Beware of the Boss

‘You okay?’

Lanie nodded. ‘Totally.’

‘Take your marks.’

Pause.

Complete silence.

BEEP!

And they were off.

The first leg was good—strong. The United States touched first, but there was nothing in it. By the end of the second lap Australia had drawn level.

Then the third Aussie girl dived in, sluicing through the water like an arrow.

This was her leg. The girl was just like her—the fastest of the heat swimmers, awarded with the final relay berth amongst the more elite girls.

She was doing a brilliant job. Holding her own.

Would Lanie have?

She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut tight.

She imagined herself in the water. Remembered the way her focus became so narrow, so all-encompassing, that she didn’t hear the crowd—didn’t hear a thing. It was just her body and the water, and all she could control was her technique.

Stroke, stroke, breathe. Stroke, stroke...

The crowd—a world away—was suddenly much louder, and Lanie’s eyes popped open. The anchor swimmer was in the water, and Great Britain had a chance for a medal. The crowd had gone wild.

Teagan squeezed her hand again, harder, and Lanie blinked, refocussing her attention.

Australia had pulled ahead. They were going to win.

And just like that—they had.

The girls had done it, and done it in style—in record time. They deserved every accolade the over-excited commentator was bestowing upon them.

They filled the television screen, swim caps stripped off, damp hair long around their shoulders, as they completed the standard pool-side interview.

‘Lanie?’ Teagan’s voice was full of concern.

Despite her own mental reassurances that she was fine, and the many times she’d told herself she was a bigger person than to be jealous or resentful or whatever, she suddenly realised she wasn’t.

A tear splashed onto her hands, and she looked down to where her fingers were knotted in the flannelette of her pyjamas.

She’d been wallowing. Treading water until this moment—waiting for tonight, for this race.

Why?

Because tonight was the end. The end of her swimming dream.

Teagan silently shoved a handful of tissues in front of her and Lanie dabbed at her cheeks. Blew her nose. And considered what to do next.

She needed to do something—anything. And she had to do it now. She couldn’t wake up tomorrow and be the also-ran swimmer.

She turned to face Teagan on the couch. Her friend was so close to be as good as shoulder to shoulder with her, but she’d wisely not made a move to comfort her.

‘I need a job,’ Lanie said.

Teagan’s eyes widened, but then she smiled. ‘But no drug cartels?’

‘Or anything involving swimming.’

Her friend’s smile broadened. ‘Consider it done.’

TWO

Grayson Manning shoved his chair away from his desk, then covered the generous space between the desk and the door in quick, agitated strides.

Outside his office, his assistant’s desk was empty.

He glanced at his watch, confused. It was well after nine a.m., and Rodney was always on time. Gray insisted upon it.

He frowned as he walked into the hallway. Thankfully a woman sat behind the glossy white reception desk. Behind her, ‘Manning’ was spelt out in ridiculously large chrome block capitals.

What was her name again? Cathy? Katie?

‘Caroline,’ she said, unprompted, as he approached—reminding him he’d guessed wrong last time he’d asked her a question, too.

‘Caroline,’ he repeated. He’d been told doing so was useful when remembering names—not that it had helped him so far. ‘Where’s Rodney?’

The woman blinked. Then bit her lip, glancing away for a moment. ‘Um...Mr Manning, Rodney resigned...’ A pause. ‘Yesterday.’

Gray’s jaw clenched. ‘Our agreement with the agency specifies at least two weeks’ notice must be provided.’

The woman nodded, her blond ponytail bouncing in agreement. ‘I believe he asked your permission that his resignation be effective immediately.’

‘I didn’t agree to that.’

Caroline’s lips twitched. ‘I’m pretty sure you did. Rodney forwarded me your e-mail so he could organise cancellation of his building access and so on. It was there in writing.’

Gray pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and quickly scrolled through yesterday’s sent messages. Yesterday had been stupidly busy—back-to-back meetings, a major issue with one of his contractors, and a lead on a new investment opportunity in South East Asia.

Even so, surely he would have noticed if... Letter of Resignation.

