‘I’m trying to be honest with you,’ he said huskily. ‘That’s all. There’s something between us—a chemistry, a physical attraction. You know it as well as I do. And for someone who keeps work and play separate, as I do, it’s both unexpected and unwelcome. OK?’

Never in her wildest dreams had she ever really believed Blaise could be attracted to her. She stared up at him. Chemistry? Physical attraction?

Kim swallowed hard. ‘I agree. My ethics happen to be the same as yours.’

‘Right. Well, it’s good it’s out in the open and we can deal with it,’ he said softly. But he still hadn’t let go of her, and his eyes had fastened on her mouth.

‘Exactly.’ She nodded shakily, her heart beating so hard it hurt.

‘Kim…’ His head descended very slowly, his eyes moving to hers.

She knew she ought to step back, to jerk her head away—something. But she didn’t. She wanted him to kiss her. She didn’t think beyond that.

Helen Brooks lives in Northamptonshire, and is married with three children and three beautiful grandchildren. As she is a committed Christian, busy housewife, mother and grandma, her spare time is at a premium, but her hobbies include reading, swimming and gardening, and walks with her husband and their Irish terrier. 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 Mills & Boon®.

Recent titles by the same author:

THE ITALIAN TYCOON’S BRIDE

THE BILLIONAIRE’S MARRIAGE MISSION

A FAMILY FOR HAWTHORN FARM*

HIS CHRISTMAS BRIDE

THE BILLIONAIRE BOSS’S SECRETARY BRIDE

RUTHLESS TYCOON, INNOCENT WIFE

*part of the Winter Waifs anthology

THE BOSS’S
INEXPERIENCED
SECRETARY

BY

HELEN BROOKS

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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THE BOSS’S INEXPERIENCED SECRETARY

CHAPTER ONE

WHY, oh, why had she been so stupid as to let herself in for this? The old adage of pride going before a fall was going to be borne out today; she should have backed out long before this. A polite letter saying she’d changed her mind due to unforeseen circumstances would have done it, anything…

Kim groaned softly, staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror in her bedroom. She didn’t normally inspect herself so thoroughly—usually a quick check to make sure her make-up wasn’t smudged or her tights snagged was sufficient. Today was different. Today she had to appear perfectly coiffured and immaculate from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

Deep brown eyes under a thick fringe of golden-brown hair looked anxiously back at her, before travelling the length of her body. Perhaps she shouldn’t have gone for the cornflower-blue skirt and jacket? A suit in one of the more subdued colours she normally favoured would have been better. Greys and charcoals had the effect of neutralising her somewhat generous curves without emphasising that, at six foot in her stockinged feet, she was what her father kindly called statuesque. Her mother, a petite little blonde who was slender and fluttery, usually just sighed when she looked at her. The cute little baby girl her mother had insisted on dressing in lace and frills had rapidly grown into an accident-prone tomboy, and then just kept growing. She didn’t think her mother had ever really forgiven her.

She brought her mind back to the cornflower-blue suit. It was too late to change; it’d have to do. She grimaced at the face in the mirror. She couldn’t be late for her interview with Blaise West.

Blaise West. Her stomach turned over and she swallowed hard. The feeling of panic wasn’t a new one; she’d been like a cat on a hot tin roof since she’d received the expensively headed letter ten days ago. It had been short and to the point. Her letter of application for the post of personal assistant to Mr West had achieved an interview at ten o’clock on the first of June at the head office of West International. There had been a number to call if the time and day were not convenient.

And she hadn’t. She groaned again. Because of Kate Campion. Beautiful, cool, slim Kate, who was secretary to the manager of the accounts department and who’d labelled her Amazon Abbott. And not in a complimentary way. Oh, no, definitely not in a complimentary way.

Kim’s soft mouth pulled tight. Kate and her cronies hadn’t known she was occupying one of the cubicles in the ladies’ cloakroom when they had breezed in to repair their make-up before going off to lunch one day some weeks ago. They’d been giggling as they’d walked in, and then she heard one of the girls say, ‘Are you sure he’s dumped her, Kate? It might be the other way round.’

‘What? Someone as drop-dead gorgeous as Peter Tierman being dumped by Amazon Abbott? I don’t think so, Shirley. Anyway, he told me himself, after he’d asked me out to dinner tonight.’

‘Really?’ There had been a chorus of shrieks. ‘You’re going out with Peter tonight?’

‘He said he’d wanted to ask me for ages but he didn’t know how to let the amazon down gently. She might be ten feet tall but she’s as clingy as a grapevine apparently. He felt sorry for her, that’s the only reason he asked her out in the first place. Anyway, come on, I’m starving. Let’s go and eat.’

They had clattered out on their stiletto heels, leaving a sickly cloud of several different perfumes in their wake by the time she’d emerged, cheeks burning and eyes flashing.

How dared they discuss her like that? And Peter, telling Kate all those lies! It had been her who’d finished with him a couple of nights before when she had finally decided she couldn’t stand listening to his big ideas about himself one more time.

