Книга - Secretary On Demand

Secretary On Demand
CATHY WILLIAMS


Kane Lindley is a regular customer at the restaurant where Shannon works. When an incident results in her getting the sack, Kane comes to the rescue and offers her a job! As well as being his secretary, Shannon also finds herself caring for his young daughter. In fact, he even persuades her to move into his home!But all the while Shannon is fighting her attraction to her boss, playing the part of a responsible, diligent employee - until Kane propositions her, daring her to act on the overwhelming attraction between them….









“It makes a delightful change to see you out of work clothes.”


“Delightful? Isn’t that taking courtesy a bit far?” she asked feverishly.

“Don’t you like being described as ‘delightful’?” Kane’s eyes were shuttered. “What adjective would you rather I used? How about sexy? Mmm. Yes, sexy might be more apt. Those freckles, that ivory-white skin and flaming hair. Not obviously sexy, but discreetly so. Like a woman in jeans and a man’s shirt, not thinking she’s flaunting anything, but arousing all sorts of illicit thoughts anyway.”

His words made her feel limp. “I don’t arouse illicit thoughts,” she squeaked.

“How do you know?”







Getting down to business in the boardroom…and the bedroom!

A secret romance, a forbidden affair, a thrilling attraction…

What happens when two people work together and simply can’t help falling in love—no matter how hard they try to resist?

Find out in this series of stories set against working backgrounds.

This month in

Secretary on Demand by Cathy Williams

As well as being Kane’s secretary, Shannon finds herself caring for his young daughter—she even moves into his home! All the while Shannon is fighting a powerful attraction to her boss—until Kane dares her to act on it….




Secretary on Demand

Cathy Williams















CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE




CHAPTER ONE


‘GUESS who’s here, Shannon!’

Shannon paused for a second to look up at her friend who was contributing to the general chaos of the kitchens by balancing a large circular tray, laden with empty crockery, precariously above her shoulder on the flat of her hand.

‘Who?’ She flexed her fingers and grinned which was an open invitation for Sandy to deposit her tray on the stack of paperwork on the desk and lean forward with a conspirational gleam in her eyes. Sandy did amateur dramatics twice a week and devoutly believed that there was nothing in life that couldn’t benefit from elaborate gestures. She would never make it to the big screen.

‘Guess!’

‘I would if I thought that Alfredo would let us get away with playing a few guessing games when it’s pandemonium in here.’ On cue, Alfredo yelled something threatening from across the kitchen and was blithely ignored. ‘The Queen?’ Shannon hazarded. ‘A famous Hollywood star interested in sampling a more down-market venue in fashionable Notting Hill? Someone from the Lottery Board coming to present you with a cheque for several million pounds?’

‘He’s here!’ Sandy straightened up with a smug smile of satisfaction.

‘What on earth is he doing here at this time of day?’ Shannon felt a sudden little swell of excitement.

‘Watch it, kid, you’re going red in the face.’

‘Who is he with?’

‘No one. At the moment…’ Sandy allowed the tantalising titbit to drop. ‘But he’s requested two menus!’

‘We’re sad people, Sandy.’ Shannon stood up and smoothed down her calf-length black skirt. ‘Wasting our time speculating on someone we don’t know from Adam…’ Which wasn’t entirely true. They did know him, in a manner of speaking. The man had been coming in regularly to grace their eating establishment every morning, no later than seven, for months. In fact, almost as long as Shannon had been living in London, and there was a pleasurable familiarity about the routine.

Of course, they had both given in to wild speculation about him.

He was too aggressively good looking to ignore. His hair was very short and very dark and the sum total of his features added up to an impression of understated power that made their spectator sport of watching him virtually irresistible.

‘Where are you going, my little Irish friend?’ Sandy asked tartly. ‘Don’t you have a spot of important typing to be getting on with?’

‘I’ll just have a quick peek at him. See if he looks the same at lunchtime as he does first thing in the morning.’

‘You mean you think that his mascara might have smudged? Lippy worn off a bit? Facial T-zones looking a bit greasy and in need of a dash of Almond Beige pressed powder?’

Shannon ignored her and quickly grabbed the cream and blue apron folded in the corner of her desk. She’d originally been hired as Alfredo’s secretary, to look after his books, do his typing, take phone calls and generally make sure that the nuts and bolts of the restaurant were well oiled and running smoothly, but the plan had gone pear-shaped on day three when one of the waitresses had failed to show up and she’d been requisitioned to help serve tables. Since then, Shannon had combined her well-honed secretarial skills with her newly discovered waitressing talents, donning an apron whenever the situation demanded, and always in the morning when the paperwork could be left for a couple of hours.

By the time she had quickly slipped the apron over her head, Alfredo had appeared in all his five-feet-four, seriously corpulent Italian glory.

He was one of the few men in the entire world, Shannon was sure, whose lack of height made it possible for her to address him on an eye-to-eye level.

‘Just taking over serving, Alfredo…’ Shannon looked meaningfully at her friend who was hovering to one side like a spare part. ‘Sandy’s hurt her foot.’

‘Don’t you tell Alfredo anything about the hurt foots, missy! The foots looked just fine when she came a running over to whisper to you when it is madness here and I am not paying her to have the little cosy chats when she should be taking orders! Don’t you two little missies think that Alfredo does not have the eyes at the back of the head! I see everything!’

The hurt foot had been a good idea. It released Sandy’s barely contained lust for drama and she instantly shot into wounded mode, removing one shoe and tenderly touching her ankle as though it might explode at any minute if too much pressure was applied.

Shannon took the opportunity to scuttle through the kitchen, pausing to glance at the orders stacked on the counter, then hustled outside into the restaurant.

Yes, so what if she was sad? A sad twenty-five-year-old girl who had fled Ireland in a welter of misery and had grasped at the giggling normality of fantasising about a mysterious customer who had fired her imagination. Didn’t her imagination deserve to be fired after what she had been through? It was all a silly game but silly games had been just what her depressed soul had needed.

She walked briskly over to his table and appeared to be startled at finding him there.

If she had been Sandy, she would have been far more elaborate when it came to playing startled. Instead, she smiled with consummate politeness and said, ‘Oh! What a pleasant surprise to see you here at lunchtime, sir! Shall I take your order or are you waiting for someone?’

‘Oh! And what a pleasant surprise, seeing you at lunchtime, and, yes, you may take my order for a drink but I am waiting for someone.’

He had a deep, slow voice that had a disturbing tendency to curl around her nervous system, which was what it was doing now. He leaned back in his chair and looked at her with amusement.

