Innocent In The Boardroom: At Her Boss's Pleasure / Her Boss by Day... / How to Sleep with the Boss

‘He was lots of fun.’

He hadn’t been. He had been nice and he had been steady, and he had been all those things she had thought she wanted, but when it had come to the crunch he had also been ultra-traditional. So traditional that he had wanted her to be the little lady whose career was secondary to his, who did as he asked, who dropped everything because he came first...

She felt a wave of self-pity as she realized that she would probably never find anyone. She would end up with a terrific career but next to no friends—and certainly no significant other doing the barbecue thing in the back garden.

And she would never know what it was like to have fun because she had always been adamant that having fun wasn’t important—so adamant that the only important thing in life was being in control and never letting herself get swept away by emotion as her mother had.

But right now, in the depths of Cornwall, and despite her chequered past with men and jobs, Shirley ‘Lilac’ Watson was pretty contented.

Kate abruptly closed her knife and fork and fought against the sudden confusion rolling over her like fog.

‘It just didn’t work,’ she said flatly. ‘The time wasn’t right. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t put my heart and soul into it. And that’s all I have to say on the subject—I don’t want to discuss it again. It’s not relevant. And it’s not always just about fun.’

This to try and stifle some of the sudden misgivings that had swept over her—dark thoughts that some of the choices she had made in her life might not have been the right ones, even if they had been made with all the right intentions.

‘You’re probably right.’

But she barely heard him. His soothing agreement floated around her and dissipated.

‘I know for...for some people...’ she only just managed not to pin him as one of those people she was talking about ‘...fun is all about sex, but as far as I’m concerned there’s a great deal more to relationships than sex...’

She glared at him defiantly, challenging him to argue with her, but Alessandro had no intention of doing any such thing.

He had never registered much interest in analyzing women, or trying to plumb their hidden depths, but in this instance he could see the pattern of her life as clearly as if it had been printed in bright neon letters across her forehead.

She had instilled such a strict code for herself that she was a prisoner of it. He doubted she had ever had any sort of fun with that ex-boyfriend of hers, and he wondered what fun she had now, with her stable job and her bright future. Her head told her what she needed, but what she needed was not necessarily what she wanted.

And he got the impression that she was thinking about that conundrum for the first time in her life.

Because he had rammed it down her throat.

On the one hand he had done her a favour. She was so uptight that she would snap in two given a slight breeze. Life was not kind to the seriously uptight. He was certain of that. They were always the ones who ended their lives thinking about all the things they’d strenuously resisted doing.

On the other hand she was visibly upset—and that was hardly a positive way for a boss to encourage his employee to start the day.

‘You haven’t finished your breakfast,’ he told her, indicating her plate.

She smiled, thankful for the change in conversation and the reprieve from her thoughts.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever sat in front of a bigger breakfast.’

‘Bigger is better—that’s the motto, I think. We can stick to the buffet tomorrow.’

‘I didn’t have much appetite anyway,’ Kate admitted. ‘I guess I really am nervous about what today’s going to bring. Normally I eat like a horse. Perhaps we should think about going.’ She dug into her capacious handbag and extracted her tablet. ‘I’ve brought along all the information I have on George, in case you want to sit down with him and go through it.’

Alessandro had no intention of doing any such thing, but he was relieved that she was back to normal—back to her usual efficient self, back to being the woman who matched the uniform of suits she always wore.

Even though those moments just then, when he had seen her vulnerability, had merged into the other moments when he had glimpsed the woman underneath the navy suits...strangely alluring, weirdly appealing...

Impatient with himself, he signalled a waiter in order to sign for the breakfast and flung his linen napkin next to his plate. ‘Right.’ He stood as he signed the bill. ‘Let’s get going.’

It was as though their very personal conversation had never happened. He was all business. Even without the business suit.

‘Shall we get a taxi there? Do you know whether it’s a long drive out of the city centre?’