Handsome Peter might be, conceited he definitely was. What with his wandering hands and increasing determination to get her into bed, she had had enough. She should have ended it much sooner. She’d known on their second date that he wasn’t the sort of man she’d thought he was, but she had refused so many invitations from this man or that over the last couple of years since David, she had thought she would persevere. Big mistake. Colossal.

She had gone back to her office and brooded all lunchtime as to what to do or say while she’d eaten her sandwiches. She had decided in the end not to give credence to Peter’s lies by attempting to justify herself. The opportunity to put matters straight would arise sooner or later, and then she’d make sure she did it coolly, calmly and with dignity.

The nickname—which clearly was not a new thing— she could do nothing about. She had always known Kate didn’t like her, probably because she had never expressed any desire to be part of her poisonous little clique.

The very next day she’d heard on the office grapevine that Kate was applying for the jewel-in-the-crown job which had been advertised both within and without West International. Personal assistant to the great man himself, Blaise West. And something, some little gremlin deep inside, had reared up and declared she was as good as Kate Campion any day, so why didn’t she try for it too?

She had. She had worked on her letter of application and CV half the night and then submitted it the next morning, only to regret it immediately until she’d convinced herself she’d never hear anything about it anyway. The most that would happen was that one of those ‘thank you for your application for the post of whatever. It has not been successful in this instance’ letters would pop through her letterbox.

Kim took a steadying breath, turning away from the mirror and picking up her handbag. She had never been to the head office, which was located in a super-deluxe building not far from Hyde Park. West International had branches all over England as well as America and Europe, and she had worked in the Surrey division for nearly two years as secretary to the sales director. Before that, on leaving university she had had a fairly mediocre job which she’d seen as a stop gap until she married David and they started a family. Her dreams had been centred around David since they’d met at a barbeque in the first week of university life.

Stupid. She closed the door of the bedroom behind her. She’d had to learn the hard way that men said one thing and did another, that they weren’t to be trusted.

She had to get going; she couldn’t afford to be late. Nevertheless she paused in the small sunlit hall, glancing around her. She had moved into this tiny flat courtesy of getting the job at West International when her salary had doubled in one fell swoop and had never regretted it. Before that she had still lived with her parents because she had been saving hard for her wedding.

Kim loved her home. She nodded to the thought. She could walk to the office from here in fifteen minutes if she didn’t want to drive, and she had a terrific boss in Alan Goode. She had plenty of good friends and a fairly active social life; one or two girlfriends had got married in the last little while but there were plenty of others who were single and enjoying themselves. She was content.

She opened the front door, stepping into the large vestibule of the tall Victorian house which had a flat on each of its three floors.

Not happy exactly—she walked to the main door, exiting into the quiet street beyond—but after the trauma of the time when David had left her and she’d thought she’d never experience peace of mind again, content would do.

And there would be no more attempts at trying to be ‘normal’, as her mother put it—anyone who wasn’t married by the time they were twenty-five or at least in a serious relationship that was going somewhere was dubbed abnormal by her mother. She wouldn’t make a mistake like Peter again.

Kim walked over to her little Mini, which was waiting for her in the street outside. There were benefits to being autonomous. She was able to please herself what she did and when she did it and with whom. No more standing in the rain on a windy Saturday afternoon watching a football match she didn’t want to see. Her Saturdays with David had been a litany of those. No more putting someone else first constantly. No more allowing someone to turn a good day bad simply because they were in a disagreeable mood. The list was endless.

Why was she thinking about David so much today? she asked herself as she climbed into her car. He rarely crossed her mind from one week to the next these days. When she did think of him it was with a feeling of thankfulness for the narrow escape she’d had. The man she had thought he was would never have treated her as cruelly as David had done; she hadn’t known him at all and she had been forced to acknowledge that in the weeks and months after he had walked out on her. That had been scary in itself and more than a little humiliating, but it had taught her a valuable lesson: no one ever really knew what another person was thinking or feeling, however transparent they appeared.

She started the engine, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin. Time to drive to the railway station and then make the journey into the city. She would acquit herself as well as she could at the interview and then put the whole sorry episode behind her.

And at least she had been offered an interview. A small smile touched her lips. According to one of the other girls, Kate had been gutted when she had heard about it, having failed to secure one herself. That had been, oh, so sweet. The smile widened into an unrepentant grin as she drove off.

* * *

An hour and a half later she was sitting in the office of Blaise West’s present secretary, an attractive young woman who was enormously pregnant. She had arrived a little early, just as another interviewee had been about to go into the inner sanctum. This woman had been tall and slim and beautifully dressed, with a hundred-watt smile she’d kept for Mr West’s secretary. Kim she had looked up and down, her face portraying the fact she didn’t think she needed worry about the competition.

Kim agreed with her. Surprisingly, it helped her nerves. She was probably the wild card in the ensemble, and if the gossip about the dynamo who was Blaise West was true, he’d realise this immediately he set eyes on her. She expected only a very short interview.

