One Night with Her Brooding Boss: Ruthless Boss, Dream Baby / Her Impossible Boss / The Secretary’s Bossman Bargain

‘Some men don’t find strong women attractive.’

And you, Quinn? Magenta longed to ask him, but she already knew the answer. Quinn was highly sexed—hot, feral, dangerous. Her body was ringing proof of that. Of course he liked strong women. Quinn would like the challenge of subduing them.

‘I never discount a woman’s needs.’

‘If you do, it’s your loss.’ She had thought he was talking about business, but as Quinn’s lips curved she realised he was teasing her and that his mind was on anything but business. It was time to sharpen up that sleep-deprived brain of hers and take this battle to the next level.

‘Why don’t you get two glasses and we’ll have a drink?’ Quinn suggested. A sexy grin played around his lips. ‘You should take some down-time occasionally.’

Yes, she could go with that—she could let drink fuzz her mind and make that her excuse for giving the green light to Quinn’s white-hot charm offensive—but she wanted more out of life than fleeting satisfaction. ‘I’m good. I’d like to finish this work so it’s ready for you to see in the morning.’ That was the right thing to do. She should remain strong.

She should do a lot of things, Magenta reflected as her body melted like butter when Quinn closed his hands on her arms. Business was one thing, but this was something very different, and she was tired of keeping up a front. She was tired full-stop, and felt dreamy and reckless… And Quinn was…Quinn.

‘Better?’ he murmured, curving a smile as he dropped a kiss on her mouth.

She sucked in a ragged breath, exclaiming softly somewhere deep in her throat as Quinn deepened the kiss. This was some dream. His hands were lazily coasting down her back while her responses were quickly changing from tentative to hungry and on to greed.

She almost staggered when he stepped back.

He steadied her and then gave her a mocking look.

‘Why?’ she said, feeling hurt and confusion overwhelm her. She never lost control, except for this one time.

‘Because you’re tense.’

She got what she deserved. Magenta passed her hand across her lust-swollen lips and then kept it there as if she could hide her arousal. They both liked to be in control, but Quinn was far better at this than she was. She was hardly a practised siren, and even in a dream her skills hadn’t improved in that direction.

Quinn moved behind her and she tensed as his warm hands found the tender spot on the nape of her neck where all the stress had collected.

‘I told you there was tension,’ he said, proving how skilled he was at clearing her mind of anything but sensation.

She didn’t argue as he began to massage the stiffness away. She doubted anyone could move away from that touch. Quinn’s breath was warm on the back of her neck and his body was only a breath away. She exhaled unsteadily. Quinn was making it impossible to think. Did he know how powerfully he affected her, how her body yearned for him? She wanted him. She hadn’t even thought about her curves before, let alone that they would fit Quinn’s hands so well—if only he would touch her.

‘Why don’t you talk me through your work plan for the rest of the week, Magenta?’

He could switch tracks in an instant, leaving her reeling in his wake. She’d been right to be wary, and now it took several valuable seconds to get her brain in gear. ‘I’ve typed up a work plan which I’ve left in your office. Shall I get it for you?’

‘That won’t be necessary.’

Quinn liked this game. He liked playing with her. And from what she’d seen of him so far Quinn only ever played to win. ‘I’d like you to see it,’ she said, breaking away. ‘I want you to know I won’t let you down.’

‘You won’t get the chance. There can be no special favours because you’re new to the job, Magenta. I expect the same productivity from you that I expect from the other girls. More, in fact, because I made the decision to put you in charge.’

Which was why she had made sure to be prepared. Going into the office, she retrieved her list and passed it to Quinn, who scanned it briefly before handing it back to her.

‘You’re going?’ She watched Quinn shrug on his overcoat.

‘Did you expect me to stay?’

Anger consumed her. Quinn knew just how to work her. She would have to move a lot faster if she were to avoid becoming his puppet—the woman who could not only knock up an excellent coffee on demand, or a spreadsheet or two, but who could also oblige Quinn in more personal areas of his life. What he needed was a strong woman to take him in hand, Magenta concluded. She had always believed she was strong—but was she strong enough?

Quinn’s laughing eyes put that challenge directly to her. ‘We’ll have a lot on tomorrow, Magenta. I’ll expect you in the office first thing, and I will make no allowances for the fact that you’re working late on your own project.’