‘We won’t need a taxi.’ He flicked his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled though the numbers. ‘I’ve arranged to have my own driver for the duration of our stay here. More reliable and more convenient than trying to find a taxi when we need one.’

‘The limo...?’

‘No.’

They began strolling out to the street and she followed him as he expertly made his way through the grand hotel and the designer shopping centre that circled it.

He looked at her, his eyes creased with amusement. ‘I didn’t think that my conscience could stand the guilt caused by the carbon footprint.’

There he went again, she thought with a little flurry of desperation. Undoing all her plans to ignore him by being...funny. By saying something that made her want to smile, even though half an hour before she had been mentally snarling at him for invading her private life and asking personal questions.

He was also in business mode. She could sense that as they settled into the back of the car—a far more modest affair than the limo, though still sleek and impressive by most people’s standards.

The hotel was forty minutes’ drive away, which made it quite a distance out of the hub of downtown Toronto, and he turned to her and said, with a thoughtful frown, ‘Seems a little odd to head for a hotel in the hills when you’re spending vast sums of money on a city holiday—wouldn’t you agree?’

Kate gave that some thought and nodded. ‘Although some people hate cities.’

‘Then why holiday in one?’

‘His wife might like shopping.’ She grinned. ‘That’s one of those building-block situations I was telling you about. He hates cities and shopping, she loves them—so they go somewhere in between.’ She surprised herself by harking back to a conversation she wanted to forget, but at least it distracted her from the unpleasant task that lay ahead.

‘I’m not sensing an element of compromise here...’

‘Well, the next time it’s her turn to give in and allow him more of what he wants.’

‘For instance...?’

Kate shrugged. ‘He might want to...I don’t know...go fishing, rent a cottage in the Cotswolds and have long walks, head up to Scotland to appreciate the wild, stunning scenery...’

‘My take is that that particular couple aren’t suited. She wants to shop...he wants to half freeze to death in the middle of nowhere to appreciate the scenery... It’ll end in tears. You wait and see...’

Kate laughed. Really laughed.

She felt all her concerns melt away and their eyes met. Her breath caught in her throat because she felt as if it was an intense moment, when something intangible had been shared. Though what, she couldn’t say. A shared sense of humour? A certain way they both had of finding the same thing funny...?

‘Here, it might make a little more sense. You don’t have to travel too far out of the city before you come slap-bang into some remarkable scenery...’

He began giving her a potted history of the place, telling her about its geographical splendours, the thousand and one sights that made it so special.

What the hell had happened just then? he wondered. He had got caught out by a curveball—had had the oddest sensation of stepping onto quicksand, a place where he was no longer in complete control but at the mercy of reactions and responses that went against the grain, against his rigidly imposed rules.

The hotel, when they finally arrived, was a modest building, with a car park in the front, sandwiched between a fast food restaurant and a shop advertising all manner of office supplies.

Kate could see that Alessandro was taken aback at the place George and his wife had chosen to stay for their vacation, but he said nothing as they walked through the glass revolving doors and straight to the reception desk, which was manned by a bored-looking girl, twirling her hair and chatting on her mobile.

Kate wondered whether they had chosen this spot because it offered access to the city but also access to the outlying countryside...pine forests, lakes...beautiful terrain to explore. She didn’t know what George and his wife did for fun, aside from family stuff with their kids and grandkids. Maybe they loved mountaineering, hiking...who knew...?

The blonde twirling her hair instantly hung up and straightened as they approached the desk.

Mr and Mrs Cape... Would she buzz through to them...? Tell Mr Cape that Alessandro Preda was in Reception and wanted to have a word with him...? Tell him that Kate Watson was there as well...?

The blonde shot Kate a covert look that simmered with envy.

‘Mr and Mrs Cape aren’t in.’ She didn’t need to consult the register for this information. ‘They leave at the same time every morning. Eight sharp. I can leave a message for them and get them to contact you—or you can leave a note and I’ll make sure they get it as soon as they’re back.’