The office building was all lush carpets and glass lifts, as befitted an entrepreneur of Blaise West’s standing. She’d done a little research after applying for the job. Apparently Blaise West had diversified into various money-making stratas after making his first million or two in property when he’d barely been out of short trousers. His other main forte—the manufacture and distribution of commercial and home soft furnishings— was known throughout the western world as second to none.

Kim had never even seen a picture of him, but she knew what to expect from company gossip. He was nearly forty years old, a powerhouse of energy who had a reputation for ruthlessness and cold-blooded tenacity that was legendary. He’d been married and divorced. One child. Umpteen girlfriends. Attractive, rumour had it, but then there would be plenty of women who found power and wealth attractive whatever the man in question looked like physically.

Her thoughts sped on as she pretended to flick through the glossy magazine which was one of many on the low coffee-table in front of her. The secretary had asked her if she’d like coffee when she’d first arrived, ordering it by telephone. Kim had been impressed. Blaise West’s secretary and personal assistant didn’t stoop to such mundane duties, then.

She’d been even more in awe when a tray had arrived almost instantly, holding a cup of coffee in an elegant, wafer-thin cup and a small plate of expensive-looking iced biscuits. It made the tea and coffee machines in the Surrey division with their paper cups and murky charcoal contents even less palatable.

She’d barely taken more than two sips of the coffee, which had proved to be scalding hot, before the hundred-watt woman emerged with a flounce from the inner office. Kim got the impression the interview hadn’t gone too well. The lady in question didn’t stop to exchange pleasantries with Mr West’s secretary, marching straight out of the office with her head held high and her cheeks burning.

A moment after the door had closed behind her, a buzzer on the secretary’s desk sounded. ‘Pat?’ It was a deep voice, throbbing with irritation. ‘I thought you said you’d picked the best of the bunch from the applications? If what I’ve seen thus far is the best, I hate to think what the others were like. I trust there’ll prove to be at least one who isn’t completely moronic.’

Kim saw the woman glance swiftly at her as she hastily pressed a button and murmured something about ‘highly qualified’ into the receiver she’d picked up. Now, she couldn’t hear what was being said at the other end, but after a moment or two the secretary spoke in such a low voice Kim had to strain her ears while keeping her eyes on the magazine. ‘One more this morning and then one this afternoon; we agreed on half a dozen, remember? And Miss Abbott is already here.’

Another pause, and then, ‘Yes, I’ll do that. And I’ve organised the conference with the McBain people for a week on Monday, which will give our sales team time to get their presentation spot-on. You’re aware your lunch engagement is one o’clock?’ Replacing the receiver, the woman said to Kim, ‘Mr West will see you now, Miss Abbott.’

‘Thank you.’ Kim stood to her feet and, as their eyes met, she said with a smile, ‘I’ll try and restore his faith in womankind, shall I?’ It was useless trying to pretend she hadn’t heard.

The secretary smiled back ruefully. ‘Two of the applicants yesterday were men and they fared no better. Mr West can be a little difficult to please.’

Mr West sounded impossible to please. Kim kept her thoughts to herself, merely inclining her head and then waiting as the other woman tapped on the interconnecting door, opening it and standing aside for her to pass through as she said, ‘Miss Abbott, Mr West.’

Stepping into the room, Kim was aware of several things seemingly all at once. Her surroundings were large and light and airy, the floor-to-ceiling windows, which took up most of the end wall, showing an incredible view of the city. The room was beautifully furnished, but then it would be. And it was quiet. Although the offices were located on an extremely busy main road, you’d never have thought it. Lastly, but not least, the bright light streaming in through the windows had the effect of turning the man sitting at the massive desk in front of her virtually into a silhouette, putting anyone entering the room at a distinct disadvantage. Something, Kim felt sure, Blaise West was fully aware of.

‘Good morning, Miss Abbott. Please be seated.’ He had stood to his feet as she approached, leaning forward and shaking her hand before indicating the chair placed at an angle to one side of the desk.

Kim was glad she could sit down. If the room was impressive, the man was more so. Now she could focus properly she could see he looked hard and rugged, not good-looking exactly but the thick black hair turning grey at the temples and startlingly blue eyes gave an impression of vibrant virility. He was expensively put together, his suit and shirt screaming a designer label, but it was the way the clothes sat on the big male body that was electrifying, that and his height. Probably because she was so sensitive about normally being on an eyeline or looking down an inch or two on most men, the fact that Blaise West was at least six or seven inches taller than her had come as a shock, that and the aggressive masculinity. Ridiculously it seemed wrong that he was sitting in an office. He should be scaling an unscalable mountain or fighting man-eating crocodiles in some remote undiscovered land; something extreme anyway.

Without any preliminaries whatsoever, he settled back in his huge leather chair and said coolly, ‘So you want to come and work for me, Miss Abbott. Why is that?’

Coherent thought went out of the window. For the first time in her life Kim felt she knew what a rabbit experienced when it was caught in the glare of a car’s headlights. She stared at him blankly, knowing she had to say something, especially because she was confirming his earlier words—another moron.