‘Of course not.’ You unrepentant barbarian, she thought, smiling pleasantly.

‘Sleep well.’

‘I will.’ And I wouldn’t go to bed with you if you were the last man on earth, she thought, holding the smile. Unless you asked me nicely.

She refused to notice how attractively Quinn’s lips pressed down. ‘I almost forgot this,’ he said.

‘What is it?’ she said, gazing at the plain-brown paper bag.

‘A sandwich. In case you get hungry while you’re working.’ One last amused glance, and Quinn stepped inside the lift doors.

He knew she wanted him, Magenta realised. He no doubt also knew she was a complete novice where men were concerned. This was shaping up to be one hell of a fight. Whichever world they inhabited, she always liked a challenge.

Fortunately you could still flag down a cab in the sixties. If anything, the streets were calmer and the traffic far less frantic. Even the pavements were in better repair. And for a sixties buff like Magenta even the smallest detail, like a billboard featuring a youthful Elvis Presley in his latest film, was a source of the utmost fascination. But there were some things she couldn’t get used to: the lack of central heating in her house, the ice on the inside of the bathroom window, a bed that made her feel like the filling in a particularly well-chilled sandwich.

Tucking herself in beneath a cumbersome sheet, and several thin blankets with a ridiculously small eiderdown perched precariously on top, she realised that her passion for the sixties had made her overlook the privations that had existed then. She had taken the best parts—the comfortable and exciting parts—and had romanticised them to fit in with how she thought the sixties should be. But the truth was somewhat different, as she was rapidly finding out. And now she only had a couple of hours in this frigid room to rest her head before getting up for work again.

The phone rang, annoyingly. Without opening her eyes, she risked one warm arm to reach into the chilly air and pick it up. The voice on the other end of the line was deeply male and instantly recognisable. ‘Magenta? Are you awake?’

‘Wh…wh…?’ How long had she been asleep? Five minutes? Less? ‘Yes?’ Magenta realised she was sitting bolt-upright and practically saluting.

‘Aren’t you out of bed yet? ‘

Quinn’s deep, sexy voice lacked all vestige of charm. ‘Of course I am,’ she huffed, getting tangled up in the phone cord as she rolled out of bed.

‘Good, because I’m at the office, and you should be too.’

She stumbled over the cord.

‘Magenta, what’s happening there? ‘

‘Nothing. Why? ‘ she demanded, untangling herself.

‘I can hear a lot of banging about.’

‘That would be the front door closing,’ she covered for herself, stretching the curly phone-cord to its limit as she peered through the open bathroom door. ‘Just getting the milk in.’

Quinn hummed. ‘Forget breakfast and get in here, will you? A national newspaper has announced that its first colour supplement will be launched in the New Year, and—’

‘And we’re going to be in it!’ she exclaimed excitedly.

‘That’s the plan.’

‘Fantastic!’ It was fantastic. And would be even more so if Quinn could only bring himself to trust her with the smallest detail, rather than expecting her to type up the minutes of his latest meeting. But first things first; the sooner she got herself back to the office, the sooner she was back in the game. ‘I’m just putting the phone down for a second,’ she said, knowing the phone cord wouldn’t stretch far enough. ‘Hang on.’

Rushing into the bathroom, Magenta looked in vain for the shower. She would have to take a quick bath—a cold bath, as it turned out. Too late now to notice the switch on the wall and realise she’d have had to turn it on some hours earlier if she wanted the luxury of hot water.

‘Fantastic?’ Quinn bellowed as she picked up the phone again. ‘Is that all you have to say about it? I can’t believe you’re awake yet, Magenta. This is a national first and I want a big, visual splash for Style Design in that first supplement—Magenta? Are you still there?’

Barely. She had stepped into the frigid water and made a big splash of her own. Down, up and that would have to do it. Teeth chattering, she reached for a small, scratchy towel.

No fluffy bath-sheet warming gently on a heated towel-rail.

No bath sheet, full-stop.