‘I thought your little blonde friend was serving me.’

‘Oh, Sandy’s hurt her ankle. She’s sitting for a few minutes.’

‘In that case, I’ll have a bottle of the Sancerre. Could you make sure that there’s ice in my glass? I like my white wine very cold.’

‘Of course, sir. Will that be all?’

‘Now, there’s a leading question,’ he murmured, and Shannon’s colour rose. Was he flirting? No. Impossible. The man might be terrifyingly good-looking but he was also highly conventional. Didn’t he wear impeccably tailored suits and read the Financial Times every morning?

She cleared her throat and met his dark eyes steadily. ‘Perhaps I could bring you a little appetiser to sample while you wait for your friend? One of our chefs has prepared some delicious crab and prawn pastries.’

‘Tempting.’

‘Or you could wait until your partner arrives.’

‘My partner?’ he drawled with lazy amusement. ‘In what context would you be using the word “partner”?’

Shannon looked at him in confusion. She’d assumed that his lunch date was with a woman. Maybe even his wife, although he didn’t wear a wedding ring. Or maybe, she thought sheepishly, she had just been fishing for information.

‘You blush very easily. Has anyone ever told you that? And when you blush, you look even more like a schoolgirl, especially with those braids on either side. What sort of partner do you think I’m meeting for lunch? A female partner, perhaps?’

‘I’m very sorry, sir. I just assumed…perhaps your wife…or maybe a female friend…’

‘I don’t have a wife, actually, and a female friend…’ He let his voice linger on the description for a few seconds while he continued to watch her gravely. ‘What an extraordinarily quaint way of putting it. Alas, though, no female friend on the scene either.’

Her surprise must have registered on her face because he laughed softly and raised his eyebrows. ‘Yes, I’m one of those sad old men who is still waiting for the right woman to come along and make an honest man of him.’ Disconcertingly, the mildness in his voice seemed to encourage a response to this, but for the life of her Shannon couldn’t think of a thing to say. She got the distinct impression, in fact, that the man was trying to tease her.

‘I’m sure that’s not the case,’ she replied tartly, shoving the order pad into the pocket of her apron and doing something pointless with the cutlery on the table because she was rather enjoying the feeling of being watched by those incredible eyes.

‘What makes you say that?’

‘If that will be all, sir, I’ll just go and fetch your wine.’

‘You mean you’re leaving me in the middle of my unanswered question?’

‘I’m very busy at the moment, sir.’ She drew herself up to her full height of five feet three and looked down at the darkly amused face. ‘I’ll return with your drinks order…’

‘And some of the delicious crab and prawn pastries…’

‘What? Oh, yes. Right.’

It was the strangest conversation she’d had with him since he’d appeared through the door months earlier and she found that she was shaking when she returned to the kitchens. Let that be a lesson to her not to indulge her curiosity! She’d been bitten by the speculation bug and he’d returned the favour with panache, deliberately playing verbal games with an air of complete fake gallantry. She would be better off getting back to the work she was paid to do.

‘Your foot’s completely better,’ she informed Sandy, when she managed to eventually corner her, ‘and table four wants a bottle of Sancerre. A bucket of ice on the table as well.’

‘Oh, dear. I take it your curiosity has been satisfied?’

‘The man,’ Shannon said loftily, ‘is not quite the paragon of politeness we thought he was.’

Sandy’s eyes gleamed with sudden alertness. ‘Ooh… Tell me more… Was he rude?’

‘No.’ Shannon sat down and rustled lots of paper into a stack then she pushed a button on her computer so that the screen lit up. How was she supposed to get any work done when her desk was stuck here off the end of the kitchens without even a partition to separate one from the other? It was noisy and disorienting and she felt giddy.

‘Oh. Did he make a pass at you, then?’

Shannon’s eyes shot to her friend’s with horror. ‘He most certainly did not!’ she denied vehemently.

‘Then what did the man do?’

‘He…he… Nothing really, I suppose,’ she said lamely. ‘But you can carry on serving him, and you’d better hurry with his wine before he marches in here to find out what’s going on. Oh, and he wants some of those crabby pastry things as well.’

She would take no further interest in him, or his lunch companion for that matter.

So when, ten minutes later, Alfredo announced to her that she would have to help out with the serving, she point-blank refused. Albeit in a pleading tone of voice and sheltering behind the excuse of having to catch up on her paperwork.

‘Are you disobeying me, missy?’ Alfredo’s jowls wobbled and he folded his arms expressively. He had an array of menacing gestures which routinely failed to work because his jolly approach to life was always too near the surface. He was a sucker for giving leftovers to their little coterie of down-and-outs who stopped by every night at closing time and sometimes he would force them to comment on some of his concoctions. How could anyone resist Alfredo?

Which was why Shannon ended up sticking on the apron again with a little sigh of frustration. As luck would have it, table four needed their order. She decided that it would be good practice at smiling brightly and acting like a sophisticated Londoner who could handle most things without batting an eyelid, which was the image she was steadily trying to create. On no account would she allow the man, still nameless, to think that he had thrown her into a tizzy with his word games.

She approached his table with the plates, studiously avoiding eye contact, and gently deposited the halibut in front of him. Then she decided to further test her savoir-faire by asking him whether his wine was all right.

‘Enough ice, sir?’

‘A bucket is more than enough,’ he agreed in a murmur. ‘And the little crab pastries were truly exquisite. My compliments to the chef.’

‘I’ll pass on the message,’ Shannon said, rather proud at her self-containment.

‘Very obliging of you.’ He looked at his food and she had a sneaking suspicion that there was something resembling a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth.

She turned to his companion and the practised smile froze. She could feel the colour drain away from her face.

‘You!’ she whispered, clutching the plate of food. ‘What are you doing here!’ Her fragile mastery over her emotions crumbled spectacularly away in the face of Eric Gallway, who was sitting back in his chair, looking at her with smiling, polite blankness. He was as blond-haired and blue-eyed as she remembered, with the plastic good looks of someone who had spent a lifetime cultivating their outward image to the detriment of everything else. He’d captured her with his looks and then used every ounce of smooth charm at his disposal to try and get her into bed with him. Goodness knew, he might have succeeded as well in the end if she hadn’t found out about his wife and his children and the whole life he had conveniently concealed while promising her happy-ever-afters and wedded bliss. Only then had he turned vicious and the mask had slipped away to reveal a small man with a nasty, cruel mind.

