A Boss In A Million

“You’re the boss.”

“Yes, I am, aren’t I?” Max agreed musingly.

Cory was determined he wasn’t going to intimidate her. She stared at him, keeping her face bland.

“The thing is, Cory, I’ve decided not to go back to the office today. And you are staying here until tomorrow morning.” He had the audacity to smile as he added, “There are five guest bedrooms to choose from.”

“Who do you think you are, Max Hunter? Employing me as your secretary did not mean you had the right to my soul as well.”

Max jerked Cory into his arms before she realized what was happening. “Now, as it happens, it’s not your soul I had in mind.”

HELEN BROOKS lives in Northamptonshire, England, and is married with three children. As she is a committed Christian, busy housewife and mother, her spare time is at a premium, but her hobbies include reading and walking her two energetic and very endearing young dogs. Her long-cherished aspiration to write became a reality when she put pen to paper on reaching the age of forty, and sent the result off to Harlequin.

Look out for MARRY ME?, a new two-part series by Helen Brooks, coming soon!

A Boss in a Million

Helen Brooks

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

‘LONDON? Oh, Cory, don’t. Don’t leave. Things will work out for you here; I know they will. Just be patient.’

Cory Masters stared back into the face of her friend, her dear friend, the man she had known all her life and loved just as long. How could she tell him that the reasons she had just given for leaving her sleepy little rural home town nestled deep in the green folds of North Yorkshire were lies? The real cause of her intended flight to the anonymity of the metropolis was him, Vivian Batley-Thomas.

Cory smiled brightly, her deep sea-green eyes with their fascinating hint of purple determinedly clear and open and giving no hint of her inward turmoil. ‘It’s all arranged, Vivian.’ She flicked back an errant strand of silky dark brown hair that had blown across her cheek as she continued, her voice cheerful, ‘I had the interview a week ago but I didn’t think I stood a chance of getting the job when I saw some of the opposition, but then this morning Mr Hunter’s secretary phoned. I start in four weeks’ time so I can have a few weeks with her showing me the ropes before she leaves to follow her husband to his new job in the States at the end of May.’

‘But if you were thinking of something like this why didn’t you say?’ Vivian asked bewilderedly, his voice holding a slightly plaintive note and his boyishly handsome face set in a dark frown. ‘And there’s the wedding and everything; Carole was relying on you to help her with all the arrangements—she just hasn’t got a clue regarding anything practical.’ His voice was indulgent rather than critical and then it changed as he added, ‘You are the chief bridesmaid after all.’

‘I know.’ The smile was being kept in place by sheer will-power now. If anyone knew, she knew. Chief bridesmaid to the beautiful newcomer to the market town who had captured Vivian’s heart from the first time he had seen her at one of the local barn dances. Carole James, with her long blonde hair and deep blue eyes, hourglass figure and the sort of legs that went on for ever. And she was nice too, Cory thought wretchedly. A bit giggly and helpless, and she’d definitely never win Mastermind, but nevertheless nice.

‘And I can still be Carole’s bridesmaid so don’t worry. Most of the arrangements can be sorted before I go—that won’t be a problem—and you’ve already booked the church and the village hall with your uncle, haven’t you?’ Vivian’s uncle was the local vicar. ‘And I’ll be home for the odd weekend before September if there’s anything Carole needs help with,’ she added soothingly.

‘Of course there’ll be things she’ll need help with.’ Vivian’s voice was both anxious and irritated, and for a moment Cory’s pain was swallowed in anger.

How could he be so…so thick? she asked herself silently. They had always lived in each other’s pockets from the day they had first started kindergarten together, and with their families living only three doors from each other had spent all their childhood and youth in each other’s homes. His parents were almost as close to her as her own. And even when they had gone to their respective universities and met other people none of their relationships had come close to what they had with each other.

Not that anything had ever been said exactly. But it hadn’t needed to be. She had known he was the one for her and vice versa. Or so she had thought… More fool her, she added bitterly.

‘Vivian, I know Carole has no family of her own but your mother will advise in any way she can.’ Cory forced her voice to be calm and unruffled. ‘The village hall is booked for the reception already and your mother knows the caterers your uncle suggested. There’s really no problem. Everything is in hand.’