‘Which would be at what time...?’

‘This evening. Six sharp.’

‘Unusual sightseeing activities that can be planned with such precision,’ Alessandro said with stinging sarcasm, and he received a shocked and surprised look from the blonde in response.

‘Can I ask whether you’re related to George and Karen?’

Alessandro raised his eyebrows expressively. Cosy relationship with the girl at Reception? he thought. Bit odd... Admittedly the hotel was only the size of a bed and breakfast. For all he knew that was exactly what it was, despite its grandiose name: the Ruskin Hotel. But still...

‘I’m his boss, and I’m here to see him on a business-related matter.’

‘If you’re his boss then I’m surprised... Didn’t he mention...?’

‘Mention what?’ Kate asked gently, reading sudden confusion in the receptionist’s blue eyes.

‘They go to the hospital every day. They’re allowed some leeway with the visiting hours, but they tend to stay there pretty much for the whole day, so that they can be there for Gavin and Caroline.’

‘Caroline’s their daughter...’ Kate turned to Alessandro, her mind a whirl. ‘Gavin’s their son-in-law. I know that because there’s a family photo on his desk...’

‘Right. Hospital. Perhaps you could tell us which hospital this is...?’

They arrived at the hospital in under an hour. It had been a largely silent journey. For the first time Alessandro had been caught on the back foot—handed information he had not been expecting...information that altered the straightforward situation he’d thought he would be dealing with.

Despite the fact that George and his wife had chosen to stay outside the city, the hospital was actually in downtown Toronto. Kate guessed that either the little hotel was very reasonably priced, or else they had some experience of being there before. Or maybe they just needed to be outside the main drag of a city to clear their heads at the end of the day.

A long day.

Because the days would be long. In the back of the car Alessandro had looked up the hospital on the internet, so they both knew that it was a centre for the treatment of sick children.

Now, as they approached the white-fronted building visible through a bank of trees, Alessandro turned to her and spoke for the first time.

‘This is not what I expected,’ he said roughly, raking fingers through his dark hair. ‘And you won’t be accompanying me into the hospital.’

‘Perhaps we should wait until they’re back at the hotel this evening. And I will be accompanying you, by the way.’

‘It wasn’t a suggestion, Kate. It was an order.’

‘And my answer wasn’t a suggestion either. It was a statement of fact.’ She sighed. ‘I’m very fond of George. He’s been good to me, and I want him to know that I’m here for him and his wife. Whatever the outcome of your...talk with him.’ She paused and looked at Alessandro’s averted profile. His beautiful eyes were veiled.

He turned to her before opening his door. ‘Stubborn.’

‘Yes, I can be.’ She stuck her chin out defiantly, prepared to go all the way into an argument, but there was no argument as he shrugged and stepped out of the car, waited for her to join him.

She wished she could reach into his head and see what he was thinking. She had the strangest urge to rest her hand on his forearm in a gesture of comfort, although she had no idea what she would be comforting him for—unless it was just for getting something wrong, for showing himself to be fallible like the rest of the human race.

She didn’t imagine that he liked being wrong. She thought that he had probably never been wrong about anything in his entire life—at least not when it came to business. In business—and this was a business matter after all—his judgement would always have been faultless.

‘Stubborn can sometimes be a good thing,’ he mused, glancing down at her.

‘What...what do you intend to do?’ she ventured, half running to keep up with him and longing for a bit of cool, because she was beginning to overheat in her outfit.

‘I intend to play it by ear...’

‘Can that sometimes be a good thing?’

‘I’ll let you know later. Can’t say it’s something I’ve ever done before.’

They entered the cool foyer of the hospital, and after that everything seemed to happen very quickly.

Alessandro commanded attention. How did that work when he wasn’t Canadian, wasn’t a doctor and had no connections to the hospital? It just did.