Pulling herself together with some difficulty, she forced herself to answer the question she had expected to be asked at some point in the interview and for which she’d prepared a reply. ‘As I explained in my letter, I’ve been at the Surrey branch for a couple of years now and feel that has given me a good grounding as to what makes West International such a hugely successful company. I like my job there but I feel it is time for more of a challenge.’

He said nothing for a few moments. Kim felt the urge to start babbling but restrained herself. Whatever she said or did she wouldn’t be offered this job, she knew that, but she would like to get through this interview without making an absolute fool of herself. So instead of giving in to the nerves that were attacking her, she waited.

‘Textbook answer.’ It was not laudatory. ‘And said in slightly different ways by the previous applicants.’

Kim decided she didn’t like Blaise West. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry, just say something original.’

She didn’t think he would like the original thought that sprang to mind. Reminding herself that she certainly needed the job in Surrey and he was the controlling force in all the branches, she said stiffly, ‘I would like the opportunity for more responsibility and to travel now and again, which I understand the post of your personal assistant involves.’

‘Would it surprise you to know that they’ve all said that too?’

She definitely didn’t like this man. ‘Actually, no, it wouldn’t.’

‘Oh, and why is that?’

‘Because if you treat people as morons they are likely to behave as morons,’ she said sharply. She regretted it immediately, not so much for herself but because she realised too late she might have got his secretary into trouble. And one didn’t answer Blaise West back; his face said so. She waited for the explosion.

‘Ah…’ He leaned forward, the vivid blue eyes never leaving her face. ‘You heard.’

It was no good denying it. She nodded, deciding she wasn’t going to apologise for her tone. If she got the sack in Surrey, she got the sack. She’d survive.

‘Then I apologise. I should imagine it wasn’t the best start to a job interview,’ he said quietly.

The apology was so unexpected she blinked in surprise. Clearing her throat, she said warily, ‘It doesn’t matter, Mr West. Like the others, I am clearly not what you’re looking for. Thank you for your time.’ As she stood up she saw his eyes narrow.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

She stared at him, her cheeks burning. ‘I presumed the interview was at an end.’

‘Then you presumed wrong. We haven’t even started.’ As she sank down in the seat again, he continued to dissect her face. She didn’t think she had ever felt quite so uncomfortable in her life. ‘Now…’ he leant back in the leather chair once more, his elbows on the padded arm rest ‘…I’m going to ask that question again and I’d like a truthful answer this time. Why do you want to come and work for me, Miss Abbott?’

She couldn’t remember the last time she had blushed like this. ‘It was a truthful answer,’ she said tightly. And then, as the black eyebrows rose quizzically, she added, ‘Just not a complete one, perhaps.’

She thought she saw his mouth twitch. It was a well-shaped mouth, firm, sensual, above a cleft chin. ‘So?’

His soft, silky tone didn’t fool Kim. He was determined to have his pound of flesh, she thought hotly. Of course, she could make up a hundred and one things which would be more acceptable than the truth, but somehow she felt he’d know if she did. Pride straightened her spine. ‘Like I said, I do feel I’ve gone as far as I can at your Surrey branch, but to be fair I probably wouldn’t have applied for this post but for something I overheard.’ She hesitated. ‘Something which prompted me to step out of my comfort zone and prove something to myself, I suppose.’

The blue eyes were like lasers. ‘What did you hear?’

‘It was personal,’ she said flatly. ‘Let’s just say it was aimed at me and it wasn’t complimentary.’

‘Anything to do with your work?’

That was a fair question in the circumstances. ‘No, my work has always been satisfactory, as I’m sure Mr Goode would confirm.’

‘He already has or you wouldn’t be here now.’ It was dry. ‘So, Miss Abbott—’ he paused for a moment ‘—are you wasting my time?’

‘What?’ The colour which had begun to subside flooded her cheeks again.

‘Have you any intention of accepting this post should it be offered to you?’

A few minutes ago, perhaps even one minute ago, the honest answer to that question would have been no. Now…she wasn’t sure. Working for someone like Blaise West would undoubtedly be terrifying and exhausting, but did she really want to stagnate in Surrey for the next ten, twenty years? And that was what she had been doing, she thought with a painful dose of self-analysis. She had a degree of independence but she was still in the comfortable cocoon of being close to family with all her friends about her. She had her job down to a fine art, there was no challenge there, and she knew exactly what she was doing from one week to the next. And that had been fine at first, in the initial fallout after David. It had been fine until she had walked into this room, in fact. ‘Yes, Mr. West,’ she said firmly. ‘I’d consider the post, should it be offered.’

He nodded. ‘Good.’ At last his gaze left her and transferred to the papers on the desk. ‘Then let’s get on with it, shall we?’

CHAPTER TWO

BY THE time she got home mid-afternoon, Kim felt like a wet rag. The interview with Blaise West had lasted for well over an hour and it had been gruelling. That was the only word for it. She had all but staggered out of his office, and she must have looked just as she felt because his secretary had quickly pointed out that the firm’s restaurant was already serving early lunch and the food was very nice.

