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‘It would mean so little to you, losing your job?’ Frowning, Conall watched her stalk to and fro from the cabinet, somehow deflated that he had pushed her too far. If that wasn’t bad enough, there was a little niggle in the centre of his chest that told him he might just be wrong about Morgen McKenzie. That being the case, he didn’t want to lose someone who might turn out to be a valuable employee.
‘There you go again, making assumptions about situations you know nothing about!’ She stopped her agitated stalking and dropped her hands to her hips. ‘My job is very important to me, Mr O’Brien, and if you’d care to ask around in the office you’d more than likely find out that I do it well—at least, I haven’t had any complaints so far. Unfortunately Derek isn’t here right now to corroborate the fact. Perhaps when he does come in you can ask him.’
‘And do you really believe his good opinion is honestly worth having?’ Raising his eyebrow, Conall waited with interest for her answer.
‘If you’re referring to the bottles…’ Morgen’s eyes drifted towards the now closed cabinet and a tinge of pink highlighted her beautiful cheekbones. ‘The fact that he’s got a problem with drink doesn’t make him a bad person, or a man whose opinion doesn’t count. He’s won awards for this company, Mr O’Brien, as I’m sure you must be aware. He’s a talented architect with a bright future. Right now he needs help and support. He doesn’t deserve to lose his job because his world suddenly fell apart when his wife walked out.’
‘And what about what this firm deserves, hmm?’ Rubbing at the smooth tanned skin between his brows, Conall frowned. ‘We have our reputation to think of…clients who expect a first-class service. If that level of service starts to suffer because of individuals like Derek Holden, who can’t cut it when their personal lives start to encroach on their work, then I’m sorry—but we’re not in the business of extending patience indefinitely. If he can’t get his act together pretty soon then there are plenty of other ambitious young architects waiting to fill his shoes.’
Several thoughts jumped into Morgen’s head at once, but one inched ahead of all the rest. The man was ruthless…unbending. He didn’t care if Derek was suffering the torments of hell. All Conall O’Brien cared about was that right now Derek wasn’t ‘cutting it’—ergo, he wasn’t making any money for the firm. It would serve him right if she walked out right now in protest. Nobody was indispensable, that was true, but he was going to have a hell of a time making sense of things without her around to explain them. Especially when all the other secretaries were run off their feet as well. She was tempted to do it, too.
Seeing the conflict in her troubled green eyes, Conall feigned a look of boredom, wondering what she’d do if he called her bluff.
‘So, Miss McKenzie…are you staying or going?’
‘I won’t let Derek down.’ She was fidgeting with her hands, and her angry glance slid away from Conall’s un-flinching stare. Her emphatic statement made it quite clear that it was Derek she owed her allegiance to—not him or the firm.
He wanted to admire her loyalty—no matter how misplaced, in his opinion. After all, hadn’t her boss let her down too, leaving her to face the music while he drowned his sorrows at home? But Conall found he couldn’t. It irked him immensely that she insisted on trying to protect a man who clearly didn’t deserve it.
‘Good. Now that we’ve established that you don’t want to make yourself unemployed, perhaps we can get some work done around here?’
The expression on Morgen’s face told him she wanted to throw something at him. The fact only hardened his resolve to deal with the situation in his own inimitable way—the way that had turned his father’s business into the successful firm it was today. Conall gestured at the unopened files on the desk. ‘Are these current projects?’ When she nodded mutely, he slipped behind the desk and sat down in the big leather chair that Derek Holden usually occupied. ‘Bring me some more coffee and I’ll take a look while I’m here.’
Biting back ‘I’m not your servant,’ Morgen swallowed her pride and reluctantly returned to the outer office to fetch his cup. As she poured coffee with a shaking hand, she couldn’t help wondering for how long she and her boss would keep their jobs now that their dictatorial senior partner had made his ominous presence felt.
CHAPTER TWO
THE ringing of the phone on her desk made her jump. She snatched it up guiltily, wondering if Conall was straining an ear to keep tabs on her movements. Glancing at the door to Derek’s office, and seeing it closed, she breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Morgen McKenzie.’
‘It’s Derek.’