‘But she was relying on your moral support—’

‘She’ll have you for moral support for goodness’ sake!’ It was a snap; Cory’s patience only went so far. Her mother was a redhead and in a certain light the deep auburn highlights in her own dark brown hair bore testimony to the fact that she had a good number of her mother’s vibrant fiery genes in her.

‘So you really intend to go?’ Vivian asked tightly after a small but very pregnant pause, his mouth pulling into a thin line.

‘Yes, I really intend to go.’ Cory’s voice was equally tight. She’d go tomorrow if she could. She’d had quite enough the last few months of watching Vivian billing and cooing with the curvaceous blonde, and the engagement party the week before had been an ordeal she wouldn’t wish on her own worst enemy. It was over six months to the middle of September, and she would never survive the course if she had to remain in Thirsk all that time. For some strange reason Carole seemed determined to make her her best friend.

‘Then there’s nothing more to be said,’ Vivian said stiffly, and then, in repudiation of that statement, he continued, ‘But why you couldn’t have put your career on hold for a few more months and carried on working at Stanley & Thornton’s I don’t know. You say you want a change and that a new job and surroundings will stretch you, and I can understand that at your age—’ she’d hit him, she really would, she’d hit him! ‘—but another six months wouldn’t have made any difference in the overall run of things.’

‘Perhaps at my great age I didn’t think I’d got time to hang about,’ Cory bit out sharply as Vivian walked towards the door. Carole, at just twenty years of age, was four years younger than Cory and Vivian and had already pointed the fact out several times in her cute, open-eyed way that made Cory feel like Methuselah. ‘Maybe I thought I’d got to grab at life before it passed me by?’ Even as she spoke the words she realised there was more than a little self-prophecy in them. She should have left Yorkshire years ago.

Vivian didn’t pause in his retreat from her mother’s pleasant rose-coloured lounge, and after a second or two, when she heard the front door bang behind him, Cory took a long, deep, reviving breath and forced back the hot tears that were burning the back of her eyes, blinking desperately as she raised her chin high.

No more. No more crying! She willed herself to stand perfectly still and for her heartbeat to return to normal. She had cried enough tears in the last few months to fill the ocean and she was tired of feeling so desperate. She was leaving Thirsk in four weeks’ time and even if the post of secretary to the illustrious head of Hunter Operations didn’t work out—she hadn’t mentioned to Vivian or her parents that the offer was conditional—she wouldn’t be back to stay. She’d rather crawl through red-hot coals of fire.

All her dreams, all her aspirations since she had first learnt to toddle, had been tied up with the tall, handsome man who had just left the house so abruptly and she was going to have to learn how to face the rest of her life without him, and, having learnt it, to carve a future for herself. It wasn’t the path she would have chosen, it certainly wasn’t the path that was going to bring her the sort of cosy family joy and harmony she had foreseen for herself, but there had been enough crying over spilt milk and she didn’t like the person she was turning into.

Her back straightened and her shoulders pulled back as she emphasised the thought. She wasn’t a whinger. She’d never been a whinger, and enough was enough. She was young, she was intelligent, and there was life after Vivian Batley-Thomas…gorgeous as he was. No! The last thought had crept in all by itself, and Cory frowned determinedly. She couldn’t afford to think like that any more, even for a moment. Gorgeous he might be, available he wasn’t. End of story.

‘Cory, how nice to see you again, and please, call me Gillian.’

It was a cold April morning four weeks later, and, having taken up residence in her compact but attractive bedsitter the Friday before, Cory had just nervously entered the high-rise offices of Hunter Operations. The building was big, flamboyant and luxurious, and left the neat little offices of Stanley & Thornton’s, Engineering Specialists, in the cold, but Gillian Cox’s smile was warm and went some way to alleviating the panic Cory was feeling as she faced the chairman’s secretary on this, the first morning of the new job.

‘Hello, Gillian.’ Amazingly her voice sounded nearly normal. ‘It’s nice to see you again too. How are you?’

