A Boss In A Million

‘Look, Max…’ She paused, biting back the hot retort she had been about to make as several thoughts flashed through her mind. He was paying her a very good salary—an excellent salary—and the experience and credibility she would gain as his secretary and personal assistant would be enormous. There were hundreds of girls out there—probably just as well qualified as her—who would bite Max’s hand off if he offered them the chance of working with him. All in all he probably had every right to demand that one hundred per cent commitment, and it wasn’t a problem anyway. It really wasn’t a problem! So why hadn’t she bitten the bullet and told him so?

‘Vivian is a childhood sweetheart who is marrying someone else,’ she said flatly, ‘and I am not—I am not—pining for him.’ And she wasn’t. The knowledge hit her like a ton of bricks and made her voice shaky as she continued, ‘I want to make a success of this job, I really do, and you are going to have to take that as read because I am not going to beg and plead to try and make you believe me.’ She looked at him straight in the eyes as she spoke.

‘You don’t have to.’ Suddenly his voice was amazingly soft. ‘Can I ask you one more thing?’

She nodded. She would have liked to have said no but her courage wasn’t endless and the sooner this was finished the better.

‘If he asked you for another chance tomorrow and meant it, what would you say?’ he asked gently. ‘And the truth, now.’

‘I don’t know.’ His face was intensely sexy. It wasn’t the moment to have such a thought but it was there and Cory just went with the flow. It was so strong, hard-boned, and the dusting of silver in his jet-black hair brought an experience to the magnetism that was lethal. How many lovers had he had in his time?

‘You don’t know?’ He shook his head slowly, his mouth quirking. ‘How long do you think you have loved this guy, Cory?’ he asked quietly. ‘This soon-to-be-wed childhood sweetheart?’

‘Forever.’ It probably wasn’t tactful but it was the truth.

‘Forever?’ He echoed her words with another shake of his head. ‘And yet if he came grovelling tomorrow, declaring undying love, you’d have to pause before you knew whether you would be prepared to take him on or not?’ he asked pointedly. ‘Is that right?’

Put like that it sounded awful. Cory stared at him, her green eyes mirroring her confusion as her creamy skin flushed with hot colour. Why did he have to twist things like that?

‘Cory?’ he prompted determinedly. ‘Is that right?’

‘You’re twisting things.’ It was weak but it was all she could manage through the whirling bemusement his probing had caused.

‘Am I?’ He smiled slowly, his eyes warm.

And then everything in her life before was reduced to nothing, and all her concepts of commitment, love, prudence, discretion were blown to smithereens as he leant forward and his mouth descended on hers, his gaze never leaving her face. His lips merely brushed hers in a light, momentary touch that was over before it had begun, and then he had reclined back in his own seat again and shut his eyes before she could say anything or even move, his voice very even as he said, ‘The guy is an idiot who doesn’t deserve you and you know it at heart. Forget him and get on with your life, Cory. You’re young and beautiful and it’s time to move up a gear and have fun. Work hard and play hard for the next few years; there are plenty of fish in London’s pool and you don’t want to splash around in the shallows forever.’

He had kissed her. Cory was eternally thankful that the shudders of sensation that continued to flow from that one brief embrace were hidden, but even so her face was scarlet and she was glad Max’s eyes were shut. And yet you could hardly call that fleeting, transitory contact a kiss, she told herself in the next instant as the voice of common sense took over. Take hold, Cory.

He had meant it as an encouraging conclusion to their conversation, as his final words had proved, a positive statement for her future, and it had meant as little to him as a pat on the back. It wasn’t his fault that she had found it…devastating. But she had. Oh, she had. She just couldn’t help it.

She leant back in her own seat and shut her eyes, willing her burning cheeks to return to normal. No, it was his fault, she told herself crossly some seconds later; he was just so totally male. There were some men whom women would find it easy to regard as friends or colleagues and have platonic relationships with, there were others who, due to their attractiveness or sexual charisma or whatever, made the comrade thing a little harder to achieve, and then there was Max Hunter. He was one on his own, there was no doubt about it, and it wasn’t just she who thought so either, she comforted herself silently. She had seen his effect on the female of the species over the last few weeks and it was blistering. He reduced the most intimidating, hardboiled businesswomen to purring pussycats when he wasn’t trying, and when he was… Well, he was lethal. And he knew it and used it too.

She nipped at her bottom lip, finding it a relief to admit to herself at last that she was just like every other female and fancied him rotten. But he was her boss and therefore the main work colleague she would be dealing with day after day, and this attraction she felt—which was a purely physical thing and as such could be controlled with a little will-power—had to be kept strictly under lock and key. He had made it plain, ruthlessly plain, on her first day at Hunter Operations that all he wanted in a secretary was an efficient, pleasant and intelligent machine—any gooey feelings or romantic inclinations would mean she would be out on her ear faster than she could say Jack Robinson.

She nodded at the thought, feeling a surge of adrenalin that she now saw things so clearly. She had it all under control, of course she did, and that was good—very good. There was no need to panic or get alarmed. She could be as cool as the next girl.

The kiss having been put in its proper perspective and the little pep talk finished, her mind turned back to the disturbing revelation she had had about Vivian. Did she really think he had taken her for a mug? she asked herself with determined honesty. The answer was loud and clear. She hadn’t been imagining all those times he had waxed lyrical about the future, their future, even if he hadn’t been specific. And the kisses they had shared, his tenderness, his reliance on her. She had cosseted him and fussed over him, and when she had been at university and had had the odd date or boyfriend—something they had both agreed they would do—it had been as if he’d been there with her, as a silent and condemning spectre. He’d always gone quiet and hurt when she had spoken of other men, in spite of the fact he had been seeing girls himself, and she had fallen for it, she admitted now with silent wrath. She had, completely.

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