‘Excuse me, do I know you, miss?’

In retrospect, it was the worst thing he could have said. In retrospect, Shannon liked to think that she wouldn’t have done what she had if he’d acknowledged her. Looking at her coolly and blankly and pretending that he didn’t have a clue who she was, it sent all the vanished colour rushing back into her cheeks. Her frozen hands began to tremble with rage.

‘Maybe you don’t. How disappointing,’ she agreed. She heard her mother’s voice telling her to always count to ten because her temper would get her into trouble one day, and made it to two before she removed the plate from the tray and tipped twelve ounces of medium-rare steak, dripping with Alfredo’s special sauce, accompanied by potatoes and vegetables, straight onto the pristine jacket and well-tailored trousers.

It was intensely satisfying to hear Eric Gallway’s yelp of pain as hot food hit the thin covering of expensive wool. It reverberated through the restaurant like the crash of breaking crockery in a china shop. He stood up and frantically began wiping the food with his napkin, while everyone in the restaurant stopped eating and positioned themselves the better to look at what was going on.

‘How dare you?’ he growled. ‘How dare you throw a plate of food over me? I don’t know who the hell you are, miss, but I’m damn well going to make sure you’re sacked! Get me your boss! This instant!’

Shannon had a strong urge to laugh and covered her mouth with her hand. No need to get her boss. Alfredo was hurrying over towards them while trying to encourage the other diners to carry on with their meals. Perhaps pretend that this was nothing but some simple Italian jollity.

‘What is going on here?’ Alfredo ignored Eric’s frantic cleaning-up process and stared at Shannon who hung her head. Hopefully, he would interpret that as a gesture of shame instead of an insane desire to stifle her mirth.

‘What,’ snarled Eric, ‘do you think the problem is? This…this…so-called waitress of yours has dumped a plate of food all over me and let me tell you right now that unless she’s sacked immediately, I’ll sue you for everything you possess! I’ll personally make sure that this restaurant is out of business!’

‘It sort of fell, the plate,’ Shannon said, her green eyes wide and luminous. If he could pretend not to know who the hell she was, then she could pretend that it had all been an unfortunate accident. ‘Sorry.’ She grabbed a serviette and made a flicking motion, which was venomously brushed aside. ‘I think some of the carrots oozed into your pocket, sir…and there are a few mange-tout on your left shoe…’

Eric seemed incapable of responding to the helpful observations and stared at her murderously as Alfredo launched into a profuse apology, ending with assurances that any dry-cleaning costs would be covered.

‘Oh, dear, your lovely patent leather shoes seem to be ruined,’ Shannon observed with extravagant seriousness.

‘Please, allow me to offer you a full replacement for your suit and your shoes.’ All eyes followed a path down the soaked trousers to the ruined shoes under discussion. Someone burst out laughing a few tables away.

‘You sack this creature immediately, my man, or you won’t be able to afford your next loaf of bread, never mind my clothes. And let me tell you something, I happen to know quite a number of people in high places!’

‘I think it’s time you took yourself off to the bathroom and cleaned up,’ drawled a familiar voice. ‘You’re making a spectacle of yourself.’

For a minute, Eric looked as though, now in his stride and regardless of the state of his clothes, he was more than prepared to stand his ground and continue his litany of threats, but after a few seconds he nodded and walked off, watched by everyone in the restaurant. Someone yelled for an encore and Shannon felt a rush of appreciation for the bawdy clientele who frequented their establishment.

‘I hope your friend will calm down,’ Alfredo began worriedly. ‘Of course, it was a dreadful accident, but all these threats of closing down my restaurant…well, I have a family to support! Perhaps I better go see what is happening in the bathroom, hope he listens to reason…’ He extracted a handkerchief from a pocket to wipe his brow and then hurried off towards the direction of the bathroom.

‘Sit down.’

Shannon slowly turned to look at the man, who seemed to be the only person in the restaurant unaffected by what had just taken place.

She slumped into a free chair and rested her head against her hands.

‘Feel better?’

She looked at him for a while in silence. ‘Not really, no, but thank you for asking.’

‘What was that all about?’

‘I’m very, very sorry that I ruined your lunch.’ She stared at the congealing halibut on his plate. There was nothing funny about what had just happened, she realised. Alfredo had had nothing to do with anything, but he had taken the brunt of it and it had all been her fault.

‘Forget the lunch,’ he said drily.

‘Poor Alfredo,’ she said miserably to herself. ‘I shouldn’t have dropped the plate of food all over your friend. It was wrong of me.’

‘He’s not my friend. You certainly know how to create a scene, don’t you?’

‘Were you very embarrassed? I’m very, very sorry.’

‘Will you stop apologising? And, no, I wasn’t embarrassed. It would take rather more than that little incident to embarrass me. Tell me what you’re going to do now.’

‘Resign, of course.’ She stood up and his eyes followed her thoughtfully. ‘What choice do I have? Alfredo will never trust me with another plate of food, and I couldn’t blame him. Who needs a waitress with a talent for flinging food over customers?’ Besides, she knew Eric Gallway and she knew that he was more than capable of doing his utmost to get what he would see as just revenge for his humiliation.

‘Resign, reds? And who will serve me my morning coffee and bagel?’

He was trying to be nice. In the midst of her misery, she realised that he had called her ‘reds’, a reference, she assumed, to her bright red hair, and the softly spoken intimacy was almost as powerfully unsettling as the prospect of her future without a job.

‘I’m going to pack up my things,’ she said glumly. ‘Thanks for being so understanding.’ She reached out to shake his hand, for some unknown reason, but instead of a shake, he casually linked his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand gently, then he reached for his glass of wine and sipped some, with his fingers still interlinked with hers. He rubbed his thumb idly against hers and she felt a curious sensation of prickling down the back of her neck. Then he released her.

‘I don’t suppose you’d like your meal replaced?’ she joked half-heartedly, and he raised his eyebrows, appreciating her attempt at humour.

Funny, during all their speculations about him, she had never noticed how strongly the curves of his mouth spoke of compassion and humour. Or maybe anyone would have seemed compassionate and humorous alongside Eric with his infernal vanity and monstrous self-absorption.

‘Strangely, I appear to have lost my appetite.’ He gave her a little half-smile.

‘Well.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘The halibut was very good. Trust me. Much better than the wretched steak.’

She walked the long walk back to the kitchens, and by the time she’d told Alfredo she was resigning, said her last goodbyes to everyone and cleared her desk of what belonged to her, her usual buoyancy was back with her.