‘For goodness’ sake! Where are you?’ Cupping the mouthpiece with her hand, she turned her head again, to make doubly sure the door to the other office was shut.
‘I’m at home. Where do you think I bloody am?’
As Morgen had expected, he sounded irritable and hung-over. Her stomach knotted with deep apprehension.
‘Do you know who you missed an appointment with this morning?’
‘Don’t play games with me, Morgen, I’m not in the mood. Whoever it was I’m sure it will keep. Thankfully, you always come up with the perfect excuse to explain my absences. That’s what makes you such a priceless assistant.’
‘And that’s supposed to be a good quality? Lying?’
‘What?’
She heard the chink of glass, then something heavy thud to the floor. Instinct and experience told her that he had already been drinking this morning and probably still was. If Conall caught so much a whiff of the fact they’d both be for the high jump.
‘Your meeting was with Conall O’Brien, Derek. Does the name ring any bells?’
‘Oh, sh—!’
‘My sentiments exactly. However, that doesn’t do either of us any good. He’s still here in your office, waiting to see you. First impressions predispose me to believe that he’s prepared to wait quite a while until you show up.’ Though he had mentioned to Morgen that he had a one o’clock lunch appointment, she remembered. Glancing down at her watch, she saw that it was a little after twelve-thirty. Thank God the man would be leaving soon—but, more importantly, how soon would he be back?
‘Have pity, Morgen! I’m in no fit state to deal with that man. I can’t possible—possibly come in today. You’ll have to tell him I’m ill or something.’
Gritting her teeth, Morgen glared at the phone. ‘I’ve already told him that, Derek, but quite frankly I don’t think he believed me.’ Now wasn’t the time to reveal that Conall had wandered into his office the very moment Derek’s empty whisky bottles had rolled out onto the floor in front of him. If he knew that he’d been rumbled—by the head of the firm, no less—there was no telling what Derek might do in his present state of mind. ‘You’ll just have to try and come in. Make some coffee, then grab a quick shower. I’ll order you a taxi and meet you downstairs in the lobby.’
He sighed noisily in response. ‘I can’t do it. I feel like death, if you must know. You’re asking me to do the im-impossible.’
Damn Nicky Holden for leaving him in the lurch! But what was the use of blaming his wife? It was Derek’s reaction to the whole sorry mess that was making things worse. Who would have thought that a successful, confident, bright young man who designed major projects worth millions of pounds would fall apart like a house of cards because his marriage hadn’t worked out? Morgen could only wonder. It wasn’t that she was unsympathetic. She had been through a similar scenario herself, and been five months pregnant to boot when her husband Simon had walked out. The difference being that she just hadn’t had the option of falling apart. Not when she had a baby to take care of and a widowed mother who constantly looked to her for support.
Sighing now, she scraped her hand through her hair and completely dislodged the little tortoiseshell comb that held it in place. The dark silky strands of her shoulder-length hair escaped to slip round her face.
‘There’s only one thing for it, then. I’ll come to you and help you sort yourself out. I’ll be with you just as soon as I can order a cab. For God’s sake, stay put—and, Derek…?’
‘Yes, Morgen?’
‘Don’t drink any more. If you want to make yourself useful put the kettle on and have a bite to eat. Got that?’
At the other end of the phone the receiver clattered down without a reply.
Morgen was just grabbing her coat off the chrome coat tree when the door swung open and Conall strode back into the room. His sudden appearance put the fear of God into Morgen, and she hated the fact he could so easily intimidate her. His arms folded across that impressively wide chest of his, he eyed her consideringly, like a big cat about to play with a mouse. Damn, damn, damn! Wasn’t she allowed any luck today? It seemed not.
‘Going to lunch already, Miss McKenzie?’
‘I’ve got an appointment. I’ll only be about an hour, if that. I was just…I was just coming to tell you.’
‘Were you, indeed?’
Was the man always so untrusting? Morgen huffed an exasperated breath and tried valiantly to meet his gaze. No easy undertaking when those cold blue eyes looked as if they would spear shards of ice into her body at any moment.