It wasn’t even a vague subject line. He really needed to start paying more attention to his inbox. But then, that was one of the reasons why he had an assistant: to prioritise his mail, to nag him to respond to anything important, and to allow him to pay no attention to anything that wasn’t.

The irony was not lost on him.

Without another word he headed up the hallway to the opposite end of the floor. To his father’s office.

A mirror image of his own, Gordon Manning’s office also had a smaller adjacent waiting area—although his was complete with an actual assistant.

‘Marilyn—’

Unlike Caroline, the older lady didn’t even attempt to hide her smile. She shook her head. ‘Gray, Gray, Gray...’

‘I need a new assistant.’

‘So I hear.’

His lips thinned. ‘Does everyone but me know that Rodney resigned?’

‘A group of us had farewell drinks last night. Lovely guy.’

‘I was unaware you were so close,’ he replied dryly. ‘He was only here a couple of weeks.’

‘Two months,’ Marilyn corrected smoothly.

Really? Since his father had announced his impending retirement six months ago, Gray could barely remember what day it was. He was working seven days a week, and easily twelve-hour days.

‘Is my father in?’

‘No, not today.’

His father hadn’t been into the office in months. Initially his transition to retirement had been gradual—and Gray had been unsure if his father was capable of retiring at all. But soon Gordon’s days in the office had been reduced to only a few hours, and then to nothing. And while Marilyn continued to manage his dad’s life, now she did so exclusively via e-mail.

A month ago Gordon Manning had had his no-expense-spared retirement party and that had made it all official. But Gray wasn’t silly enough to clear out his dad’s office just yet—apart from the fact it contained about forty years’ worth of god-knew-what paperwork, it would be a while before Gordon—or Gray, come to think of it—could imagine a Manning Developments office without a desk for its founder.

‘So you can help me today? Fantastic. I need you to accompany me to a meeting in West Perth. And to sort out my flights for next week. And—’

But Marilyn was shaking her head. ‘No need. Your new assistant should be here soon.’

Oh. The agency must already be on to it. Even so...

‘I’d rather not have someone completely new to Manning with me today. This is a very important meeting. It’s essential that—’

Marilyn’s look froze him mid-sentence, exactly as it had frozen him many times before—although the vast majority of such glares had been twenty-five years ago. A kid learnt quickly not to mess with Marilyn.

‘If you don’t want a new assistant, be nice to the assistant you have.’

‘I am nice.’

Her eyebrows rose right up beneath her dead straight fringe.

‘Be nice to this one, Gray. Let’s try for three months, this time, hey?’

* * *

Almost an hour later, Caroline ushered Gray’s new assistant into his office.

‘Mr Manning?’

He was just finishing an e-mail, so he barely glanced in the direction of the figure in his doorway and instead just waved an arm in the general vicinity of one of the soft leather chairs in front of his desk.

Absently, he heard the door thud quietly shut, and then the click of heels on the marble floor—but all his attention was on the e-mail he was composing:

I look forward to discussing the proposal further...

No. He hit the delete key half a dozen times, maybe a little harder than was necessary. He didn’t want any discussion. He wanted a decision. The deal was already behind schedule. He needed a yes and he needed it last week.

I trust you’ll agree...

That was even worse. He held down the delete key again, thinking.

But that was the problem. He was thinking too much. It was just an e-mail—an e-mail to an investment partner with whom he already had an excellent rapport. The proposal was little more than a formality.

Or at least it should be. But their last meeting had been...off. It had been subtle—more questions than he’d normally expect, more careful perusal of the numbers Gray had shown him. All perfectly normal things for a wise investor to do. The thing was that this particular investor had so much confidence in Manning that he was usually rather relaxed about conducting his own due diligence.

Quite simply—he’d trusted Manning.

But now...

Maybe it was a coincidence that this new-found caution coincided with Gray’s father’s retirement...

Gray didn’t believe that for a second.

And it was damned infuriating.