Within half an hour they knew where they could locate George, and after an hour and a half—during which time they sat in a very modern, very nice restaurant in front of cups of coffee, with Alessandro working via his smartphone and Kate pretending to be hard at it in front of her tablet—George came to meet them.

A wearily resigned George, who had obviously sussed why they had landed up in Toronto and at the hospital.

Kate’s heart went out to the older man. He was in one of his usual trademark brightly coloured outfits. She had always smiled at that. Even when he was in a suit his shirt was always jolly, his tie was always patterned, his hankies were always ridiculously gimmicky. He had told her once, laughing, that his wife chose his shirts, his daughter chose his handkerchiefs and his grandchildren chose his socks. So what chance did he ever have of looking debonair?

He seemed to have shrunk—or maybe she was only noticing that now because he looked so weary.

‘I know why you’ve come,’ were his opening words as he sat opposite them with a cup of coffee. He looked at Alessandro with resignation. ‘Of course I was going to be found out. I’d hoped that somehow I would have managed to start repaying what I... I want to say what I borrowed, but I realize, Mr Preda, that you probably won’t see it that way...’

‘You have no idea how I’m going to see it, George. So why don’t you start from the beginning and leave nothing out...?’

* * *

It was after six by the time their day was done. And every second of it had been spent at a high-voltage pace that had left Kate breathless, barely able to keep up.

Now, as she tripped along in Alessandro’s wake, she ran her fingers through her hair, which had unravelled, been scooped back up again, and then unravelled again—so heaven only knew what she looked like now. Not the consummate professional, she was betting.

‘Alessandro...’ she breathed, only realizing afterwards that it was the first time she had addressed him by his Christian name without feeling awkward.

Alessandro stopped en route to his very patient driver, who had been on call throughout the day and was probably as exhausted as she was.

He shot her an expressive and very wry look. ‘Well? Get it over and done with...’

‘What?’

‘A tender-hearted comment about my soft side... Have I turned into one of those, caring, sharing touchy-feely types who do foot massages for their loved ones every evening before running them a hot bath and cooking them a slap-up meal?’

‘I have seen a different side to you...’

‘Same side as always,’ Alessandro told her drily. ‘You’re just choosing to interpret it in a different way. There would have been no point prosecuting George.’

‘You did more than just not prosecute him,’ she pointed out.

But she wasn’t going to run away with a long explanation of exactly what had transpired over the past few hours. He might tell her that he had been as tough in his dealings as he always was, but he hadn’t.

George’s granddaughter was ill. Tears had sprung to his eyes as he had described the speed of little Imogen’s disease and their dismay when they had discovered that the prognosis in the UK was not favourable.

They had scoured the internet—searching for hope, really—and it had come in the form of a revolutionary breakthrough treatment in Toronto. But it was treatment that came at a price, and hence his dipping into money that didn’t belong to him. Because he had already used all his savings—every scrap of money that had been put aside for his retirement—on the initial consultations and the first lot of treatment.

Alessandro could have listened and stuck to the programme: You ripped me off and you’re out—save your excuses for the judge.

Even at her most optimistic she’d thought he might have acquitted George of blame, understood the extenuating circumstances and been sympathetic when it came to a repayment scheme.

Instead, he had not only heard the older man out and absolved him of having to repay the debt, but he had taken charge of everything. He had dealt with the bank, set up an account for George’s daughter, then spoken to the hospital, assured them that the treatment would be covered whatever the cost. He had also—and this had made her heart constrict—informed George that he would not have to see out his old age in penury.

Alessandro Preda, a hard man in the world of finance, a guy who was ruthless in his business dealings, had gone beyond the bounds of duty.

‘True,’ he agreed, stepping aside so that she could precede him into the car. ‘And of course he should have spoken to me before he did what he did...’ He sprawled back against the door, facing her, his handsome, lean face amused and speculative.