‘Rushed off my feet, half insane and heading for a nervous breakdown. Other than that, fine.’ Gillian’s smile widened. She had kindly come to Reception to welcome Cory personally and now walked her over to the lift, saying brightly before pressing the button, ‘You must be dying to meet Max; it’s not often one doesn’t get to meet one’s boss until the first day of employment, is it?’

‘No.’ Cory’s voice was weak. She’d thought that herself!

‘But he’s back from that awful Far East session of conferences and tours, and it’s proved very fruitful which is the main thing. And you’ll get on fine with him, Cory, really. He’s a boss in a million. If it hadn’t been for Colin landing such a wonderful job in the States I’d never have dreamt of leaving Hunter Operations, especially after fifteen years with Max, but it’s very important to Colin that we begin the cocktail round and so on as soon as possible. You know how these huge conglomerates work,’ she added cheerily.

No, she didn’t, but she didn’t like to say so.

Gillian was still talking when the lift stopped at the exalted top floor and as the doors slid open to reveal lush thick cream carpets and brushed linen walls, the hushed calm was rudely shattered by a very irate, very male voice bellowing, ‘Gillian? For crying out loud, woman! Where’s that fax from Katchui?’

Cory’s eyes shot to the doorway halfway down the wide corridor and to the big dark man filling it, but Max Hunter had eyes for no one but his cool and apparently unruffable secretary who, after a quick aside for Cory to wait in her own office directly opposite them, glided forward, saying calmly, ‘It’s on your desk, Max, where it’s been for the last three days, but no doubt you’ve buried it under that mountain of paperwork you’ve been looking at all weekend.’

Gillian disappeared through the doorway but it was a moment or two before Cory could force her legs to take her into the other woman’s office, which would soon become hers if this job worked out. Although, having now seen the formidable Max Hunter, she had her doubts about that very thing, she thought a trifle ruefully.

The man in the doorway had been big, very big—at least six feet four—and broad with it. He wasn’t old; Gillian had told her Max Hunter’s father—who had started the Hunter empire in the late fifties—had died fifteen years ago when his son had inherited at the tender age of twenty-three, but her glimpse of the hard male face and black hair dusted with silver had suggested a man some few years older than his thirty-eight years. And his manner…Cory breathed deeply as she sank into one of the plumply upholstered easy chairs dotted about Gillian’s vast quarters. His manner didn’t exactly tally with this supposed ‘boss in a million’ that Gillian had been so enthusiastic about at her interview.

‘All’s calm again on the western front.’ Gillian was beaming as she bustled through the interconnecting door between her office and that of Max Hunter. ‘He’d got Mr Katchui hanging on on the phone and Max hates to be anything less than one hundred per cent in control,’ she said brightly. ‘Typical man.’

Cory nodded without saying anything; she’d gathered that much for herself. She smoothed down the slim pencil skirt of the new navy blue suit that had cost her an arm and a leg, cleared her throat and had just opened her mouth to ask something intelligent when Gillian completely took the wind out of her sails as she leant forward and said, her voice urgent, ‘Don’t take any notice of how Max is, Cory—his manner and how he talks and everything. He really is a lovely man underneath it all. We’ve always got on great.’

‘You have?’ Cory needed every bit of reassurance she could get.

‘Definitely.’ Gillian nodded firmly. ‘But he just takes a bit of getting used to. He’s very sure about what he wants and even more so about what he doesn’t, and he doesn’t suffer fools gladly. Well, he doesn’t suffer them at all actually.’ She grinned at Cory who bared her teeth in feeble response.

‘And he has very rigid views about people,’ Gillian went on.

This was getting worse by the minute!

‘I interviewed ten applicants on his behalf, you know, and, knowing Max like I do, you were the only one who met his criteria. Some of them were too officious and some not officious enough, one or two had a baby glint in their eyes and dealing with maternity leave and all that paraphernalia would drive Max mad; he’s awful to temps. And he doesn’t appreciate women who titivate all the time, or clock-watch, and he expects one hundred per cent discretion at all times of course.’ She smiled sunnily, her face serene.

‘Of course.’ Cory gulped audibly. She had to take all this as a compliment that she was the one Gillian had thought fitting, she told herself desperately, but right at the moment it was hard. ‘Well, you’ve told me what he doesn’t like, Gillian,’ she said carefully. ‘Perhaps I’d better know the positive side too?’

