Blackmailed Into Her Boss’s Bed

‘We have lots of good accounts, John. You know that.’

Her boss shrugged. ‘Yeah,’ he admitted, ‘we’ve got some good stuff. But nothing as up-scale as Miller. And you know this business, sweetheart. One good client leads to another.’ Diamond smiled as they walked to the door. ‘Don’t look so woebegone, Talia. Anybody would think I was sending you off on something terrible instead of giving you the chance to bring home a fat contract.’

Talia smiled weakly. John was right. Yes, Logan Miller had a formidable reputation and yes, she had already formed a negative impression of him—but the fact was that he’d asked for her especially because he was pleased with her work. As for preparation, the flight to Los Angeles would give her time to read up on Miller International. Maybe she could even dig up something about the new offices they were planning.

She drew in her breath. ‘You’re right. And I’m grateful for the vote of confidence.’

Her boss smiled. ‘I knew I could count on you, sweetheart.’ He opened the door and they stepped into the corridor. ‘I’ve arranged for a car to drive you home so that you can change and get whatever else you need. If Miller asks any questions you can’t field—legal stuff, whatever—just tell him to have his lawyers call ours.’ Talia’s boss looked at her. ‘You’ll do fine, kid. You’ll see. I know you don’t like this last-minute kind of thing, but you’ve already dealt with Logan Miller and come out ahead.’

‘I didn’t deal with him, John. I didn’t even see him.’

Her boss put his beefy arm around her shoulders and began walking her slowly towards the street door. ‘Yeah, but you impressed the hell out of him. With a guy like that, that’s half the battle.’ He squeezed her shoulders as they reached the door. ‘You’ll do fine.’

Talia smiled. ‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Break a leg, sweetheart.’

She winced as she stepped into the crisp San Francisco afternoon. Some day, she thought, she had to convince John Diamond to find a better way to wish her good luck.

* * *

Talia sighed as she closed the copy of the Wall Street Journal and lay it on the seat beside her, where it joined a stack of other Journals, a copy of the International Herald Tribune, and several back issues of Business Week magazine. There was an ache in her temples, and she lay her head against the soft leather seat-back and closed her eyes.

She tended to get headaches when she flew—a friendly flight attendant had once told her it was from insufficient oxygen in the cabin air—but she had the feeling that the pain in her head this time had more to do with all the reading she’d done the past couple of hours than with anything so mundane.

For one thing, the cabin of Logan Miller’s private jet wouldn’t suffer from insufficient oxygen or anything else. Everything about the plane was plush, from the glove-leather seats to the walnut panelling. It was stocked with all the luxuries of home—not hers, Talia thought wryly, and not anybody else’s she knew. Even John Diamond’s handsome apartment was spartan compared to this.

‘Please make yourself comfortable, Miss Roberts,’ the steward had said as soon as she’d settled into her seat. ‘May I bring you something? A sandwich, perhaps? Or a salad? Or—’

‘Tea,’ Talia had said. ‘Tea would be lovely.’

Moments later, she’d been sipping a fragrant brew—’Specially blended for Mr Miller, Miss Roberts, I’m glad you like it’—from what was surely a Limoges cup. An assortment of biscuits, arranged on an antique Sheffield platter, had accompanied the tea. When she’d finished, the steward had reappeared, offering headphones, a compact-disc player and her choice of musical selections, a rolling library of books or, if she’d preferred, the latest in films.

Talia, who’d only managed to find and read one short article about Miller International before hurrying to the airport, had shaken her head. ‘Thank you, no. I don’t suppose you have any material about the Miller corporation, do you?’

The steward had smiled, walked to the walnut-panelled bulkhead, and had touched his hand to it. A door had slid open, revealing neatly arranged rows of materials, magazines and newspapers all chronologically organised, each marked to indicate what article contained therein dealt with Miller International.

Talia had been impressed. ‘You’re very efficient,’ she’d said, smiling at the man.

He had grinned. ‘I can’t take credit, miss. This was Mr Miller’s idea. He likes things well organised.’

Well, Talia had thought, settling back with the earliest of the newspapers, at least she and the head of Miller International had that in common.

