The Boss's Secret Mistress. Alison Fraser
he was positively repellent. No way was he going to get his act together by Monday.
But she realised that she wouldn’t need to give him a hard time. When Alex woke up, he would feel sorry enough for himself.
She was right. When she woke him with strong black coffee, he was full of remorse.
He’d forgotten his promise not to return to her flat drunk. Apparently he’d had a whisky for Dutch courage before phoning his wife in Edinburgh. When she’d slammed the phone down on him, he’d had several more.
‘So, basically it was all Rita’s fault,’ Tory concluded on a sceptical note, deciding a sympathetic approach wasn’t going to help him.
He looked a little sheepish. ‘I didn’t say that, exactly.’
‘Just as well,’ Tory muttered back, ‘because I haven’t met many candidates for living sainthood, but your wife has to be one.’
He looked taken aback by her frankness, but didn’t argue. ‘You’re right. I didn’t treat her very well, did I?’
Tory’s brows went heavenward.
‘Okay, I admit it,’ he groaned back. ‘I was unfaithful to her a couple of times, but it didn’t mean anything. It’s Rita I love. After twenty years together she should know that.’
‘Twenty years?’ Tory hadn’t viewed Alex as long-term married.
‘We met at college,’ Alex went on. ‘She was so bright and funny and together. She still is… If only I’d realised. I can’t function without Rita,’ he claimed in despair.
‘Then you’d better try and get her back,’ Tory advised quite severely. ‘Either that, or get your own act together, Alex, before you lose it all.’
‘I already have,’ he said miserably.
Tory resisted the urge to shake him. ‘Hardly. You have an exceedingly well-paid job doing something you used to love. Give it another week or so, however, and you’ll probably be kissing goodbye to that, too.’
Alex looked a little shocked at her plain-speaking, then resentful. ‘It’s not that bad. Sure, I’ve missed a few deadlines and been absent for a meeting or two. But Colin understands. He knows I’ll be back on track soon.’
‘You’ve forgotten the American.’ Tory hadn’t.
‘Ryecart.’ Alex shrugged at the name. ‘So, there’s a new chief exec. He’ll only be interested in the business side.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Tory decided not to pass on Ryecart’s comments about their last documentary but decided Alex still required a reality check. ‘There’s something you should know. He saw you yesterday morning, crashed on your office couch.’
‘Damn,’ Alex cursed aloud, before saying with some hope, ‘Maybe he thought I’d been working all night.’
Tory shook her head again. ‘This man’s not stupid, Alex. He knew you were sleeping it off… He wants to see you first thing Monday morning.’
‘Well, isn’t that civilised of him,’ Alex sneered, ‘not waking a sleeping man? Making me sweat till Monday morning before sacking me.’
That scenario had already occurred to Tory, but she said nothing.
‘He was probably too much a coward to do it on Saturday,’ Alex ran on speculatively. ‘Probably thought I’d turn round and punch his lights out for him.’
Tory sighed heavily. ‘Men are ridiculous.’
That deflated Alex somewhat. They both knew he was as likely to punch someone as become celibate.
‘All right, so I’m no fighter, but he wouldn’t know that.’
‘I doubt he’d care. He looks well able to take care of himself.’
‘Big?’ Alex deduced from her tone.
‘Huge.’ Tory reckoned the American was at least six inches taller than Alex.
‘Upwards or outwards?’
‘Both… Well, sort of. He’s not fat. He’s just…muscly, you might say,’ Tory described him with some reluctance.
Alex slanted her a curious look. ‘You don’t fancy him, do you, Tory?’
‘No, of course not!’ she protested immediately. ‘Whatever makes you say that?’
He shrugged, then smiled a fraction. ‘The blush on your face, I suppose. I’ve never seen you blush before.’
‘Rubbish. I’m always blushing. I’m like a Belisha beacon in hot weather,’ she declared extravagantly and turned the conversation back on him. ‘Anyway, we’re not talking about me. It’s you that has the problem. You’re going to have to make an effort on Monday, Alex, to impress him.’
‘Is there any point?’ he asked rhetorically. ‘Why go in and give him the satisfaction of firing me?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Alex!’ She lost her patience. ‘Stop being such a wimp!’
For a moment Alex looked seriously indignant. He was her boss, after all. Then he remembered he’d just spent the night sleeping on her sofa, and had pretty much surrendered his right to deference by offloading his problems on her.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,’ Tory added as his face caved in, exposing his vulnerability.
‘No, it’s all right. It’s what Rita would have said to me. She couldn’t stand people wallowing in self-pity.’ He looked in admiration at Tory, and her heart sank. She didn’t need Alex transferring his emotional dependence onto her.
‘Well, it’s up to you, Alex. I’m not going to tell you what to do.’ She rose abruptly to collect their coffee-cups and take them through to the small kitchen adjoining.
He followed her and watched as she rinsed them out in the sink. ‘I could prepare a schedule of documentaries we propose to make in the coming months.’
Tory frowned. ‘What documentaries?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m sure we could come up with something.’
‘We?’ she echoed.
‘I thought, well, that you might—’
‘Give up my one day off?’
‘Well, if you’ve plans…’ He clearly believed she hadn’t.
‘You think my life is dull, too, don’t you?’ she accused, almost wiping the pattern off the saucer she was drying. ‘Good old Tory, with nothing better to do at the weekend.’
‘No, of course not,’ Alex disclaimed quickly, realising he’d touched a sore spot.
Tory scowled, but not at him. It was Lucas Ryecart’s comments that still rankled. She couldn’t seem to get the man out of her head.
‘I just know I’ll work better with you as a sounding-board,’ Alex added appeasingly.
Tory knew he wouldn’t work at all if she didn’t help him.
She gave in. ‘You go wash, I’ll make the coffee, then we’ll get started.’
‘Tory, you’re a brick.’
Tory pulled a face as he went from the kitchen to the hall and the bathroom off it. She heard the shower running shortly afterwards and, above it, the sound of him singing. She pulled another face. What did he have to sing about?
Men were unbelievable. One moment Alex was confessing his undying love for his wife and his devastation at her loss, the next he was singing a selection of top-twenty hits from the seventies.
Compartmentalisation. That was the key to the male psyche. Everything kept in separate little cubicles. Love