Gray glanced up. His eyes landed on the woman’s hands—long, elegant fingers, unpainted, neat, short tips. She was sluggishly rubbing each hand down her thighs, the movement slow but clearly triggered by nerves.

She wore trousers, not a skirt, he noticed.

‘How do I finish this e-mail?’ he asked. His tone was sharper than he’d intended, and Marilyn’s words echoed momentarily.

His gaze shot to the woman’s face.

As their eyes met her body gave a little jolt and she gasped—quite loudly.

Immediately one of those long-fingered hands was slapped to her mouth.

Her eyes widened as she looked at him.

And they were very lovely eyes, he acknowledged. Big and brown, framed by dark lashes—even though he was almost certain she wore no make-up. They watched him with unexpected intensity and an expression that was impossible to read.

He didn’t understand. Surely his request wasn’t so shocking? Abrupt, maybe, but hardly earth-shattering.

When the silence continued he shrugged, his temporary interest in her reaction rapidly morphing into frustration.

He didn’t have time for this. The agency would just have to send someone else.

‘I don’t think this is going to work out,’ he said, very evenly. ‘Thanks for your time.’

He didn’t bother to wait for her to leave, just gritted his teeth and got back to his e-mail.

Again he only half listened to the sound of her heels on the marble—although soon he realised she was coming closer, not going further away.

‘Regards,’ she said, from right behind his shoulder.

‘What?’

He looked up at her. She was somehow bigger than he’d expected—taller, and wider through the shoulders. She leant forward slightly as she studied his computer, her long hair shining in the sunlight that flooded through the office’s floor-to-ceiling windows.

‘I’d delete all that stuff at the end, and just say Regards. Or Sincerely. Or however you normally sign off your e-mails.’ She met his eyes, and this time she didn’t look like a deer caught in the headlights. She watched him steadily, and there was a sharpness to her gaze that he appreciated.

Her eyes were definitely hazel, he realised. Not brown.

When he didn’t say anything, she explained further. ‘Judging by the e-mail trail beneath this one, you’ve been having this conversation for a while.’

Gray nodded.

‘And you want a resolution? But you don’t want to be seen as pushy?’

‘Exactly,’ he said, surprised.

‘Well, then,’ she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Sometimes saying less is more.’

She straightened up and took a step away from his chair.

Silently, he deleted his half-written sentence, ended the e-mail as she’d suggested, then hit ‘Send.’

Good. It was gone.

He stood, and with this action, the woman took another rapid step away. Then she rolled her shoulders back, and thrust out her hand.

‘Elaine Smith,’ she said, very crisply. ‘Lanie.’

Automatically he grasped her hand. It was cool and delicate. And she was tall. But even in heels she was an inch shorter than him.

Her suit jacket was a dark grey and a little tight across the chest—and her soft pink shirt wasn’t sitting quite right, with one side of her collar higher than the other. Combined with her loose, wavy hair and lack of discernible make-up, no one would call her perfectly presented.

He would call her pretty, though. Very pretty.

Gray rapidly dispatched that unexpected musing. The appearance of his employees was irrelevant. All he cared about was their ability to do their job.

And, despite her slightly odd initial reaction to him, there was an air of practicality to this woman that was appealing. Plus she’d been right about the e-mail.

Most importantly he needed an assistant, and she was here.

‘I have a meeting in half an hour in West Perth.’

For a moment she looked at him blankly. ‘So I have the job?’

He nodded impatiently. ‘Yes, of course.’

A beat passed.

He sighed. ‘Anything else?’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘No.’

He turned back to his computer and a moment later she walked away, her heels again clicking loudly.

He briefly wondered if she needed help figuring out how to log into her computer or anything—but then another e-mail popped in that he urgently needed to attend to, and that was that.

Surely it wasn’t that difficult? She seemed smart. She’d figure it out.

* * *

Lanie almost collapsed into her new, plush leather office chair.

Her phone trilled its musical message notification from within the depths of her bag, but for now she ignored it.

Of course she’d forgotten to put it onto silent mode prior to her interview.

Thank goodness she hadn’t received that message a few minutes earlier. She could just about imagine Grayson Manning’s reaction to that.