Lodging the phone between her shoulder and chin, she jumped about to keep warm as she flung open the single wardrobe door. Now here was a thing—a disposable paper dress in a black-and-white op-art pattern. Paper clothes would be put to good use in clinics in the future, though not in this flamboyant design. She smiled wryly. Goodness knew how, but dresses like these were making it to the fashion pages of the sixties, judging by the magazines she’d seen in the office. This particular company’s bold claim was that they were not only at the cutting edge of fashion, but were ready to supply disposable clothes for space flight and settlements on future moon-colonies.

How high would Quinn take her?

Thoughts like that definitely belonged in the realms of fantasy, Magenta decided as Quinn uttered a phrase that was bang up-to-date in whichever era he lived.

She settled for a safe wool dress, deciding to keep the outrageous paper mini-dress for the Christmas party. Why shouldn’t she break out that one time and surprise Quinn? Tradition demanded everyone let rip during the holiday celebrations, and surely that had been no different in the sixties? And wasn’t she incredibly comfortable around paper these days? She would just have to hope Quinn would see the irony in her choice of outfit. But that was for later. The sleek wool dress she chose for now was in an attractive shade of coral and had a wide, form-enhancing belt, which Magenta buckled securely. She looked the part and was determined to work the role fate had given her to the very best of her ability.

What else could she do? she reasoned as she soared upwards in the office lift. At least she’d get to see Quinn again—and, in spite of his manner towards her last night, she felt the customary buzz of anticipation as she walked into the office. She was already looking for him, practically scenting the air like a doe on heat searching for the buck. Yes, Quinn was a bad-boy, but would she seriously want to change her dream lover into a weed?

CHAPTER EIGHT

THIS sixties version of the office where she worked was more like a stark, bare stage than the technology-crammed work setting Magenta was accustomed to, with its anonymous banks of twenty-first century computers and purposefully androgynous personnel. Here in the sixties everyone dressed to impress and showed off their assets to best advantage. Fortunately, she had adapted quickly to her new role as office manager, and found that her natural air of authority even had most of the men begrudgingly following her orders. Not Quinn, of course. The only orders Quinn followed were his own.

‘Always liked a strong woman,’ one of the men who had teased her earlier declared as she took the cigarette from his hand and stubbed it out.

‘No more of that,’ Magenta said firmly, realising that, the firmer she was with these men, the more they seemed to like it.

All except for Quinn, who when she did see him chose to ignore the fact that they had spent a large part of the last evening flirting—or verbal jousting, as Magenta preferred to think of it. He repeated his warning—with his lips very close to her ear—that she would pay the consequence if outside interests detracted from her work for him. Quinn had otherwise left her alone with a pile of work she was sure he had added to in order to punish her for oversleeping that morning. Not that her lips cared about that. They were too busy tingling from the memory of his kisses.

The day passed quickly, the only down side being the lack of Quinn. Magenta let Nancy and the rest of the girls leave early again, feeling they had spent another day under the heel of unreasonable men; she was equally determined that all that would change soon. If there was one thing she was determined to do before she woke up again, it was to make a difference for those girls.

Would she wake up if she fell asleep at the office? Magenta wondered, resting her chin on the heel of her hand. After all, she had woken up here at the office. Who knew what might happen in such an upside-down world? She glanced across at the group of men hanging around in the hope of being able to say goodnight to Quinn—and possibly kiss his backside too, Magenta reflected waspishly. It was nothing short of a miracle that women had found the energy to prove themselves in the sixties, in her opinion. And on top of that they were expected to run a home.

So what had changed? Magenta wondered wryly. Things were pretty much the same in the twenty-first century.

Quinn appeared and everyone straightened up. Even Magenta was guilty of trying to give a good impression. There was no harm in looking; Quinn was one good-looking man.

‘Still working, Magenta?’

She was surprised when he came over to her rather than heading for the men.

‘This is good,’ he said, scanning her latest idea.

‘And when it’s finished you can see it.’ She covered her work protectively.

‘You should share your ideas,’ Quinn told her.

‘And I will,’ she said. Just as soon as she had organised a team. She was determined to recruit from the typing pool and the switchboard. She had to get those girls believing in themselves so they could leave the corral behind for good.

‘When can I see it?’ Quinn’s gaze sharpened.

‘As soon as we’re ready.’

‘We?’ he said suspiciously.

‘This type of work is usually undertaken by a team.’ As his eyes narrowed she could tell she’d gone too far. ‘What I mean to say is, with your approval, I would like to canvas opinion in the typing corral.’