‘I know you don’t believe me, but I really have to be somewhere right now. I promise I won’t be long, and if you need me to stay late tonight I’ll be only too happy to do so.’ It almost killed her to say it when she knew Neesha was probably pining for her. Her little girl loved her nana, but it was Morgen she wanted when she was feeling poorly. Still, she would do all she could right now to keep her job. She only prayed that Neesha would be feeling much better by the time she got home.
‘Would you be going to meet your boss, by any chance?’ Intently studying the suddenly surprised green eyes, Conall knew he had struck gold. Loyalty in general he admired—but subterfuge to dig her boss out of a hole? Well, that was a whole different ballgame in his book. He didn’t know whether to be more furious with Morgen, for thinking she could pull the wool over his eyes, or the errant Derek, who had let himself slide from grace so ignominiously.
Worrying at her lip, Morgen swept back her hair with her hand. It drew Conall’s appreciative male gaze to the luxurious glossiness of it.
‘He’s going to come into work. He just needs to freshen up a little and sort himself out.’
‘And you’re going to help him? What are you going to do? Hold his hand while he gets into the shower?’ The very idea of this raven-haired temptress and a shower did things to Conall’s libido that could be constituted as sexual torment.
Morgen didn’t think it would do her case any good to confess that it wouldn’t be the first time she’d gone to Derek’s house with rescue in mind. She was practically as familiar with the layout of the once swish Westminster apartment, with its stunning Thamesside view, as she was with her own small terraced house in Lambeth. Only the inside of Derek’s once lovely home was no longer quite so lovely, due to neglect. Even his cleaner had quit, telling Morgen that she was tired of disposing of empty bottles of booze at every turn.
‘Like I said before, he just needs a little bit of support through this difficult time. We can’t just abandon him.’
‘We?’ Conall’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.
‘The firm…me. Don’t you want him to get better?’
She frowned, like a little girl who didn’t understand some particular adult peculiarity, and something told Conall that she was too damn caring for her own good. However, it wasn’t enough to make him restrain his temper. ‘I’m running a business here, Miss McKenzie, not a care home.’
He saw her blanch. Did Derek Holden in his alcohol-ridden state know that his beautiful raven-haired assistant was championing his cause while he was away? Probably…no doubt the man was using that very fact to what he hoped would be great advantage.
‘Don’t bother calling a cab; I’ve got a car downstairs. I’m coming with you…to see if I can’t help to talk some sense into him. Lead the way.’
‘But what about your one o’clock meeting?’
‘I’ve already postponed it. Now, let’s go and discover what kind of condition your boss is in.’
Derek’s already pallid face turned deathly white when he saw the visitor Morgen had brought with her. Stumbling back inside the wide hallway, with its once shiny parquet floor, he drove his hand through his dishevelled brown hair, desperate to regain some composure but failing miserably.
The air smelt old and stale, as if nobody had opened a window for a very long time. Morgen took one look at her boss and wished she had a magic wand so that she could put all that ailed him right in an instant. Turn back the clock to the time before Nicky had walked out on him, when he’d been a man who was very clearly steering his own ship, carving out a name for himself in what could be a highly competitive cut-throat business and acquitting himself with distinction.
‘Hello, Derek. Why don’t I make us all some coffee? Have you eaten?’
When he mumbled incoherently in reply Morgen slipped past him, reluctantly leaving him to deal with Conall alone. In the huge fitted kitchen, where there was every modern convenience known to man but not so much as one clear work surface to stand a cup on because dirty crockery was everywhere, Morgen rolled up her sleeves and got stuck into some of the mountain of washing up. She doubted there was a clean mug or cup in the whole place, never mind a clean percolator, and she couldn’t make coffee without it. From experience she knew that Derek wouldn’t give house-room to the instant stuff. At least, he wouldn’t if he were sober…
Finding herself too interested in the now raised voices, Morgen turned on the hot tap to full flow to drown out the sound and grimly occupied herself with the task in hand. She knew instinctively it was little use praying that Conall would go easy on Derek—in terms of possibility that would be akin to expecting a boa constrictor to go easy on a mouse. Going easy on him would probably not get them very far, anyway. She’d tried the softly, softly approach herself, and Derek had merely laughed and told her that he definitely had his drinking under control and not to worry.