But then would that have been such a bad thing?

If he’d stuck with his original conclusion—that she wasn’t suitable—she’d have walked out of this office no worse than how she’d walked in: without a job.

With the added benefit of not working for Mr Grumpy Pants.

No. Not a bad thing at all.

And yet she’d had her chance to leave. She had her chance still to walk away. No one would force her to stay. Not even the employment agency she was working for.

Which reminded her...

Lanie fished out her phone. As expected, the waiting message was from Teagan. As she’d been whisked up to the twenty-fifth floor in a seriously shiny mirrored lift she’d tapped out an urgent message to her friend:

What did you do??!

Because this building was definitely not what Lanie had been expecting of her first assignment with the agency. Yes, she’d known the role was as a personal assistant, but after seven years managing the swim school she’d been unconvinced she really had the skills for such a role—but Teagan had been adamant. ‘You’ll be fine,’ she’d said. ‘Piece of cake,’ she’d said.

Given her lack of relevant experience, Lanie had imagined she’d be working somewhere small. Somewhere that couldn’t afford a true executive assistant. Somewhere she could kind of figure it all out as she went along.

Manning Developments was not that place.

Teagan’s text message therefore did not surprise her at all.

I spruced up your CV. Just a little.

Right.

Lanie rolled her head backwards until it rested on the high back of her chair and stared up at the ceiling.

The sensible thing to do would be to leave. She didn’t have the experience for a role like this, and if she stuffed it up then the agency, Teagan and herself would all look pretty bad.

It was sweet of Teagan—annoying, inappropriate, and dishonest—but sweet.

It should end here.

But she remained at her vast new desk. For the same reason she’d stayed in Grayson’s office after she’d recognised him as the man from the beach.

For long seconds she’d searched for the cutting comments he deserved after his performance at the beach—but then, before she’d gathered her thoughts, she’d realised he’d just dismissed her.

Again. Just as he had at the beach, he’d carried on as if she was irrelevant to his world. Why on earth would she want to work for someone who would treat her like that?

But she couldn’t let that man—Grayson—ignore her again.

So here she was. With a job she didn’t really want, working for a man she didn’t like.

Lanie wiggled the wireless mouse on the desk and the large flatscreen monitor blinked instantly to life, revealing a login screen.

Her gaze flicked to the still open door to Grayson’s office, but then immediately away. That he would be of no help at all was obvious.

She stood and headed for the hallway—Caroline, the little plaque on the reception desk had proclaimed. She should be able to point her in the direction of IT Support or something.

She could do this. It couldn’t be too difficult.

She’d figure out why she was doing it later.

THREE

The little green man started blinking, so with a coffee cup gripped firmly in each hand Lanie made her way across a very busy St Georges Terrace.

‘Lanie!’

A fierce breeze whipped between the high-rise buildings, blowing her loose hair every which way and partially covering her eyes. Not that she needed a visual aid to identify that particular deep and demanding voice.

Calmly she stepped onto the footpath and Grayson met her halfway, jogging down his building’s steps and deftly negotiating the sea of lunchtime pedestrian traffic.

‘We’re going to be late,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

Lanie tossed her hair out of her face and met his gaze as she handed him his triple-shot latte.

‘I did mention that there may not be time for a coffee.’

Grayson blinked. As always, he seemed genuinely surprised. ‘Oh...’ he said.

In the week she’d worked for him this routine had already become familiar. He was rather like a mad scientist—so utterly focussed on his work that the practicalities of life seemed beyond him.

It would have been endearing—except...

‘Well, make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

Lanie bit her lip.

Remember the money. Remember the money...

It was the money, Lanie had decided. The reason she hadn’t already quit.

Thanks to Teagan’s creativity with her CV, and her ability so far to fudge her way through the job, she was earning almost twice what she had at the swim school. And she needed the money so she could move out of her mother’s place as soon as possible—before she and Sienna returned from Europe, preferably.

That was the only reason she was here. Nothing to do with that morning on the beach.