‘The typing corral? ‘

Why was she staring at his lips? ‘I mean the women who type,’ she said carefully. It wouldn’t do to put his back up. Not yet. ‘They’re closed off from the rest of the office as if they’re in a corral.’

‘And? ‘ Quinn queried.

‘We’re losing out on their opinions. I just thought that maybe their thoughts on the various products you’re promoting could be useful to you.’ She spoke mildly but felt like a tigress defending her cubs.

‘Perhaps…’ Quinn thumbed his sharp black stubble.

‘And I have another idea for you.’

‘Why aren’t I surprised?’

Was Quinn trying to overwhelm her with that incredible stare? ‘I realise I’m only the office manager, but I thought if you would allow me to build a team—in my own time, of course—perhaps we could test our ideas, one team against the other? ‘

‘Men against women?’ Quinn looked immeasurably smug, as if the end result were a foregone conclusion. ‘You’re serious about this?’

‘Never more so.’ She held Quinn’s stare, feeling her body’s response to him like a flame of heat that brought her blood to boiling point. But she had to ignore those glorious eyes and focus on her goal. ‘I’ve heard that slots for advertising in the new colour supplement are so sought-after they are going to be decided by a team of style-setters.’

‘I’ve heard that too. We have to be at the top of our game.’

‘Which is why I thought if everyone was involved you could cherry-pick the best ideas to produce the final, winning scheme.’

‘You don’t give up, do you?’

She knew better than to respond to that.

‘I hope you don’t make me regret this.’

‘So you agree?’ Holding Quinn’s gaze was dangerous, but she was fast becoming an adrenalin junkie.

‘If this is a wind-up, Magenta…’

‘I promise you, it isn’t. I just know that some of those girls are going to want to be involved, and that some of them are bound to be good.’

‘You like a challenge,’ he said.

‘Doesn’t everyone? ‘

‘No. Most people like to play it safe, but not you. You seem to thrive on living dangerously—which is good,’ he added when she was about to say something, ‘because I have plans for you.’

Magenta’s heart leapt for all sorts of reasons, any of which she’d settle for.

‘I’m going to give you the chance you’ve asked for. I’ve got nothing to lose,’ Quinn pointed out with a shrug. ‘I’m going to give you the running of the year-end party too. That’s coming up fast—do you think you can handle the pressure?’

‘I’ll handle it.’ Here in the sixties it was some way to Christmas, so she had plenty of time.

‘And don’t bring me any old ideas. Think outside the box, Magenta.’

Which was exactly what Magenta and her twenty-first-century counterparts were renowned for. Now she just had to adapt that flair to a different era.

‘Well, don’t just stand there—go work on your ideas. We’ll have another chat in the morning.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Magenta was thrilled to think Quinn might let the girls have a chance. But had she taken on too much? She would have to get a credible team together as fast as she could and be ready to present to a judging panel of one.

‘Those trials you mentioned? ‘ Quinn said, turning at the door.

‘Yes?’

‘Warn the girls I’ll be looking for their opinion on a selection of new products.’

‘I will.’ This wasn’t a victory—not even close—but it was a great improvement on how she had felt when she’d first fallen down the rabbit hole.

The following morning Magenta put her plan to the girls. She’d fully expected them to look at her as if she were mad. What she couldn’t have expected was that they would warm to her ideas quite so quickly. She guessed that had everything to do with her explanation that it would mean going head to head with the men.

‘But Quinn has the final word,’ Nancy observed. ‘How does that work?’

Magenta slipped down from her perch on top of the table in the ladies’ room, which was where they had assembled to be sure of being out of earshot of the unfair sex. ‘If there’s one thing I know about Quinn it’s that he’s first and foremost a businessman.’

‘A warrior with the eyes of a lover,’ one of the girls argued, shivering deliciously as the others murmured their agreement.

Why was she so jealous, suddenly? Magenta wondered, quickly smothering that thought. ‘He’ll certainly fight for the company.’ She had to believe that. ‘And he wants that contract. You’re wrong to be concerned, Nancy. Quinn might be tough, but he’s fair.’

She was sticking up for Genghis Khan now! But the girls were agreeing with her, so she’d stick with that line for now.