‘But all’s well that ends well...’ Kate inserted hurriedly. ‘Although we didn’t get to visit your client. Will that be on the agenda for tomorrow?’

‘Tell me you’re not about to stick on your business hat after the day we’ve had?’

Kate licked her lips, nervously aware of his eyes fastened to her face. She had completely forgotten throughout the course of the day that she had to be careful when she was around him. She had seen another side to him and had been swept away by the revelation.

Which didn’t change the fact that she still heartily disapproved of him on a number of fronts...

‘Because I’m too tired to start thinking about cutting deals...’

‘Of course.’

‘And I’m surprised you don’t feel the same.’

‘I suppose I could do with a little downtime...’

‘Splendid. Because tonight we’ll go out for dinner, do a little city exploring. We can both knock business on the head for a couple of hours—wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Dinner...? City exploring...?’ she asked, dry-mouthed.

‘Or you can call it “downtime”. Whatever you prefer. And you’re not going to be wearing a suit.’

‘But that’s pretty much all I—’

‘Then use the company account to buy something more suitable to wear. You have got a company account, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Then it’s settled. Today has been a day full of surprises,’ he murmured, in a soft voice that was as devastating to her senses as a caress. ‘I’ve surprised you. Now it’s your turn to surprise me... Be someone more than just the prim and proper busy little bee. Do you think you can do that? Or is it too much of an ask...?’

CHAPTER SEVEN

“IS IT TOO much of an ask?”

If he had just insisted on dinner, ignored her protests, basically commanded her to relax in his company, then reluctantly she would have agreed, because she would have had no choice. And she would have donned one of her various suits because it was vitally important to maintain the boundary lines between them.

Boundary lines that, yet again, were in danger of being breached.

But that amused, mocking, “Is it too much of an ask?” question had got her back up.

How buttoned up did he think she was? Did he imagine that she was incapable of ever letting her hair down? Did he think that she was such a dull Miss Prim and Proper, glued to her tablet, that she quailed at the prospect of shedding her work clothes and taking time out to be a normal young woman?

Or maybe he thought that she just quailed when the shedding of her work clothes threatened to take place in his company. The man might have shown her a side that was curiously empathetic in his dealings with George, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still the arrogant guy who took what he wanted from women and chucked them out when he decided the time had come to move on.

But if he insisted that she go shopping—that she use the company account to buy stuff she probably would never wear again—then why not?

Toronto was full of wonderful shops. Shops that lined the streets or were packed into malls.

It was still so hot outside that she opted for the Eaton Centre. She had no idea what she intended buying. It wouldn’t take long. She loathed shopping. It was just one of those things that needed doing now and again, under duress.

Her mother had been a shopper. Kate could remember being dragged from shop to shop, spending money they could ill afford on garish outfits. By the age of eleven she had grown accustomed to sitting outside changing rooms, her head firmly planted in a book, while her mother tried on clothes. It had been toe-curlingly embarrassing. She had so desperately wanted her mother just to...to look like all the other mothers. How hard would that have been? Plain trousers? Tops that didn’t cling or have plunging necklines? Shoes that didn’t have five-inch heels and were never, ever worn with tight white jeans? How hard would it have been for her just to avoid wearing bright red?

Her mother had never complained at the little digs she had thoughtlessly inflicted over the years. The not-so-gentle hints that maybe she should tone it down. She had laughed and told her to loosen up a little—had tried to get her out of her jeans and baggy jumpers into the occasional dress. Shirley Watson might not have been good when it came to all the stuff Kate had considered crucially important, she might have failed to take the appropriate level of interest in parents’ evenings and homework projects, but she had never tired of trying to dress her up.

Kate had resisted all those efforts, and had continued doing so even when her mother had no longer been around, trying to steer her in a different direction from the one she wanted.

So now here she was.

And as she browsed through the shops she saw herself through her mother’s eyes. Always a little drab. Never making anything of what she had been given.