into a cupboard, before following her back down the corridor to her office.
‘You’ll need the address.’ She wrote it down on her telephone pad. ‘You can use the phone to find a hotel or something.’
‘Kind of you, Tory darling—’ he looked rueful ‘—but I’m afraid hotels are out till pay day. My credit rating is zero and the bank is refusing to increase my overdraft.’
‘What will you do? You can’t keep dossing down in the office,’ Tory warned.
‘No, you’re right. I don’t suppose you could…’ he began hopefully, then answered for himself, ‘No, forget it. I’ll find somewhere.’
Tory realised what he’d been about to ask. She also understood he was still asking, by not asking. His eyes were focused on her like a homeless stray.
She tried to harden her heart. She reminded herself that Alex earned a great deal more than her for doing a great deal less. Was it her problem that he couldn’t manage his money?
‘Never mind.’ He forced a brave smile. ‘I’ll be back on my feet soon. I’m due my annual bonus from Eastwich next month—that’s assuming this American chappie doesn’t cancel it.’
Or cancel him, Tory thought as she looked at Alex through Lucas Ryecart’s eyes. He was a shambolic figure whose past awards would be just history.
‘Look, you can use my couch,’ Tory found herself offering, ‘until pay-day.’
‘Darling Tory, you’re a life-saver.’ A delighted Alex made to give her a hug but she fended him off.
‘And strictly on a keep-your-hands-to-yourself basis,’ she added bluntly.
‘Of course.’ Alex took a step from her and held up his hands in compliance. ‘No problem. I know you’re not interested.’
He should do. Tory had made it clear enough in the beginning and Alex, philanderer though he undoubtedly was, respected the fact. He was also lazy; mostly he ended up with women who chased him. Being handsome in a slightly effete way, he drew a certain type of woman. Tory wasn’t included in their category.
‘Five days.’ Tory calculated when their next salary should appear in the bank.
‘Fine.’ Alex gave her another grateful smile before turning to go.
‘Alex,’ Tory called him back at the door, ‘try and stay sober, please.’
For a moment Alex looked resentful, ready to protest his innocence. Tory’s expression stopped him. It wasn’t critical or superior or contemptuous. It was simply appealing.
He nodded, then, acknowledging his growing problem, said, ‘If I don’t, I’ll crash somewhere else. Okay?’
‘Okay.’