Now, two hours later, her head hurt from all the facts she’d tried pounding into it. She knew a great deal about the company, but, for all her reading, she knew little more than she had about Logan Miller. He was described in one article as ‘A man fiercely determined to keep his privacy’, and, from what Talia could see, he’d certainly managed. The closest she’d come to any information about him was in an article that dated back four years. It had mentioned possible serious illness.

Talia sighed as she looked out of the porthole at the cloudless blue sky. Either Miller had made a rapid recovery or the writer of the article had been misinformed. A man who’d set such a gruelling schedule for his executives at the Weekend Retreat had to be in good health—unless he hadn’t participated and had simply watched his people work themselves into a lather. Sighing again, Talia reached for the next magazine, one dated six months after the last.

‘Changes Ahead for Miller International?’ said the cover. Perhaps she could learn something here, she thought, flipping the magazine open. Headache or no headache, she had to keep reading. There had to be some thread that would explain the man before they met…

‘Miss Roberts?’ It was the steward, smiling apologetically. ‘We’ll be landing in a few minutes. I’m afraid I’ll have to secure the cabinet.’

Talia nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘You can keep that magazine out, if you like.’

She looked at the copy of Business Week, then shook her head and handed it over.

‘Never mind.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s too late for cramming now, anyway.’

The man’s eyebrows rose. ‘Ma’am?’

Talia smiled wearily. ‘Nothing. How soon did you say we’d be landing?’

‘Ten minutes, miss.’

‘And then what? Will there be a car waiting, or am I to take a taxi to Mr Miller’s office?’

‘Mr Miller will be meeting you at the airport, Miss Roberts. The pilot’s just spoken with him.’ The man smiled politely. ‘Will there be anything else?’

Talia shook her head. ‘Thank you, no. I’m fine.’

Fine, but a little bit nervous. She sat back and looked out of the porthole again, watching as the ground rushed up to meet the plane. Who wouldn’t be nervous in these circumstances? She’d only dealt with Logan Miller via the post, and both times his letters had been curt. He’d never shown his face during the weekend she’d organised; he hadn’t even sought her out to introduce himself.

But he’d been pleased with her efforts. That was what he’d written to John; that was why she was in Los Angeles. The plane bumped gently against the runway. That was a positive fact, wasn’t it? Talia opened her seatbelt as the plane rolled to a stop. Of course it was. And she had some insights into the man, anyway. He liked efficiency and organisation—the steward and the periodical file had told her that. He knew how to delegate authority—look at how he’d turned the plans for the weekend over to her. Everything she’d read had said he was a tough but fair-minded businessman. A smile touched her lips as she got to her feet and walked to the door. He also had good taste in tea. A man like that couldn’t be too difficult to deal with.

The door slid open and warm air swept into the plane. It was always warmer in Los Angeles. Smoggy, too, Talia thought, wrinkling her nose.

What was there to worry about? She knew more than she’d thought about Logan Miller, now that she’d tallied it up. He was probably going to turn out to be a pleasant, if somewhat intimidating old gentleman. And she, for the first time in her life, was going to learn that you didn’t always have to plan ahead for things to go smoothly.

The steps locked into place as the steward stepped up beside her. ‘You can exit now, Miss Roberts.’

Talia smiled at the man. ‘Thank you. If you’d just point me towards where I’m to meet Mr Miller…’

‘He’s waiting just over there, miss.’

Talia looked across the tarmac. A dark green Cadillac Brougham stood opposite, a portly, white-haired man beside it. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

The steward laughed. ‘Oh, no, miss, that’s not Mr Miller.’ He took her arm and turned her towards the opposite side of the tarmac. Talia had a quick glimpse of a sleek black Maserati, a car that looked more like a predator than a vehicle, and the man lounging against it, his arms crossed at his chest. ‘That’s Mr Miller, ma’am. Haven’t you ever met?’

The air seemed to rush from Talia’s lungs. No, she thought, no, it couldn’t be…

‘Miss Roberts? Are you all right?’

Talia nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said finally, in a voice unrecognisable as her own, ‘we’ve met.’

And, of course, they had.

Despite the elegant navy pin-striped suit, despite the shockingly expensive sports car, she’d recognised Logan Miller the second she saw him. His mouth curved upward as he uncoiled his lean body and began walking slowly towards her.

Logan Miller and the California drifter who had kissed her in the redwood grove were the same person.