She would find something else. She wasn’t fussy. Hadn’t she ended up enjoying Alfredo’s even though initially the early start had put her off and the hours were often longer than her contract demanded? She would find something else and she would enjoy it. And if she didn’t, then couldn’t she always head back up to Dublin?

True, it felt good to be away from the claustrophobia of having all her large family around her but if she did decide to go back to Ireland, she knew that she would settle back in without any real difficulty. And after all this time, they would have at least stopped oozing sympathy about her wrecked love life and making endless remarks about adulterous men and young, impressionable girls.

Things would work out. She had a sudden, wild memory of the man with his fingers entwined with hers and felt a little shiver of regret. One face lost to her for ever. For no reason whatsoever, the thought depressed her, and she was so busy trying to analyse the foolishness of her reaction that she didn’t notice him until he was standing in front of her. Towering over her, in fact. Shannon just manage to stop before she collided with his immovable force and it was only when her eyes actually trailed upwards that she recognised him and gave a little gasp of surprise. Mostly because he seemed to have materialised from the sheer power of the thoughts in her head.

‘How did it go?’

‘What are you doing here?’ She wanted to reach out and prod him to see if he was real.

‘Waiting for you, as a matter of fact.’

‘Waiting for me? Why would you be waiting for me?’ It wasn’t yet four-thirty, but the light was already beginning to fade and there was an unholy chill in the autumn air.

‘To make sure that you were all right.’

‘Of course I’m all right.’ She stuck her hands in her pockets and stared at his shoes. She hadn’t realised how big a man he was. Not just tall, but broad-shouldered and powerfully built. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ She raised her eyes to his and made fleeting contact.

‘Because, reds, you looked pretty shaken up back there in the restaurant.’

Shannon debated whether she should tell him to stop calling her ‘reds’ and decided, perversely, that she liked the nickname.

‘Did I?’ she said airily. ‘I thought I handled myself very well, actually. I mean, losing a job isn’t the end of the world, is it?’ Bills. Rent. Food. Not the end of the world but not far off.’

‘Look, it’s cold trying to hold a conversation out here. Why don’t you hop in my car. I want to talk to you.’

‘Hop in your car? I’m very sorry but I can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I don’t know you. You could be anyone. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying you’re an axe-wielding maniac, but you could be for all I know.’

‘An axe-wielding maniac?’ he asked, bemused.

‘Or a fugitive from the law. Anyway, my mother told me never to accept lifts from strangers.’

‘I’m not a stranger! You’ve been serving me breakfast every morning just about for months! Nor am I a fugitive from the law. If I were a fugitive from the law, wouldn’t I be hiding out somewhere less conspicuous than a busy Italian restaurant in the middle of crowded Notting Hill? Your imagination is obviously as vivid as your temper, reds.’

‘And stop calling me reds.’ She’d decided she didn’t care for the appellation after all. It was insulting.

‘Then accompany me, please, for a short ride in my car which is just around the corner. I want to talk to you.’

‘Talk about what?’

‘Oh, good grief,’ he groaned. ‘Let me put it this way, it’ll be worth your while.’ He turned on his heel and began walking away, expecting her to follow him, and she did, clutching her coat around her and half running to keep up.

‘I don’t even know your name!’ she panted in his wake. ‘And where are you planning on taking me for this little talk that will be worth my while?’

He stopped abruptly and she cannoned into him. Instinctively he reached out and steadied her. ‘Kane Lindley,’ he said, ‘in answer to your first question. And a little coffee-bar two blocks away in answer to your last. We could walk but my time on the meter is about to run out so it’s as easy for us to take the car and I’ll find somewhere else to park.’

She realised that he was still holding her by her arms, and he must have realised that as well because he politely dropped his hands and waited for her to respond.

‘Kane Lindley…’

‘That’s right. Have you heard of me?’

‘Why should I have heard of you?’ Shannon asked, puzzled.

He said swiftly, ‘Absolutely no reason. I’m not a celebrity but I own Lindley publications and I’m now in charge of a television network.’ He zapped open his car with his remote after a short mental tussle. Shannon hurried over to the passenger side and slipped in, slamming the door against the stiff cold.

‘I haven’t heard of Lindley publications,’ she told him as soon as he was sitting next to her.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ His voice was irritable. ‘I’m not trying to impress you. I’m merely trying to put you at ease in case you think I’m not to be trusted.’

‘Oh. Right. Well…’ She stared out of the window. ‘I’m Shannon McKee. How long were you lurking around, waiting for me to come out, anyway?’

‘I wasn’t lurking around, reds,’ he growled. ‘As a matter of fact, I went to buy some ties at a little shop tucked away around the corner and then dropped back here. Coincidentally, you were leaving.’

The coffee-bar really was only a couple of streets away and they got a parking space instantly. It felt kind of nice to be the one sitting at the table and being waited on for a change. Meals out had been few and far between since she’d moved down to London, where the cost of living had hit her for six and relaxed cups of coffee in trendy coffee-bars, as this one was, had been even more of a rarity.

He ordered a cafetière of coffee for two and a plate of pastries and then proceeded to look at her with dark-eyed speculation. ‘Now, tell me a little about yourself. I know you don’t like football, like the theatre even though you never get there, loathe all exercise except swimming and are self-conscious about your hair, but what are you doing in London?’

Shannon blushed. She never would have guessed that her passing titbits of information had been stored away. She would have assumed that he had more important things to think about than the details of a waitress’s life. ‘I am not self-conscious about my hair!’ she snapped, a little disconcerted by this regurgitation of facts.

‘Then why you do always wear it tied back?’

‘Because it’s convenient. And I’m in London because…because I wanted a change from Ireland. I lived in a little village about twenty miles outside Dublin and I guess I wanted to sample something a little different.’ Now that he had mentioned her wretched hair, she found that she couldn’t stop fiddling with it, tugging the ends of the braids. She had to force herself to fold her hands neatly on her lap.

‘I wish you’d stop looking at me,’ she said after a while. Here they were, one to one, no longer in the roles of waitress serving customer, and their sudden equality made her feel breathless. She felt as though those unreadable, considering eyes could see straight past the dross and into all the secret corners of her mind that she preferred not to share with anyone.

‘Why? Does it make you feel uncomfortable?’ He didn’t labour the point, though. Thankfully. Instead, once their coffee and pastries were in front of them, he began asking her about her work experience and what she had done in Ireland and what she had done since moving to London, tilting his head to one side as she rambled on about her education and her first job and her secretarial qualifications.