And then a deep cold voice brought both their heads turning as it said expressionlessly, ‘In essence the five Bs—brains, backbone, breeding, boldness and…’ The pause was deliberate.

‘And?’ She had had to force herself to speak; close to, this man was positively devastating but she dared not let his effect on her show. She had been right in thinking his face was hard, but it was more than that, much more. The dark tanned skin was pulled tight over a chiselled bone structure that was disturbingly masculine, the aquiline nose and strong mouth increasing the impression of severity. But it was the eyes—amazingly beautiful tawny-gold eyes shaded by thick black lashes—which gave his gaze a ruthlessly piercing quality that was totally unnerving and more than a little formidable.

She had never in all her life seen eyes like this man’s, and when added to his overall height and breadth—which she now saw was made up of muscle and bone and not fat—and the perturbingly cruel nature of his magnetic good looks the end result was almost paralysing. She couldn’t believe this was her boss.

‘And beauty,’ he finished laconically, and in the split second before he smiled and moved forward to shake her hand Cory was conscious of that golden light shooting right down to her toes.

She recovered quickly, jumping to her feet and putting out her hand which was swallowed whole in his huge fingers, but she made sure her grip was firm and strong even if her answering smile quivered a little. She guessed he was joking about the beauty—Gillian was immaculately and expensively dressed, and her greying hair was expertly cut in the latest style, but not even her nearest and dearest could have called the homely-faced woman remotely beautiful.

‘So you’re the paragon Gillian was so delighted to unearth,’ he said thoughtfully. His voice had a smoky, husky tone and a faint accent she couldn’t quite place, and was utterly in keeping with the dynamic whole. It made her toes want to curl.

‘I’m Cory Masters, Mr Hunter.’ She had retrieved her hand as soon as possible; the feel of his hard, warm flesh was not improving the state of her nerves. ‘It’s very nice to meet you.’

‘Likewise, and the name’s Max by the way,’ he returned easily.

Max. How on earth was she going to be so familiar as to call him by his first name? Cory thought feverishly. The thought was daunting.

‘Short for Maximilian,’ he continued imperturbably, only a slight narrowing of the brilliant gaze suggesting he was aware of the hasty withdrawal. ‘My father liked to tell the tale that I was christened after one of his favourite film characters, Maximilian the robot, in the film The Black Hole?’ Cory had never heard of it but she nodded anyway. ‘But he admitted privately the name came from the Roman emperor Maximilian I, and that it is from the Latin maximum meaning greatest.’ He eyed her lazily, his mouth quirking.

Robot or Roman emperor, the name fitted, Cory told herself with a faint touch of hysteria. He was easily the most overwhelming individual she had ever come across, and she had committed herself to work for this man as his secretary-cum-personal assistant. She must be mad! She was way, way out of her league here.

‘Now, I understand from Gillian that for the next couple of weeks you are mainly going to observe and digest,’ he said coolly. ‘The following month you will assist and hopefully by the last week will have become autonomous. Ask any questions you like, dig, delve, call Gillian in the middle of the night if you feel so inclined, but don’t bother me. I don’t know how the office out here works and I don’t want to; that’s what I pay a secretary for. I expect you to be able to put your finger on anything I want at a moment’s notice, and I never accept excuses. Is that clear?’ he added smoothly.

‘Perfectly.’ There was something in his tone that had put Cory’s back up although she couldn’t have explained what, and now she found herself saying, before she could stop herself, ‘I take it from this morning’s incident that you expect your secretary to be as fully conversant with every item on your desk as she is of her own?’ She had kept her tone pleasant, even conversational, and in the pause before he spoke again she could almost see the razor-sharp brain trying to assess exactly where she was coming from.

‘Absolutely,’ he agreed with apparent unconcern, but again the amber eyes had narrowed just the merest iota and Cory knew her little jibe about the buried fax had been received, analysed, and filed away under the correct heading of sarcasm.