‘Is it going to be a fair fight, or is this just a ploy by Quinn to keep us quiet?’ Nancy demanded.

‘It’s a genuine competition—just as the competition for inclusion in the new journal is genuine. I wouldn’t waste your time otherwise. Put a challenge in front of Quinn and he can’t resist it—neither can I, neither can you. And I’m as sure as I can be he’ll play fair.’

‘But would he ever go for our ideas over those of the men?’

‘Why not if they’re better ideas, Nancy? And what do we have to lose? This is a fight to better our jobs.’

‘And smash the men! ‘ Nancy’s cheeks were already glowing at the thought.

‘Don’t forget the pleasure it will give us,’ Magenta reminded her.

‘When we bury those worker bees? ‘ a girl with sweeping glasses suggested to agreement from her friends. ‘We’re with you, Magenta.’

‘There’s just one more thing.’

‘Which is? ‘ Nancy said suspiciously.

‘We have to do something first to help Quinn, to demonstrate how cooperative we can be.’

‘I might have known it,’ Nancy exclaimed to a background of groans.

‘You might enjoy it,’ Magenta said hopefully.

‘If it includes typing, cleaning or extra coffee-making duties, I’m out,’ Nancy assured her.

‘Are the men expected to pre-qualify too?’ one of the other girls asked.

‘I think we all know the answer to that question,’ Magenta admitted. ‘But let’s concentrate on things we can change rather than worrying about those we can’t.’

‘So, what do we have to do?’ Nancy demanded, hands on hips.

‘Trial a few products?’

‘Oh, that sounds nice,’ Nancy said sourly. ‘Let me guess—pan scrubs, sweeping brushes and limescale-removal cream?’

‘Make-up, beauty products and clothes, actually. And you get to keep the samples.’

‘Quinn’s buying us,’ Nancy observed sceptically as the other girls exclaimed with pleasure.

‘No. I believe Quinn genuinely wants our opinions,’ Magenta argued. ‘It’s as simple as that.’

‘Nothing is ever as simple as that,’ Nancy commented, studying her nails.

‘Maybe not,’ Magenta agreed. ‘But are we going to let a few tubes of lipstick stand in our way? ‘

‘No,’ the girls shouted, while someone else chipped in. ‘This is bigger than lipstick. This is a fight for freedom.’

‘To the barricades!’ Nancy exclaimed as everyone laughed. ‘But don’t forget to put your make-up on first.’

‘So, are you with us, Nancy?’ Magenta asked, turning serious.

‘You bet I am. After what I’ve taken from those men today, I’m itching for a fight.’

She might have known, Magenta thought as she entered the room where they were to trial the products at the head of her girls. Sweet little dressing-tables had been set out for each of them as if they were life-sized Barbie dolls. On top of these was spread an array of high-end beauty products guaranteed to make any woman’s heart beat faster. Fortunately, both Magenta and her newly formed team knew how to play it cool—which was just as well, seeing as Quinn’s team was standing ready with their clipboards waiting to take down their thoughts.

‘How nice,’ Magenta murmured, as if trialling nail varnishes and lipsticks was all her candy-floss heart had ever yearned for. She gestured that her team should choose a seat, and the girls smilingly obliged—but then they were in on the surprise Magenta had in store for the men.

Said men could hardly keep the smiles from their smug faces, though Quinn appeared quite relaxed about the trial he’d set up. And gorgeous, Magenta registered, with his crisp, white shirt rolled up to the elbows and beautifully tailored black trousers moulding the shape of his muscular thighs and hips with obscenely loving attention to detail. Undressing such a spectacular specimen would be a privilege…

‘Aren’t you going to sit down, Magenta?’

‘If there were enough chairs.’

‘Here, take mine—I won’t be needing it,’ Quinn explained as he held out a chair for her.

There was a distinct rustle of expectation in the air as the men adopted serious expressions. Once again, they were ready to jeer and jibe at the slightest cue from Quinn, but he remained brooding and unmoved. And now all Magenta had to do was to discover if she was as bold as she had promised the girls she would be on their behalf. Picking up a lipstick, she pursed her lips. ‘Glittering Fool’s Gold,’ she murmured, straightening up again. ‘What do you think of it?’

‘What do I think of it?’ Quinn said, frowning.