‘So,’ he said finally, ‘you did secretarial work, but really you’d call yourself quite adaptable.’

‘I can turn my hand to most things.’

‘I’ll get to the point, reds. Sorry, Miss McKee. I feel very badly about what happened today. I’ve been coming to Alfredo’s for months and I know that you’re good at what you do. I suspect you enjoyed working there and the fact is that if I hadn’t chosen to go there at lunchtime with that particular person, you would not now be out of a job.’

‘It’s not your fault.’

Kane relaxed back and folded his arms. ‘That’s as maybe, but the fact remains that I would like to make amends by offering you a job…working for…me.’




CHAPTER 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 been refilled without her even noticing the intrusion.

‘And your decision to leave Ireland and come down here?’

‘I thought we’d already talked about that. I told you that I had references and that you could see them. My last company was very pleased with my performance, actually,’ she continued.

‘Did you leave because of Eric Gallway?’

The luminous green eyes cooled and she said steadily, ‘That really is none of your business, Mr Lindley.’

‘No, it isn’t, is it?’ he said softly, but his eyes implied otherwise. ‘Now, there are one or two other minor considerations that come with this job,’ he said slowly, resting both his elbows on the table and leaning towards her. He had rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt so that she had an ample view of strong forearms, liberally sprinkled with fine, dark hair.

‘Minor considerations?’ Shannon met his thoughtful, speculative look with a stirring of unease. What minor considerations? She didn’t care for the word ‘minor’. Somehow it brought to mind the word ‘major’.

‘There are a few duties connected with this job that will require some overtime…’

She breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t afraid of hard work and clock-watching had never been one of her problems. If anything, she’d often found herself staying on to work when she could have been going home.

‘I’m fine with overtime, Mr Lindley,’ she said quickly. ‘Alfredo will vouch for that.’

‘Good, good.’ He paused and his dark eyes flitted across her face. ‘These duties, however, are possibly not quite what you have in mind.’

‘What do they involve, Mr Lindley?’ Shannon asked faintly, for once lost for words in the face of the myriad possibilities filling her imaginative mind. She hoped that he wasn’t about to spring some illegal suggestion on her because she’d just become accustomed to thinking that gainful employment was within her reach and to have it summarily snatched away would be almost more of a blow than the original loss of her job.

‘I have a child, Miss McKee…’

‘You have a child?’

‘These things do happen as an outcome of sexual intercourse when no contraception has been used,’ Kane said with overdone patience. ‘As,’ he added mildly, ‘you are probably aware.’

Shannon failed to take offence at his tone. ‘I—simply never associated you with a child,’ she stammered, realising belatedly that her admission might give him the idea that she had been speculating wildly about him behind his back.

‘And may I ask why?’

‘You just don’t look…the fatherly sort…’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘I mean,’ she said hurriedly, as his eyebrows slanted upwards, ‘you were always at the restaurant so early… I just assumed that you weren’t much of a family man… How old is your child?’

‘Eight and it’s a she. Her name’s Eleanor.’

‘Oh, right.’ Shannon paused long enough to digest this piece of information. ‘And if you don’t mind me asking, what does all this have to do with me?’

‘At the moment I have a nanny in place to—’

‘You have a nanny in place?’ She gave a snort of derisory laughter.

‘Would you do me the favour of not interrupting me every five seconds?’

‘Sorry. It’s just the expression you used.’

‘I have a nanny in place who takes Eleanor to school in the mornings and brings her back home. Under normal circumstances, I would have a live-in nanny but Carrie has always insisted on having the evenings to herself and I’ve been loath to replace her because she’s been there since Eleanor was a baby.’

‘What about your wife? Does she work long hours as well?’ Shannon’s voice was laced with curiosity.

‘My wife is dead.’ He glanced down and she felt a rush of compassion for him and for his child. She tried to imagine a life with no siblings, no mother, an absent father and a nanny—and failed.

‘I’m sorry.’ She paused and then asked curiously, ‘When did she die?’

‘When Eleanor was born, actually.’ There was a dead flatness in his voice which she recognised. She’d heard her mother use that tone whenever someone asked her about her husband. She’d used detachment to forestall questions she didn’t want to answer. ‘The pregnancy was fraught, although the birth was relatively simple. Three hours after Eleanor was born, my wife haemorrhaged to death.’

‘I’m so very sorry, Mr Lindley.’

‘So occasionally I might need you to act as babysitter, for want of a better word. My old secretary was very obliging in that respect but, as I said, she now lives in Dorset. Naturally, you would be paid handsomely for the inconvenience.’

Shannon cradled the cup in between her hands, rubbing the rim with her thumbs. ‘Looking after a child could never be an inconvenience,’ she said quietly.

‘So.’ He signalled for the bill and she could sense his eagerness to be off the subject of his child and back into the arena of discussing work. ‘When would you be able to report for work?’

‘Whenever you want.’

‘What about next Monday morning? Eight-thirty sharp. And, naturally, I needn’t tell you that your first month will be a probationary one.’

‘On both sides, Mr Lindley,’ Shannon told him, just in case he got it into his head that she would somehow feel obliged to work for him even if she hated the job, simply because he had offered it to her out of duty.

‘I wouldn’t—’ he graced her with such a powerful smile that her heart seemed to stop for a few seconds ‘—dream of expecting otherwise.’ He stood up and politely offered her a lift to wherever she was going. When she declined, he nodded briefly in her direction before ushering her out of the coffee-bar.

The fresh, cold air whipped around her and for a few seconds, she had the unreal sensation that it had all been a vivid dream. She had always been particularly good at dreaming up improbable scenarios. Perhaps this was just another one. But, of course, it wasn’t. She had quit one job and then Fate had smiled on her and decreed that she land another within hours of losing the first. Wasn’t that just like life? Things, she had always thought, were never quite as black as they seemed. All you ever needed to do was leap over the first sticky patch and, sure enough, things would right themselves. There was always room for healthy optimism.

The healthy optimism stayed with Shannon for the remainder of the week and right into the weekend, which was spent with Sandy who seemed agog at the turn of events. She kept referring to ‘the luck of the devil’ and the way that Irish blarney could get a girl what she wanted until Shannon was forced to point out that the man was obviously impressed by all the secretarial potential he had spotted in her while she had waited tables.

‘Ha! Perhaps he spotted other potential,’ Sandy whispered darkly over their celebratory pizza.

But even that failed to quench her optimism.