Five minutes later, sensing movement behind her, she turned to find Conall in the doorway minus his jacket and tie. He was a big man—strong and fit—and looked as if he could take on a whole army and emerge victorious. With his hair slightly disarrayed, and his hard jaw unshaven, there was something dangerously compelling about him that couldn’t be ignored, despite her silent vow that his good looks cut no ice with her.
‘He’s going in the shower. Can you have that coffee ready when he comes out?’ His keen-eyed gaze moved curiously round the room as he spoke, and when he brought it back to Morgen he was shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe the sight that confronted him.
‘If we pay the guy enough to live in a place like this, why the hell doesn’t he employ a cleaner?’
‘He did.’ Touching her cheek unknowingly, Morgen left a small trail of soapy suds on her skin. ‘She walked out.’
‘Why should that surprise me?’
About to turn away and return to see how Derek was faring, Conall found himself walking towards Morgen at the sink instead. Without a word, he reached down to gently stroke away the suds from her face. Up close, he saw that her green eyes were flecked with intriguing hazel lights and her dark lashes were long and luxurious—without the benefit of mascara, as far as he could detect. Her scent enveloped him for a moment—something warm and sensual, like a sunny day on the Cote D’Azur where he occasionally liked to holiday. His stomach muscles clenched iron-hard in response and a throb of heat went straight to his groin.
‘You had some soap on your face.’
‘Thanks.’
She turned away, clearly flustered. Smiling to himself, Conall walked back to the doorway. He liked the fact that he could ruffle her feathers. Truth to tell, he liked it a lot.
‘How are you feeling now?’
Studying the pale, heavy-eyed features of the man before him, Conall wondered if there was really any point in dragging him back to the office for a meeting today. The hour in his office had given him enough time to brief himself on the current details of the big Docklands project Derek was presently in charge of, and he’d already rung the site manager and arranged a four o’clock meeting with the contractors and the client. He’d give Derek a day’s grace to get his act together, and tomorrow morning first thing they’d have a meeting of their own, when Conall would lay out the options as he saw them before him.
Basically, the man had to agree to professional help or walk. There were already outrageous sums of money being wasted on this project through one discrepancy or another, as far as he could see, and Conall was damn sure his firm weren’t going to help his client lose any more. Apart from that, they had an international reputation to protect—and protect it he would.
‘Some more coffee would be good.’ Feebly, Derek smiled and held out his mug.
Morgen relieved him of it and turned back into the kitchen. As she poured strong black coffee near enough to the brim her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten a thing since dinner last night. Right on cue, her head started to throb. Too much coffee, not enough sleep and no food were not the best of combinations to aid health and vitality, she thought wryly, wondering when she’d find time to even eat the tuna sandwich her mother had put in her bag that morning. She prayed it would be soon, or she wouldn’t be much help to anyone.
Poor Derek. ‘Dreadful’ didn’t even begin to describe how he looked. ‘Walking dead’ was possibly more apt. Like a made-up extra in one of those old Hammer Horrors. There was no way he’d be any use in the office today; surely Conall could see that?
Hovering in the doorway while Derek manfully drank down his coffee, Morgen felt her nerves bounce badly every time her gaze connected with Conall O’Brien’s. There was no doubt he was a formidable man, but he’d actually been much more lenient with Derek than she’d expected. She could have sworn she’d even glimpsed sympathy in his eyes every now and then as Derek had fumbled and stuttered an explanation as to how he had got himself into such a sorry state—but perhaps her senses had been deceiving her. Conall and sympathy just seemed to be the complete antithesis of each other. The man clearly judged having personal problems as some kind of major weakness.
Finally, glancing at his watch, he reached for his jacket on the back of the sofa and addressed Morgen directly. ‘We’d better get back. I think Derek would be best served by sleeping off some of his excesses for the afternoon and coming into the office tomorrow instead. I’ve booked a four o’clock meeting with the contractors at Docklands, and you can come with me and provide back-up—fill me in on anything I’m not familiar with. You okay with that, Miss McKenzie?’