CHAPTER THREE

TALIA’S mind raced in circles, each tighter than the last, as she tried to make sense out of what was happening. Finally there was no choice but to face grim reality.

What was happening was obviously impossible, but it was happening none the less. The man she’d treated with such cold indifference, who’d retaliated by taking her in his arms and kissing her, was also the man who held her future in his hands.

She felt as trapped as she had on her first day at college when she’d stood alone in the hall of her dormitory building, watching as girls dressed in trendy jeans and knit tops exchanged excited talk of European travel. Talia had spent the summer at home, in Schenectady, New York; she had been decked out in a dress Grams had made for this occasion, and suddenly she’d understood just what people meant when they talked about being as out of place as a fish out of water.

Would she ever fit in here? More importantly, would she be able to hold her own in this bright assemblage? She had a trembling suspicion that the answer was ‘no’.

‘I want to come home, Grams,’ she’d whispered into the telephone that evening. ‘Please. I don’t belong here.’

Her grandmother hadn’t even hesitated. ‘Nonsense,’ she’d said briskly. ‘Only cowards run away. Besides, you wouldn’t be there if you didn’t belong.’

The homely advice had got her through the first terrifying days. Eventually, she’d settled in happily. Grams had been right, as always. She’d belonged at Cornell; clothes and money hadn’t mattered, ability and hard work had.

‘Aren’t you glad you didn’t run?’ Grams had said on the day of her graduation.

She hadn’t thought about the fright of those early days in years. Now, watching Logan Miller walk slowly towards her, smiling the way a panther might smile as it stalked its prey, the memory—and her grandmother’s counsel—came rushing back. Her spine stiffened. She wasn’t about to run now, either. And she did belong here; John Diamond had sent her to conduct business.

The euphoria lasted less than a moment. This was different. She wasn’t a coward, no. But she wasn’t a fool, either—she knew when she’d been set up. Logan Miller had known who she was—she winced, remembering how curtly she’d told him her name, how she’d ignored his outstretched hand.

‘Until we meet again,’ he’d said, but there was no way she could have known what he’d really meant, that he’d planned to lead her here like a lamb to the slaughter.

The proposed contract with Diamond Food Services was a lie. She had no doubt that his company was setting up an executive dining-room, but Logan Miller would probably just as soon sign a contract with the devil as with her. She was here for one reason only, and that was so that he could bring her to her knees. The only question left was how he planned to do it.

‘Miss Roberts.’ Miller’s voice gave nothing away. Talia thought it must be the way he sounded whenever he dealt with subordinates. He was every inch the cool executive, so secure in his power that he could afford to sound gracious. ‘How kind of you to come to LA on such short notice.’

Her head rose slowly. The expression on his face made a lie of the calmness with which he’d spoken. His mouth was a grim slash above the cleft in his chin; his eyes were flat, narrowed against the setting sun. He was watching her with a kind of polite curiosity, waiting for her to respond. A cold knot formed in her breast. Did he think she was going to make a courteous little speech, thanking him for having invited her to her own execution? Or was he waiting for her to grovel for mercy and plead for forgiveness?

She was the one who was owed an apology, not he. Logan Miller had known she’d had no idea who he was. He could have cleared up her misconception any time, had he wanted. Instead, he’d let her make a fool of herself while he’d goaded her with little tortures, first kissing her as if he had the right to take anything he wanted, and now this bit of subterfuge, bringing her all this distance just to make her eat humble pie.

Talia squared her shoulders. She might have to eat humble pie, but she didn’t have to pretend to like it. Go to hell, Logan Miller, she thought, and she looked straight into his eyes. ‘Good evening, Mr Miller.’

She was pleased with the sound of her voice. It was calm, unhurried, as if she were seated in her office and dealing with a client. There was no way for him to know that her legs felt as if they were going to buckle any second.

A slow smile tilted the corners of his mouth. ‘I take it you had a pleasant flight.’

She nodded. ‘It was fine.’

‘Good. I told Julio to be sure and make you comfortable.’

‘He did.’

Miller held his hand out to her. ‘May I help you down the steps, Miss Roberts?’

Oh, how civilised he was. Well, she could play the game as well as he—at least she could try. She shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I can manage.’