It had been nice, and the two cups of hot, sweet coffee she had swallowed along with roast chicken with all the trimmings had gone some way to reviving her for the journey home. She hadn’t rushed over the meal, watching the other occupants of the sparklingly clean eatery while she tried to make sense of her jumbled recollections of the last hour.

The overall conclusion she came to was that she was stark, staring mad. Mad to think Blaise West might offer her the job. Mad to think she could do it if he did. She was out of her league here; way, way out. Needles of panic were making themselves felt now.

He had finished the meeting by stating he would come to a decision about the applicants within the next twenty-four hours when he had interviewed everyone. By then she had been so frazzled she’d had no idea how she had fared. Certainly hundred-watt smile had only been in with him for ten, fifteen minutes at the most, but there was another person he had to see this afternoon.

When she had finally exited West International the sunshine of early morning had given way to a grey sky that promised rain before nightfall. The train home had been delayed, and when she had eventually boarded it thousands—or so it seemed—of irritable commuters had got on with her. They had only travelled for fifteen minutes when debris on the line had meant another delay.

On reaching her home station, she had seen her little Mini faithfully waiting for her in the car park and had had to bite back tears. That alone told her she was exhausted.

Kim walked into the flat, dropping her handbag on the floor by the sofa as she collapsed into its plump depths. All the excitement and glamour of Blaise West’s fast-moving world was gone. A journey that should have taken less than an hour had taken three times as long. It reminded her of something he’d pointed out during the interview.

‘I’m sure you’re aware of what working as my personal assistant involves, but let me spell it out anyway. I need a PA who thrives on hard work and using their own initiative, Miss Abbott. The more routine secretarial work will be delegated by you to others, but you will be required to take care of the sensitive, confidential side of things. This will involve drafting letters, reports, memos and so on, collecting and collating information for me, taking minutes, greeting and helping to entertain business contacts, organising meetings and conferences, having discussions with other PAs or customers and clients, possibly even supervising other staff on occasion. I expect absolute loyalty as well as discretion. It’s essential you’re capable of adapting to the needs of the job. This will mean late nights and early mornings when necessary. Is this a problem?’

She remembered she had shaken her head, feeling stunned. It was then he had added, ‘I don’t expect my personal assistant to be a yes-man, or -woman. But when you disagree with me you do it in private when it’s just the two of us. Is that clear?’ She’d nodded then, equally stunned.

Kim glanced round her sitting room. Before she had moved in she’d had the flat decorated from top to bottom exactly how she had wanted it. With her savings she had lashed out on ankle-deep carpeting, cream leather sofas and thin, drifty drapes which had been wildly expensive considering there was hardly anything to them. A new bathroom and kitchen had completed her extravagance, and her bedroom was unrepentantly feminine, soft pinks, creams and gentle mauves creating a soothing place which declared quite loudly no man lived here. And she loved it. Every inch of it. Could she continue to live here if—by the remotest chance—Blaise West offered the job to her? If the journey home was a taste of things to come…

Stop it. She was doing the negative thing; she always reacted like this when she was tired. The journey into London had been as smooth as silk, the return was merely bad luck. Besides which, she was getting herself all worked up for nothing. She didn’t even know if she would be offered the job; there must be other applicants far more qualified and experienced than she.

And if she was successful? A curl of something potent stirred in the pit of her stomach. She stood up, walking into the kitchen and switching on the coffee machine. She would cross that bridge in the unlikely event she came to it.

Kim went to bed early and slept badly in spite of having tossed and turned the night before. At six in the morning she abandoned any thought of sleep, padding through into the tiny kitchen and making a mug of coffee which she drank curled up on one of the two sofas in the sitting room. She had opened the windows to the warm summer morning and shafts of sunlight and birdsong filtered into the room.

It was peaceful and cosy…but suddenly not enough. Kim sat up straighter, startled at the way her mind had gone. But it was true. Something had changed yesterday; she wasn’t quite sure what or how, but the interview with Blaise West had brought to the surface a whole host of things she had been avoiding for some time.

She was only twenty-five, for goodness’ sake, twenty-six in October, and she wanted to do something with her life. The last couple of years had been a period of licking her wounds and that was fine, but she didn’t want to carry on as she had been doing. Getting the interview against all the odds had restored a smidgen of the self-confidence that had been so badly knocked when David had left her. And now the whole marriage and kids and roses round the door scenario wasn’t on the agenda, she could concentrate on something she’d never envisaged having—a career.

OK, she acknowledged in the next moment, it wasn’t actually the path she’d have chosen but it would have compensations. She nodded to the thought, her eyes contemplative. Broadening her horizons, travelling, meeting new people.

Like Blaise West? a separate part of her mind asked.

As though someone else had asked the question she spoke out loud, ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She hadn’t been thinking of him specifically, she hadn’t.

But he was the most fascinating man she had ever met in her life. This time she didn’t bother to deny it; she couldn’t. It was true. She sprang up and marched into the kitchen for a second mug of coffee.

Once again established on the sofa, she took stock. Yes, Blaise West was something else but it wasn’t only she who thought that. When she had gone for the interview she had already been aware of his reputation and history, both of which spoke for themselves. He was one of those rare men who had something akin to a magnetic field around them to which other people would be irresistibly drawn, whether they liked him or not.