Normally Morgen wouldn’t be fazed by such a prospect—she often accompanied Derek to site meetings—but this one was a biggie, and Derek had left the firm wide open to criticism by his absence and unwillingness to return phone calls. Consequently, as his assistant, Morgen had taken most of the flak. She’d been fending off irate telephone calls for days now, and she was certain it would become quickly evident to the gimlet-eyed senior partner of O’Brien and Stoughton Associates that a lot less had been accomplished on the project than he had a right to expect.
Suddenly a cuddle and a bedtime story with her lovely Neesha seemed even further away than it had this morning. Something told Morgen that this particular meeting would stretch well into the evening.
‘That’s fine with me, Mr O’Brien.’
‘Leave the booze alone, Holden, and get an early night. If you want to keep your job, be in the office at nine tomorrow morning and we’ll talk.’
Getting unsteadily to his feet, Derek threw a panic-stricken glance at Morgen as he followed them out into the hall to the front door. He was like a little lost boy, she thought, looking for her to save him. She turned away at the too familiar feeling, resenting it suddenly, but Conall didn’t miss the brief warm smile of consolation she flashed back at the man.
He imagined what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of one of those gorgeous smiles himself. Pretty damn good, he reflected as she breezed past him out onto the stairwell, leaving a trail of her mesmerising scent. As she marched ahead of him back to the car his gaze locked onto those trim sexy calves in pale stockings and low heels and he knew he had a bad case of lust at first sight. The problem, as he saw it, was: what did he intend to do about it?
‘I’m going back to my sister’s place to get a shower and a shave. Can you hold the fort until I get back?’
Her backbone stiffening, Morgen flashed Conall an irritated glance. What did he think she’d been doing for the past six months while Derek slid further and further down the slippery slope of depression? Hiding in a cupboard?
‘I’m sure I’ll manage somehow.’ Ripping her gaze away from his unwanted scrutiny, she wished she wasn’t so acutely aware of the intimate confines of the luxurious car, with its cream leather upholstery and connotations of wealth and power.
‘Why did his wife leave him?’
Conall’s question took Morgen completely by surprise. Her hand was on the door handle beside her, but she withdrew it onto her lap, tucking her hair behind her ear as she spoke.
‘He said she couldn’t cope with his success. She was trying to forge her own career as a singer and felt that Derek didn’t support her enough. They came from very different backgrounds, and in the end I suppose they just wanted different things. The differences just became too much to withstand—for Nicky anyway.’
Shrugging, she stared down at her own ringless hands, fighting off the unexpected sense of failure that suddenly descended on her out of nowhere. She didn’t want to think about Simon, her ex-husband, but her last two sentences might have been describing their own disastrous union—brief though it had been. He had been an ex-pupil of Eton, one of the foremost public schools in the country, then gone on to medical school. When Morgen had met him he’d just been promoted to a registrar’s job at Guy’s Hospital, and his charm and total self-confidence had swept her away.
His parents were wealthy and his father, an eminent heart surgeon, had been knighted in the Queen’s honours list. Morgen hadn’t exactly received the red carpet treatment from his family, and straight from the off she’d known she wasn’t good enough for their darling Simon. How could she be? She’d gone to a mixed comprehensive in South London, then trained as a secretary at a local technical college. Her father had been a bricklayer and her mother a school secretary. It went without saying that her family had hardly moved in the same illustrious circles the Vaughan-Smiths had frequented.
‘These things happen.’ Not taking his eyes from her, Conall wondered what she was thinking. ‘He’ll have to get over it soon. Especially if he wants to keep his job.’
‘Derek isn’t deliberately sabotaging his future. The man is in a lot of pain, for goodness’ sake!’
Fielding off the frosty stare that accompanied Morgen’s words, Conall knew she was probably thinking he was a hard bastard—someone who didn’t give a damn about the people who worked for him as long as they helped the firm turn a profit. The truth was that he cared passionately about bringing out the best in people, and was only too happy to share the fruits of his own success with them when they did. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be tough when he had to be…ruthless, even.
As far as he could see Derek Holden had wallowed in his own self-pity long enough. If something were not done about that soon, it wouldn’t just be the man’s job that went down the pan, it would be his life. O’Brien and Stoughton could easily hire another architect, but Derek couldn’t be brought back from the dead.