Lanie nodded tightly. ‘I’ve got a car waiting for us.’ She gestured with her spare hand in its direction, and to the driver idling illegally in the clearway. Grayson opened his mouth, but Lanie jumped in before he could get a word out. ‘The laptop, projector and business specs are on the back seat.’

In response his eyebrows rose, just slightly. ‘Good,’ he said.

Again Lanie bit her lip. How about a thank-you, huh?

She pivoted on her heel and strode towards the car.

Remember the money. Remember the money. Remember the—

The toe of her shoe caught on something and Lanie stumbled. But before she had much time to register that the grey pavers of the footpath were rapidly becoming closer her descent was suddenly halted.

Grayson’s arm was strong and solid and warm around her waist. In an effortless movement he pulled her upwards and towards him, so she was pressed against his impeccably suited body.

She tilted her chin to look up at him.

He caught her gaze—really caught it—and for a moment Lanie was completely speechless.

His eyes weren’t just grey—they were flecked with blue. And with his face now arranged in concern, not hard with tension, he was somehow—impossibly—even more handsome.

Of course she already knew he was gorgeous. To pretend otherwise would be ridiculous. And, frustratingly, beautiful people didn’t become less beautiful simply by their unlikeable behaviour.

Less attractive, though. They did become less attractive. He’d proved that, that day on the beach. And each day since then.

But right now Grayson did not seem unattractive. Right now, with the subtle scent of his aftershave and the warmth of his arm and body confusing her, he was anything but.

The side of her body he touched...no everywhere he touched, reacted to him. Electricity flooded through her.

‘You okay?’

Because it was all she could manage, she simply nodded mutely.

He took a step away from her and amazingly she had the presence of mind not to follow him. She took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders back, and rebalanced on her own two feet.

She realised she was gripping her coffee cup hard enough to slightly crumple the cardboard, and made herself loosen her grip.

Then he smiled. It was a subtle expression—far from broad—but it was the first Grayson Manning smile she’d witnessed.

Once again her ability to form words evaporated.

He covered the short distance to the car and opened the door for her.

She slipped past him, not catching his gaze. With every moment she was increasingly aware that she really needed to pull herself together.

If she was going to keep working for Grayson she needed to erase completely from her subconscious even the smallest skerrick of romantic daydreams involving her boss.

Obviously the agency would not approve.

Secondly she—Lanie—did not approve. She might not have extensive experience in the corporate world, but even she knew getting involved with your boss was...well, pretty dumb.

And thirdly, Grayson was not about to be overcome by lust when it came to Lanie Smith.

Lanie’s lips quirked up at the idea of Grayson arriving at her front door to take her out to dinner. It was laughable.

She settled into the soft leather of the back seat as Grayson closed her door, and moments later he was sliding into the car from the opposite side.

Lanie took a good long gulp of her coffee, hoping that the addition of caffeine would help get her brain back to speed.

She fully expected Grayson to flip open his laptop as the car pulled way, or to make another one of his seemingly endless phone calls. But instead he turned towards her.

He cleared his throat, the sound unexpected and awkward in the quiet vehicle.

‘Thank you for the coffee,’ he said gruffly.

Lanie shot a look in his direction, not immediately sure she’d heard him correctly.

But his expression was genuine. Not quite contrite—that wouldn’t be Grayson Manning—but still...

‘Not a problem, Grayson.’

He nodded, then glanced away through his darkly tinted window at the passing traffic.

Without looking at her, he spoke again.

‘You can call me Gray.’

* * *

The beach was near deserted the following morning. Gray’s bare feet smacked rhythmically against the wet sand, his progress only occasionally punctuated with a splash when the waves stretched across his path.

Luther was well ahead of Gray, having abandoned his ball to begin enthusiastically digging a hole to China. Beyond Luther rocky fingers of coastline stretched into the ocean, and distant cranes for hoisting shipping containers formed blurry silhouettes against the sky.

It was cool—it was only July after all—and all but the most dedicated swimmers had abandoned the beach on such a dull and overcast day.