Did she like him?

She considered the question. She wasn’t sure. He would certainly be interesting to work for, she thought wryly. If she survived the first day, that was. But she was unlikely to get the chance. And that didn’t matter, it didn’t, because if nothing else the last twenty-four hours had told her that the next stage of her life was due to begin and it would be one in which she made changes. Changes she controlled. There had been enough of the other kind.

She inhaled the fragrant scent of coffee beans as she let her mind meander back into the past. She had been so gullible when she’d met David, so thrilled that someone like him—handsome, self-assured, popular—had singled her out. Her childhood had been happy enough on the whole, but her teenage years had been made miserable by her height. Or rather her sensitivity about it. She had always been the wallflower at school discos; the girl most boys avoided because she tended to tower over them. Some wit had dubbed her the beanpole when she was thirteen and the nickname had stuck for a long time, even when she had filled out in all the right places.

And then at eighteen she’d met David Stewart. Six feet three in his bare feet, blond and beautiful. An Adonis. They had been together all through university and he had proposed to her on graduation day. Her cup had been full. They’d decided while he continued to study law—his father had his own law firm which one day David would take over—she would get a nine-to-five job with no commitments so she could fit in with him and see him when he had any free time between studying at law college. He had sailed through the solicitors’ final examination at the end of twelve months, and joined his father’s firm to serve articles, at which time they had set the wedding date.

Every weekend she had travelled from her parents’ home in Surrey to Oxford, where David lived in his family’s massive seven-bedroomed house complete with swimming pool and tennis courts. His parents and younger sister adored her, and she them. Everything in the garden was rosy. And then, six weeks before the wedding, he had turned up on her doorstep one night and taken her out for a meal so they could ‘talk’.

She had known even before he told her that something was dreadfully wrong but nothing could have prepared her for what she was about to hear. There was someone else. They’d only known each other a short time but it was the real thing.

Reeling from shock, she had asked who it was. Miranda, the girl next door who had been mad about him for ever, according to what his sister had whispered? Someone at his father’s work? A mutual friend?

No, he’d replied. She didn’t know Francis; neither did his family.

Frances? she’d repeated shakily. Where had he met her?

It was then he had looked at her steadily and told her that the ‘her’ was a ‘him’. It was Francis with an I. And he’d met him at one of the bars they both frequented. He had thought he could do the marriage and children bit to keep his family happy but he couldn’t. He liked her, he assured her. Loved her even, but not in that way.

She had been so dumbfounded she hadn’t been able to speak for some moments. And then she had got up and walked out into the pub car park, where she’d phoned for a taxi. She might have been able to follow through on the dignified and calm bit if he hadn’t made the mistake of following her and trying to justify the lies and deceit of four and a half years, at which point she had shouted and screamed and finally walked across to the sports car his father had bought him for the first he’d got at university and kicked it so hard she’d dented the door. Fortunately the taxi had arrived then.

The next few weeks had been the worst of her life. Both sets of parents had been beside themselves, the bridesmaids had been heartbroken they weren’t going to get to wear the fairy-tale dresses which had cost a small fortune, all the wedding presents had had to be returned and the reception and all the other paraphernalia connected with a huge wedding cancelled.

In the midst of it all she had talked to David several times. Although she felt he was sorry that he had hurt her, she sensed a great feeling of relief and even joy that everything was out in the open. And of course he had his Francis, with whom he had promptly set up a home in the flat they should have been renting together. He had admitted he’d cheated on her numerous times before but they had just been ‘little flings’.

Kim had hardly been able to believe what she was hearing. The man she had thought she was going to spend the rest of her life with, whom she’d known and trusted implicitly for over four years, didn’t exist. She had been absolutely faithful to him, refusing even a Christmas kiss at work because she felt it took something away from David, and all the time…

A hundred and one things suddenly fell into place the more she thought about it, the chief one being the reason David had never tried to get her into bed. He had talked a lot about honouring her, that he wanted his wife and the mother of his children to be different from all the rest, that, although it was terribly hard to stop at just a kiss and a cuddle, it was the right thing to do. And she had believed him! Respected him for it.

The feeling of rejection and betrayal had cut deep, and the humiliation that had gone hand in hand with it all had caused her to lose over a stone in the first few weeks. She would have followed him to the ends of the earth and she had loved him utterly but everything had been a lie. And she hadn’t sensed it, hadn’t known anything was wrong. That had terrified her.

The beanpole of teenage years had reared her head again and every time she looked in the mirror she had cringed at what she saw. She had felt she was nothing, less than nothing. But eventually, with the help of family and friends, she had started to eat properly and sleep soundly and get back on an even keel. She wasn’t the same, she knew she wasn’t the same, and she felt sad about that, mourning the loss of the trusting, happy girl she’d once been, but she was older and wiser and she would never allow herself to love anyone again the way she had loved David.

Kim came back to herself with the realisation that the coffee was quite cold. She went into the kitchen and tipped it away, standing and looking out of the window into the street below.