She dressed very carefully on the Monday morning, making sure that everything matched and that there were no unknowing eccentric touches which had always been permissible at the radio station and at Alfredo’s but most certainly would not be in most normal working environments. She looked regretfully at her floppy hat as she left the bedsit, and at her flat black lace-up shoes which were her faithful companions whether accompanied by skirt or trousers. Neither would do. Blue skirt, white blouse, blue and black checked jacket, which unfortunately was the only one she possessed and as a hand-me-down from one of her sisters didn’t fit quite right, and, of course, her coat, one of her more expensive purchases from her working life at the radio station.

Her hair had presented a bit of a problem. Braids didn’t seem right for a secretarial job in a normal office environment, but wearing it loose wasn’t an option because as far as she was concerned, it was just too red, too beacon-like, so she tied it into a low ponytail which she held in place with a large, tortoiseshell barrette.

Shannon decided, as she caught the underground to the address Kane Lindley had written down for her, that her mother would have loved her outfit but her brothers and sisters would have fallen over laughing. Although she wasn’t the youngest in the family, she was the last girl and so her elder sisters had mothered her. She was the only one in the family with red hair and somehow the red hair had always made her look much younger than her years. Thank heavens she had tied it back. Severely. She was about to embark on a severe career path, she decided, working for a man who would certainly not tolerate too much gaiety within the four walls of his office.

Her first taste of exactly how different her job would be compared to the last two was when she arrived at the office which turned out to be in a building all smoked glass and, as she entered, marble floors and plants in the foyer. Mr Lindley, she was told by the receptionist who was separated from the public by a large, smooth circular desk, was waiting for her and that if she took the lift to the fourth floor, she would be directed to his office.

By the time Shannon was standing outside his door, she was fast losing faith in her office skills. They had certainly done nicely in her previous two jobs, but did radio stations and restaurants really lend themselves to the sort of top-class working skills needed in a place like this? Somewhere with thick carpets and enclosed offices and people hurrying like ants from computer terminals to fax machines and photocopiers? Her carefully thought-out clothes seemed hideously informal next to the smartly dressed women she had spied, who seemed to be in a uniform of grey suits and black pumps.

She tentatively knocked at the door, which was opened by a middle-aged woman with iron grey hair and sharp eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ Shannon stammered. ‘Actually, I’m looking for Mr Lindley’s office. The girl at Reception—’

‘Should have called me to come and fetch you,’ the woman said, interrupting her nervous explanation. ‘I shall have to have a word with her. Step inside, Miss McKee. Allow me first of all to introduce myself. I’m Sheila Goddard. I don’t normally work for Mr Lindley, although it has to be said that he hasn’t found a suitable replacement for his previous secretary for…well, frankly, months, and I’ve spent quite a bit of my time covering. Most inconvenient.’ She gave Shannon a look that seemed to imply that this inconvenience was somehow her fault.

‘This will be your office. As you can see, Mr Lindley’s office is just beyond the inner door. Now, my dear, I must confess that we were all a little surprised when Mr Lindley informed us that he had found himself a permanent secretary…’

Not as surprised as I was to be offered the job, she thought. ‘I’m on one month’s probation,’ Shannon pointed out quickly, as she looked around the large outer office with its walnut desk and swivel chair and discreet company advertising pictures framed on the walls. Her optimism was fading fast in the face of all this sterile, hygienic space. No one around, no one to occasionally chat to. She might very well go mad within the month.

‘Naturally,’ Sheila said. ‘You may join the line of unsuitable candidates, which is why I did suggest to Mr Lindley that it might have been a bit rash to take you on full time rather than as a temporary.’

‘If you don’t mind me asking, why exactly has there been a long line of unsuitable candidates?’

‘Mr Lindley,’ Sheila said ominously, ‘is a demanding boss. Anything less than first rate never satisfies him.’ She knocked respectfully at the imposing door separating the two offices, giving Shannon ample time to accommodate the prospect of trying to work for a monster who would attack at the first sign of a typing error.

The monster, waiting for her behind his desk, was on the telephone when she entered and he carried on talking, his voice clipped, while Shannon looked all around her, taking in the even more sterile surroundings of his office, unbroken by any hint of personality. Not even a picture or two of his daughter in sight. When there was nothing else to look at without doing damage to her neck muscles, she finally rested her green eyes on him. As he spoke, he leaned back in the leather chair, nodding at whatever was being said, answering solely in monosyllables.

‘Right,’ he said, as soon as he had replaced the receiver. ‘You’re here.’

‘With my references,’ Shannon agreed. ‘But I must be honest, Mr Lindley, you were very kind to employ me but I don’t think this arrangement is going to work out.’ She pushed the references over to him and he began scanning them, then he sat back and looked at her.

‘Why not?’

‘Because this isn’t the sort of working environment I’m used to at all. I really don’t think I’ll be suitable for the position.’

‘Why don’t you let me be the one to decide? Would you like some coffee? Tea? While I explain what your specific duties will involve?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘You’re nervous.’ He sat back and looked at her with his hands loosely folded on his lap. ‘I’d never thought it of you, reds.’

‘I’m not nervous.’ Pointless, she thought, trying to tell him to use her full surname. ‘It’s just that…this is all a bit too formal for me… I wouldn’t want to waste your time.’

‘Very considerate of you,’ he said drily. ‘Your references are excellent. You’re computer literate, you’re willing to accept responsibilities… What makes you think you’d be wasting my time?’

‘Apparently you’ve run through quite a number of unsatisfactory secretaries. Well, either the recruitment agencies have all been failing to do their jobs, or else you’re a difficult man to work for.’

‘I set high standards, if that’s what you mean. Now, stop wittering about letting me down and let’s start getting down to business. When I’m finished going through one or two clients with you and explaining what we do here, you can trot off to Personnel and sign your contract of employment.’ He stood up, and glanced down at his watch, flicking back the cuff of his sleeve to expose dark hair gently curling at the strap.

‘I have meetings this afternoon, but I shall leave you to do the basics. Some letters, faxes, e-mails. You can fence incoming calls by taking messages and I’ll get back to them later. Sheila’s always down the corridor if you run into difficulties.’ He could see doubt stamped in her wary green eyes and he wondered, in passing, whether she realised exactly how appealing it made her.