Which made her crazy, she told herself in the next instant, when after a curt nod of his head he turned and disappeared back through the interconnecting door, shutting it sharply behind him. Why start off on the wrong foot right from word go? Oh, she should have kept her mouth well and truly shut! She was her own worst enemy. Her father was always saying the same about her fiery, volatile mother, and somehow in Max Hunter’s authoritative presence all her father’s calm, placid genes had died and all her mother’s reckless ones had come rushing to the fore.

‘Right.’ Gillian’s voice was neutral. ‘Let’s get you acquainted with all the companies under the Hunter Operations umbrella first. There’s a breakdown on that desk over there with all relevant facts and figures. Most of it is confidential. I’ve also done a rough précis of the main people, both within Hunter Operations and without, whom you’re likely to deal with, and any background—hang-ups, problems, difficult to communicate with or easy, that sort of thing—to help you along a bit. Could you destroy those sheets in the shredder once they’re in your head because at least half of them would feel inclined to have me up for libel if they read them?’

‘Thank you.’ The other woman’s smile was infectious and it made Cory feel a little better, although she found her hands were trembling when she took the seat at the desk Gillian indicated. Max Hunter was probably congratulating himself right now for the trial period stipulated in the job offer, she thought grimly, smoothing back a shining strand of dark hair which had escaped the prim French pleat at the back of her head, and she couldn’t really blame him. But she intended to make sure that if, or perhaps she should say when, he decided not to make her a permanent offer he wouldn’t be able to use the quality of her work or her dedication as the excuse.

Cory was deep in a very interesting and, she had to admit, somewhat aspersive review of Max Hunter’s current main competitor when she heard the buzzer on Gillian’s phone. ‘Yes, Max?’ There was a moment or two of silence and then, ‘Oh, yes, that’s fine with me. I’ll just check… Cory?’

Cory lifted her head enquiringly to Gillian’s slightly bemused voice, and saw the older woman was staring at her with a studiously blank face which gave absolutely nothing away.

‘Max was wondering if you are doing anything for lunch? He suggests taking us to Montgomery’s as a little celebration of your first day at Hunter Operations. I’m free, are you?’

‘Montgomery’s?’ The name meant nothing to Cory—she had only been in London just over a week—but from the other woman’s tone it clearly wasn’t a fast-food restaurant. ‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ she managed faintly. And then, once Gillian had relayed their acceptance, she asked, ‘What exactly is Montgomery’s, Gillian?’

‘It’s a restaurant,’ Gillian said carefully. ‘A very…nice restaurant. I’ve been there once or twice before and the food is very good.’ She was trying to be offhand but the message was clear.

‘Right.’ Cory’s heart sank still further. No doubt men like Max Hunter took their secretarys to such places all the time, but she hadn’t had Gillian’s experience. She just hoped she didn’t let anyone down. This was probably some kind of a test?

The remainder of the morning sped by as her brain tried to assimilate a hundred and one facts, and just before twelve, at Gillian’s urging, she made use of the little pink and white cloakroom attached to the secretary’s office to freshen up before lunch.

‘What are you doing here, Cory?’ She took a long breath as she stared at the wide-eyed girl in the mirror. The discreetly elegant hairdo, the circumspect make-up, the expensive suit and Italian leather shoes—this wasn’t her. Who was she trying to fool? She wasn’t going to carry this off, no way, no how. She should never have tried for this job—it was way, way out of her league. Huge, anxious, sea-washed green eyes looked back at her, and she gave a nervous swallow in the same moment she realised the palms of her hands were damp. Calm down, girl. Calm down.

She had to carry this off. She continued to stare into the mirror as she gnawed at her bottom lip, and then hastily splashed cold water over her wrists before re-touching her make-up and spraying a few drops of perfume on to cool skin. She had her bedsit now, and in spite of the fact that it was only one large room tucked away in an old house in Chiswick it was costing a small fortune. She needed every penny of her six-week probationary salary, but Gillian had stipulated a hundred per cent increase once the position became permanent, and that would be good money—very good money. Of course she could get cheaper accommodation, but she had fallen in love with the lovingly restored Victorian house with its gracious sense of the past, and her bedsit—right at the top of the house and affording a panoramic view over roaming rooftops and a huge expanse of light-washed sky—was an oasis of peace amidst London’s bustle.