His eyes darkened, and she knew that he was remembering the other time he’d offered her his hand and how she’d turned it down then, as well. She came down the steps, head held high, and paused when she reached the bottom. Logan Miller was standing so close to her that she could see a muscle move in his jaw.

‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you, Miss Roberts.’ His smile thinned. ‘But then, I seem to recall telling you that we’d meet again.’

‘Did you?’ She smiled politely. ‘I don’t recollect.’

She fell back as he took a quick step towards her. ‘Don’t push your luck, Talia.’ His voice was soft. ‘Unless you’d like me to refresh your memory.’

So much for civility, she thought, while her heart knocked against her ribs. So that was the game, was it? She was the puppet, Logan Miller the puppet master. He’d pull the strings and she’d dance.

No, she thought, while her pulse steadied, she wasn’t about to allow that. He was going to win—that was obvious. She wondered, fleetingly, whether John would fire her for losing the account or only demote her. But at least she’d lose with honour.

Her chin rose. ‘That won’t be necessary. You’re quite right, I remember everything that happened.’ Her mouth turned down with distaste. ‘How could I ever forget?’

A cool smile moved across his lips. ‘It was an interesting meeting, wasn’t it? Not quite the kind I usually have with my employees, but—’

‘I am not your employee.’ Talia’s voice sliced through his. She paused, then took a breath. ‘And if you have something to say to me, I wish you’d say it.’

She hadn’t spoken loudly, but the wind had picked up her voice and carried it to the pilot and steward standing on the steps behind her. She felt them stir with interest.

‘Of course I have something to say to you, Miss Roberts. We have business to discuss.’ Miller’s eyebrows rose. ‘Don’t tell me that comes as a surprise.’

Talia’s heart began to gallop. Her palms felt wet; she wanted to wipe them against her skirt, but she was afraid that he’d see it as a sign of weakness. ‘Everything about this meeting is a surprise,’ she said, looking him in the eye. ‘For instance, you certainly don’t look your age.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t—’

‘I was expecting Logan Miller to be in his sixties. But you must know that.’

He stared at her, and then a slow grin spread across his face. ‘Well, that explains a lot, Miss Roberts.’

‘Where is the old man Miller everyone talks about, or is he just someone you invented to keep people off guard?’

‘Listen, lady, don’t blame me for not doing your homework.’

‘I did my homework,’ Talia said stiffly. ‘I knew all I needed to know about your corporation and the weekend you’d planned. It was my boss who said you’d be—that Logan Miller would be…’

He sighed. ‘Logan Miller—senior—was my father. I took over the firm four years ago, when he fell ill.’

Changes Ahead for Miller International… So that was what the headline of the unread article had meant. Talia swallowed drily. ‘I had no way of knowing that,’ she said. ‘And I didn’t know who you were. You knew that. You—’

His air of easy amusement fled, leaving his expression cold. ‘Would it have made a difference?’

Crimson patches of colour appeared on her cheeks. ‘Of course it would.’

‘You mean you’d have been more co-operative?’ His voice was silken. ‘Hell, if I’d known that, I’d have handed you my business card before I kissed you.’

Talia stiffened with anger. ‘You know what I mean. Not telling me you were our client was a cheap shot. It was…’

There was a stir behind her. Her mounting rage had made her forget the pilot and steward. Now, suddenly remembering their presence, she stumbled to an embarrassed silence.

Miller gave her a quick, mirthless smile. ‘I’m glad to see you have some sense of decorum,’ he murmured.

She felt a surge of heat rise to her cheeks. ‘You’re a fine one to talk about decorum, aren’t you?’

‘Enough!’ His voice was as hard as the hand that closed around her forearm. ‘I never talk business in public,’ he said, and then he looked past her to the plane. ‘Thank you, gentlemen. That’s all for now. Miss Roberts won’t need you again until midnight.’

Talia looked at him sharply. ‘What do you mean?’

‘What I mean,’ he said calmly, ‘is that there’s no point in my men cooling their heels while they wait for you.’ He began walking towards the Maserati, his fingers gripping her arm so tightly that she had no choice but to stumble along beside him. ‘Julio has family nearby, and Bob—’

‘Dammit!’ Talia’s breath hissed between her teeth. ‘You know what I meant. Where are we going?’

They reached the car and he opened the passenger door. ‘Get in, Talia.’ When she made no move to obey, he moved closer to her. ‘I’ll load you in myself, it that’s what it takes.’