‘Look, if you really don’t want to work for the company, I won’t force you to stay. I can’t force you to stay. The door’s there and you’re more than welcome to walk right through it and keep on walking until you get to an agency that has vacancies for interesting jobs in exciting, informal environments. Clearly you think that all this is just a little too stuffy for you. Perhaps you think that bosses should just lounge around all day in garish clothes with their feet on the desk, making as few demands as possible on their staff so as not to interrupt the enjoyment of it all. But,’ he said, ‘I can guarantee that your pay will be more than double what you were earning at that restaurant. And that’s excluding what you’ll personally be paid by me for anything you do involving my daughter.’

Shannon gave him a wry look to match his own. ‘I’ll give it a go. I’m as open to bribery as the next person.’ Their eyes tangled in perfect mutual and amused understanding before she looked away.

She preceded her new boss into her office and sat down at the desk. He watched as her skirt rode a few centimetres higher, exposing slim, pale thighs through her tights. She’d disposed of the coat and the peculiar jacket, revealing a blouse that fitted snugly over her small breasts.

‘Clients.’ Kane Lindley cleared his throat and frowned in concentration as she flicked on the computer and waited for him to pick up the sentence. ‘Accounts. Yes. Well, you’ll be expected to update accounts and everything has to be filed in alphabetical order.’ He leaned forward so that his forearm rested on the desk, almost brushing her bare skin.

‘A lot of business is conducted overseas, so it would be helpful if you knew the money markets. Not in any great detail, but it would give you some idea of what is likely to be profitable and what is not. Now the media group I’ve just taken over…’ He leant past her to flick back to the main menu so that he could begin running through details of the finances of the various companies under the one umbrella and as he did so she felt him brush against her breast. She drew away, a little shaken at the fleeting contact.

‘Generally speaking, you won’t be needed to accompany me to meetings.’ He moved away from the desk and chose instead to pull up a chair so that his eyes could remain safely fixed on the same level as hers. ‘However, you will need to check every e-mail I get when I’m not in the office and I get quite a number. In time, you should be able to deal with a good proportion of those.’

Shannon, turning to look at him, was a little disconcerted to find him quite so close to her. Close enough for her to distinguish the various shades of dark brown and black in his eyes and to breathe in the musky scent of male body, unimpeded by any colognes.

‘Now,’ he said finally, sitting back and pushing himself away from the desk, ‘any questions?’

Shannon swivelled her chair to face him. ‘About work?’

He looked at her wryly. ‘No. I thought we might just have a general discussion about world affairs.’

‘Don’t you get a little lonely stuck out in this office on your own?’

‘Lonely? Don’t I get a little lonely?’

‘Yes. You know…surely you don’t spend the entire day focused on work. You must need to chat now and again…’

‘Chat?’

‘To people? Maybe when you break off to have a cup of coffee?’

‘When I break off to have a cup of coffee, reds, I actually normally remain at my desk and more often than not I devote my attention to paperwork while I’m having it,’ he said crushingly, and she nodded.

‘Then how do you know what’s going on in your company? You know, if you don’t get around and hear the gossip on the ground floor?’

‘Hear the gossip?’

‘Well, you did ask me whether I had any questions,’ Shannon trailed off, when he continued to stare at her as though she were crazy. ‘As far as the actual work goes, I think I can handle it. I might be a bit slow to start with, of course. Until I find my feet.’

‘I shouldn’t think it’ll take you very long,’ he said. ‘I’ve told Linda in Personnel to expect you some time before lunch.’ With a swift, graceful movement, he stood up and eyed her blandly. ‘Right now I shall be busy with meetings, so I probably won’t see you until tomorrow. Linda will fill you in on all of this, but if you’re interested, there’s an office restaurant on the ground floor. I suspect that’s where all the chat and gossip occurs.’

‘Perhaps you should eat there more often in that case,’ Shannon said with a slow grin.

‘Actually,’ he threw at her over his shoulder, as he slipped on his jacket and adjusted his tie, ‘I do. Whenever I get the chance.’

He walked towards the door, then paused before turning to look at her. ‘I think it might be a good idea if you met Eleanor. Carrie’s been staying on late to accommodate me over the past two months, but now that you’re here we can work something out so that she can get back to her social life.’

‘I thought the babysitting arrangement was more on an…occasional basis,’ Shannon faltered. ‘And what about my social life?’

‘Oh.’ He walked slowly towards her, rubbing his chin with his hand as though startled at the concept of her having a social life. ‘I thought you had come to London to nurse a broken heart. Don’t you spend all your free time pining?’

Shannon flushed at his blatant and cheerful disregard for boundaries. ‘Actually, if you read any self-help book, you’ll discover that women with broken hearts immediately rush off to cultivate new and exciting social lives,’ she replied tartly. She wondered whether dinner dates with Sandy constituted a new and exciting social life. Having come to London, she had quickly realised that the novel taste of freedom from her brothers and sisters and extended family members also carried a downside. Namely, that there was no handy cushion to protect her from her nights spent on her own. She went out with Sandy and with some of the other staff who worked at Alfredo’s and was gradually building up a social life of sorts, but it was hardly humming.

‘Well,’ Kane conceded, ‘I normally return home by eight, so your exciting social life shouldn’t suffer too much.’

‘By eight? When do you ever get to see your daughter?’

‘I usually try and keep weekends free,’ he muttered, turning away as a dark flush spread up his neck. ‘Do you know your way around London?’ He bent over and scribbled his address on a piece of paper. ‘No, forget that. I’ll get my driver to come and collect you, say, Friday evening? Around seven-thirty? Eleanor usually stays up late on a Friday as there’s no school on a Saturday.’

‘I’m sure I can find my way to your house, Mr Lindley.’ She looked at the address and wondered how far it would be from an underground station. She wasn’t averse to walking but walking at night, freezing cold and potentially without any real clue as to where she was heading, wasn’t her idea of fun.

‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ He smiled briefly. ‘After all, you’re the one who will be doing me the service.’

‘What is she like?’ Shannon asked curiously, folding the piece of paper and stuffing it into her bag.

‘Small, blonde hair, blue eyes.’

‘Actually, I meant her personality.’

‘Oh, Eleanor is…very quiet.’ He frowned and seemed to be thinking of some other way he could find of describing her. ‘Doesn’t give any trouble at all.’

To Shannon, that hardly sounded like a great description of an eight-year-old child. I mean, she thought, if you can’t get into a spot of trouble when you’re eight, then when on earth can you? She had spent most of her formative years getting into trouble! When she’d left school at sixteen, she could remember the headmistress telling her mother that never in the history of the school had one parent paid so many visits.

‘Right,’ Shannon said in a subdued, reflective voice.