It was going to be a beautiful day, she thought. And life was for living. She’d done her period of mourning for what might have been if things had been different. Now she had to get on with life.

CHAPTER THREE

KIM felt on tenterhooks all day, so much adrenaline flooding her body that she fairly ate up the work. By five o’clock her desk was clear in spite of the backlog from the day before.

Her boss walked out to the car park with her. He had asked her that morning how she had got on; now he said ruefully, ‘I’d be surprised if you don’t get the job, Kim. Blaise West has a reputation for knowing a diamond when he sees one.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him. Alan Goode was a dyed-in-the-wool family man who was devoted to his wife and three boys and they’d always had an excellent working relationship. ‘But you didn’t see the competition. Anyway, I’m not bothered either way.’ This wasn’t quite true but she’d rather walk barefoot on hot coals than admit it to anyone. She knew Kate and her cronies were taking an avid interest in events.

‘Now, that might be your trump card,’ Alan said musingly. ‘I’ve only met Blaise once or twice but that was enough to know he’s a man who plays by his own rules. He’s never conformed and he doesn’t ask for conformity in others. He’s an…extraordinary individual, isn’t he?’

‘Oh, yes.’

They smiled at each other, linked by the knowledge of what was unsaid rather than what was spoken.

‘He caught his toe with his wife though—ex-wife,’ Alan continued. ‘She was a free spirit in every sense of the word. Any man, any time, if rumours are to be believed. She took the child when the divorce happened but then a year later she was killed in a head-on crash. Had the kid with her at the time.’

‘That’s awful.’ Kim hadn’t known about these details.

Alan shrugged. ‘The child wasn’t hurt too bad from what I can remember and the accident enabled Blaise to get his daughter back. I doubt he cried any crocodile tears.’

‘How long ago did that happen?’

‘The accident? About four years ago, I think, maybe five. The girl’s ten or thereabouts now.’

Kim nodded. For a second she had a mental picture of the hard, rugged face of the man she had met yesterday. It was a face that had seen life, but it was also a face that revealed nothing of the man behind the mask. But he must have suffered. She felt a dart of sympathy even as she acknowledged it was the last emotion a man like Blaise West would ask for or want. Curiously, for no logical reason she could think of, she felt it was somehow disloyal to be talking about him. Quietly, she said, ‘Goodnight, then, Alan. Give my regards to Janice.’

‘I will.’

Once in the car and driving home, Kim found herself going over and over the conversation with Alan. She was still thinking about Blaise when she entered the flat, walking immediately into the bathroom and beginning to run a warm, bubbly bath. She needed a long, hot soak. Muscles she hadn’t been aware of since her teens when she had been the captain of the school’s netball team—being over half a foot taller than the other girls had meant she excelled in the sport—were making themselves known. She hadn’t realised how tense she had been every time the phone had rung until she’d left the building.

Had she seriously thought she might be in with a chance? She shook her head at her foolishness.

And then the phone rang.

Telling herself it was almost certainly her mother or one of her friends ringing to see if she had heard anything, she nevertheless found her heart was thudding hard enough to exit her chest as she picked up the phone. ‘Hello,’ she said cautiously.

‘Miss Abbott?’

She’d recognise the deep, distinctly smoky voice anywhere. ‘Yes?’ Now her heart had jumped up into her throat.

‘This is Blaise West. I’d like to offer you the job as personal assistant if you’re still interested after that somewhat intensive interview yesterday.’

‘You would?’ The note of surprise wasn’t the way hundred-watt smile would have responded. Telling herself to be more professional, Kim said quickly, ‘Thank you, Mr West. I would love to accept.’

‘Good. I shall be in touch with Mr Goode tomorrow.’

She knew he had heard the amazement in her voice and was amused by it. Swallowing hard, she had to sit down before she could say, ‘When would you like me to start?’

‘You’re under a month’s notice, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I’m sure Mr Goode will have no objection if we do away with that,’ he said smoothly. ‘I’d like you to have some time with Pat before she leaves and because she’s expecting twins that could be sooner rather than later.’

So that was why his secretary was so huge. She thought he’d left it a bit late to advertise for a new one.

As though he’d read her mind, he continued, ‘It’s caught us on the hop. Twins were only confirmed a few weeks ago, and it seems they’re both big babies. She seems to be growing in front of my eyes every day.’

She smiled. He couldn’t quite hide the irritation this unforeseen event in his no doubt orderly and controlled life had caused. ‘I see,’ she said carefully.

‘Her doctor has already expressed an opinion that she should be prepared to rest more than is normal, and her husband is anxious that she leaves work within the next month or so. That doesn’t leave much time for her to show you the ropes.’

In other words he wasn’t prepared to do so, or put up with any inconvenience. Still, she supposed that was fair. He did own the company after all. But poor Alan was going to be left in the lurch. It was with this in mind she said, ‘If I could have a few days showing a temp the necessary, I think—’

‘It’s Friday tomorrow. I would like to see you at the office on Monday and I shall make this clear to Mr Goode. I’m sure he will be happy with that.’