He’d do it, she thought, staring at him. She tossed her head, then climbed stiffly inside the low-slung automobile. Miller slammed the door, then came around and got in beside her. The powerful engine roared to life.

Talia’s mouth went dry. ‘Just what do you think you’re doing, Mr Miller?’

‘I’m taking you to dinner.’ The Maserati began moving. ‘We have an appointment. Didn’t your boss tell you?’

She stared at him, then let out her breath. ‘Look, there’s no point in stringing this out any further. I’ll call my boss and tell him…’

Her voice faltered, and he looked over at her. ‘Go on,’ he said pleasantly. ‘What will you tell him?’

They were speeding along beside the runway. Blue marker lights flashed by in the gathering dusk. It felt as if the car were gathering enough speed to hurtle into the sky. But suddenly the car veered sharply away from the runway. A fence rose ahead, and beyond that Talia could see a ribbon of road.

‘I—I’ll tell him the truth,’ she said hurriedly. ‘That you and I—that we had a misunderstanding when we met—’

His lips drew back from his teeth. ‘You mean you’ll tell him you cut the head of Miller International dead when he tried to introduce himself to you? That you were incredibly rude, that you tried to make a fool of me in front of others…?’

Talia swallowed hard. ‘You’re leaving things out.’

Miller laughed softly. ‘I am, yes. But I didn’t think you’d want to tell him that I kissed you, and that for just a minute you turned into a woman instead of a machine.’

‘That’s not the way it was! You’re distorting what happened.’

‘Am I?’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m only describing what happened, Talia. But we can leave it to John Diamond to decide which version he prefers—yours or mine.’ His foot bore down on the accelerator. ‘Buckle your seatbelt. We have about half an hour’s drive ahead of us.’

Her hands trembled as she did as he’d ordered. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘we both know the truth. There isn’t any contract—you lied when you said there was. It’s not fair to involve my boss in this. I mean, your quarrel’s with me, not him.’

Logan Miller glanced at her, then looked back at the road. ‘You’re right. I have no intention of hurting John Diamond.’

‘Then what…?’ She stared at his impassive profile, and fear twisted through her gut. ‘I don’t know what you’re up to,’ she said softly. ‘But no matter who you are or how important—’

He started to laugh. ‘I’d never have thought you were prone to melodrama, Talia. You’ve even written a script, haven’t you?’

‘Whatever it is you’ve planned, you won’t get away with it.’

He laughed again, the sound low and intimate in the confines of the swift-moving car. ‘I know what you’re thinking. And believe me, you’re wrong. I’ve never thought of a seduction as a punishment—but if I’d wanted to take you to bed, I’d have gone to San Francisco instead of bringing you here. That way, there’d be fewer complications when I’d had enough.’

‘You disgust me,’ she said, her voice trembling.

‘And you never want to see me again.’ His voice mocked hers. ‘Is that your next line.’

‘Look, you’ve had your fun. Why don’t we call it even? Take me back to the plane and tell your people to fly me back to LA. Or I can get a seat on a commercial flight—’

‘Are you married, Talia?’

The question was so unexpected that it stunned her. ‘What?’

‘It’s a simple question. Are you married?’

‘No. But what does—’

‘Engaged?’ She shook her head as Miller glanced at her. ‘Are you involved with anyone?’

‘It’s none of your business. You have no right to ask me things like that.’

His teeth flashed in a quick smile. ‘Humour me. Pretend you’re interviewing for a position at Miller International.’

‘I’d sooner starve than work for you or your company,’ she snapped. ‘Besides, there are laws against asking personal questions of a prospective employee.’

‘I make my own laws,’ he said curtly. ‘Now answer the question. Are you involved with anyone?’

Talia stared at him. He probably did make his own laws, she thought, and a shudder went through her. ‘No.’

Miller nodded. ‘I didn’t think you were.’ They were on a freeway now and the traffic was heavy. But the Maserati didn’t slow; Talia thought that the man beside her drove as he probably lived: capably but dangerously, taking advantage of whatever openings he found. ‘In fact, I’d have wagered on it.’

Talia looked at him again, then turned away and stared out through the windscreen. ‘I hate to disappoint you,’ she said calmly, ‘but there are some women who have other interests in life.’