‘Don’t forget, if you run into anything you can’t handle, and I’m not around, Sheila will help you out. She knows as much about this business as I do, probably.’ He moved towards the door and stopped to say with a gravity in his voice that was only belied by the glint in his eye, ‘And don’t forget the office canteen. It’s a hotbed of gossip and intrigue. Let me know if you hear about any insurrections I should beware of.’

She could have sworn she heard a chuckle as Kane shut the door behind him and she was left with the computer, a stack of letters to type and the prospect of dinner en famille in four days’ time with a man who was reluctantly beginning to intrigue her even more than he had when she’d been serving him his coffee and bagels.




CHAPTER THREE


KANE LINDLEY’S house was as far removed from Shannon’s expectations as it was possible to be.

She’d expected something modern and austere, perhaps a penthouse suite in a renovated building with thick white carpets to drown out the noise of an eight-year-old child, whom she imagined wandering forlornly amid the luxury, searching for places to hide from a largely absent father.

But when the chauffeur-driven car turned into a pair of wrought-iron gates, the house confronting her was an ivy-clad Victorian house with neatly trimmed lawns. The outside lights revealed mature trees shading some swings and a slide.

She rang the doorbell, feeling her stomach muscles tense. Kane Lindley was proving to be a very good boss, so how was it that she still felt a little quiver of alarm every time she saw him? In fact, even when he was working in his office and out of sight, there was still a part of her that seemed tuned in to his presence, waiting for him to emerge. She assumed that it was all wrapped up in the usual nervousness of being new to a job.

She might have surmounted this initial nervousness if he’d been out of the office much, as he’d implied he would be at their first interview, but, in fact, he was in a great deal. Through the partially open door, she was always aware of his clipped voice as he conversed on the phone or else his steady silence as he worked through paperwork and on his computer. Ever so often he would call her in and dictate something, and then he would swivel his chair away from his desk and talk fluently and smoothly at her, frowning as he spoke, while his fingers lightly drummed his thigh. And he never failed to peer in at least twice a day just to see how she was progressing.

She couldn’t really see why he hadn’t been able to find a suitable secretary. It was hardly as if he was prone to dramatic mood swings or unpleasantly critical behaviour, and she could only think that his pace was maybe too fast for someone with too little experience. If nothing else, working at Alfredo’s and at the radio station had promoted a healthy ability to think quickly and react without confusion to abrupt changes of routine.

A rotund, middle-aged woman answered the door, introduced herself as Mrs Porter and informed Shannon, without preamble, that Kane was waiting for her in the sitting room.

‘And where’s Eleanor?’ Shannon asked, anxious to make sure that the object of this evening visit hadn’t done something unfortunate, like gone to bed. A cosy little dinner with only Kane Lindley for company, while his daughter innocently slumbered upstairs, wasn’t an appealing prospect. But Eleanor, she was told, was in the sitting room with her father and was, she was also told in a confidential whisper, eagerly looking forward to meeting Shannon.

‘If you ask me,’ Mrs Porter said, her voice sinking lower so that Shannon had to strain to hear what she was saying, ‘Mr Lindley should have remarried a long time ago. A child needs a mother figure. No stability, that’s her problem, poor little mite. Young Carrie is fine with her, but she really needs someone permanent. Not these women friends who seem to drop in one minute and out the next.’

Shannon nodded, loath to continue talking in this manner about someone else’s private life yet avidly curious to find out more about Kane. Women friends? He had women friends? Of course he had, she thought, wildly trying to imagine what this long line of inappropriate women friends was like. He always seemed so controlled that the idea of him flinging himself passionately at a woman, growing weak at the knees whenever she came into the room, was beyond the powers of even her imagination.

Fortunately, the temptation to elicit more information on this suddenly raunchy side of Kane Lindley was abruptly halted by Mrs Porter pushing open the door to the sitting room and then stepping aside so that Shannon could enter.

‘I’ll be off now, Mr Lindley, if that’s all right with you. The food will just need heating up, but the table’s all set.’

‘Heating up?’

‘I can help, Dad.’ There was a childish eagerness to Eleanor’s voice that made Shannon ache.

‘Eleanor, this is Shannon, my new secretary. You’re going to be seeing a bit of her when I’m not around.’

‘Hello.’ She smiled briefly, then turned to her father with a pleading face. ‘But, really, Dad, I can help. I know what to do. Honestly.’

‘Eleanor, darling, you’re far too young to be doing anything in the kitchen. Most domestic accidents originate in the kitchen, did you know that? There are knives, fire, pans of boiling water—’

‘She can do a bit, Mr Lindley,’ Shannon interrupted, growing impatient with his listing of danger points which made the average kitchen sound like a death trap. ‘When I was Eleanor’s age, I was already doing a few basic things.’ She sneaked a glance at Eleanor who was gaping at her with shy gratitude. ‘You just have to make sure that there’s supervision and—’

‘You may have been preparing three-course meals at the age of eight, but Eleanor didn’t have your sturdy upbringing.’ He turned to his daughter. ‘Shannon comes from a family of seven children.’

‘Seven? Wow!’ The revelation had turned her eyes into saucers. ‘How lucky! I wish…’ Her voice trailed off and her eyes flitted across to her father.

‘I’ll make sure I supervise her, Mr Lindley,’ Shannon said hurriedly, before the telling sentence could be completed. ‘I mean, Eleanor, don’t you do home economics at school? A bit of baking and stuff?’

‘Not really,’ Eleanor admitted, frowning.

‘There, you see! Even the school realises the limits of letting children loose with dangerous objects.’ His eyebrows rose with the satisfaction of someone who has proved a point, and Shannon flushed hotly.

‘Actually, Mr Lindley—’

‘Kane. It’s ridiculous for us to be on such formal terms. And I can see from the indignant expression on your face that I’m about to be subjected to a lecture on the importance of teaching young children how to play with fire.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of lecturing you on anything of the sort,’ Shannon informed him in a huffy voice, ‘but what I’m talking about here is a wooden spoon, a bowl and a bit of stirring perhaps. How many young children do you personally know who have fallen victim to a sharp cut from a wooden spoon? And how many serious domestic accidents have been caused from a bit of stirring?’

‘We do woodwork at school,’ Eleanor interrupted helpfully. ‘Don’t we, Dad? Do you remember that box I made for you a few months ago? The one with the lid that could open and close?’

‘Yes, of course I do.’ But Shannon could tell from the vague expression on his face that the last thing currently stored in his memory bank was a box with a lid that could open and close.





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