Happy wasn’t the word she would have chosen. But, as he paid Alan’s salary too… ‘Monday morning, then,’ she said politely, wondering what she’d let herself in for. She knew from the interview that the staff at the head office started work at nine-thirty, half an hour later than in the Surrey branch, but Blaise West expected his personal assistant-cum-secretary to be at her desk an hour earlier. It meant she was going to be rising at the crack of dawn for the journey into the city, but that couldn’t be helped.

‘Excellent.’ There was a brief pause. ‘I don’t stand on formality, by the way. It will be Blaise and Kim unless there are clients or other personnel present.’

She didn’t think she would ever be able to call him Blaise.

‘The person or persons who prompted you to apply for the job…I trust they’ll be hearing the good news tomorrow?’ he continued.

‘What? Oh, yes,’ she said quickly, surprised he’d remembered.

‘Then savour the moment, Kim,’ he said softly. ‘There won’t be too many of them in life, which makes the ones that come along all the sweeter. Goodnight.’

She heard the phone click even as she murmured, ‘Goodnight, Mr West,’ back.

She thought of Blaise the next day. As luck would have it, she arrived at the office building just as Kate and one of her entourage walked in and they followed her into the lift. She nodded at them but said nothing, but after a moment the girl with Kate glanced at her leader before saying to Kim, ‘You won’t get it, you know.’

Kim had heard her quite clearly but raised her eyebrows, her tone cool as she said, ‘I’m sorry? Are you talking to me?’

‘The job as Blaise West’s personal assistant. You haven’t got a hope. Kate knows someone at Head Office and they said all the other applicants had qualifications coming out of their ears. It was a fluke you got an interview in the first place if you ask me.’

‘I didn’t.’ Kim smiled sweetly. ‘But thanks for the concern.’

‘No, well, just don’t get your hopes up, that’s all.’

Her manner had clearly deflated the other girl. She again glanced at Kate, who, just as the lift came to a halt, said coldly, ‘Personally I’d prefer to avoid the humiliation of an interview where I was clearly out of my depth.’

‘Then it’s fortunate you didn’t get that far when you applied, isn’t it?’ Kim’s heart was pounding like a sledgehammer at the overt aggressiveness but it didn’t show. As the lift doors opened she turned to Kate’s crony, keeping her voice pleasant as she said, ‘Anyway, don’t worry about me. Mr West phoned last night and offered me the job, so all’s well that ends well.’

She sailed out of the lift, knowing she would remember their expressions for the rest of her life. Blaise West was right. Such moments were sweet.

Kim had to keep reminding herself of that over the weekend as she oscillated between moments of euphoria and blind, unadulterated panic. She hadn’t hyped anything up, she told herself umpteen times an hour. Blaise West knew exactly what he was getting. She definitely didn’t have qualifications coming out of her ears, just a fairly respectable 2:1 degree in business studies and some years of experience. She had been honest and straightforward, even to the point of telling him she had taken business studies at university because at the time she hadn’t had a clue what she wanted to so with her life and it seemed a safe option.

‘Safe option?’ he’d drawled. ‘I don’t see you as someone who would settle for the safe option.’

She had thought about that for some moments before she’d said, ‘That was seven years ago.’

‘Ah…’ Just one syllable but she’d had the feeling he’d understood more than she would have liked.

Her mother had been cautiously enthusiastic when she’d told her parents the news over Sunday lunch. ‘That’s nice, dear, but don’t let the job become the be-all and end-all,’ she’d said carefully. Kim knew exactly what she meant. You came so close to being a normal woman and having a husband and family; don’t let it all be for nothing.

Her father was great. ‘Well done, sweetheart,’ he’d said bracingly. ‘I knew you’d get it and this’ll be the start of something good, you mark my words. I feel it in my bones.’

Whether her father was right or not, on Sunday night—when her bed was piled high with clothes and she still couldn’t come to a decision as to what to wear the next day—she told herself enough was enough. No more panicking, no more dissecting, no more thinking.

She hung the clothes away, tidied her shoes and bags and climbed into bed. She would pick the first clothes that came to hand in the morning and be done with it.

She was free of Kate Campion and her waspish companions; life could only get better.

At eight-thirty the next morning Kim was reminding herself of this was she stood in Pat’s office, listening to Blaise’s secretary outlining the normal procedure that occurred before the rest of the office staff arrived.

Blaise was already in his office. Pat admitted she didn’t really know what time their boss got to work, but in the five years she’d been working for him she had never arrived before Blaise once. He was a self-confessed workaholic, she ventured, but he never asked more of any employee than he was prepared to give himself.

All very commendable, Kim thought wryly, but at this precise moment that wasn’t particularly comforting.

At twenty to nine the interconnecting door opened and Blaise appeared. By now Kim was feeling sick with nerves. The feeling of being out of her depth wasn’t helped as she took in the dark man leaning nonchalantly in the doorway. He seemed even bigger and tougher than she remembered. More attractive too. He was wearing a blue shirt the same colour as his eyes and his tie was hanging loose, the first two or three buttons of his shirt undone and showing the beginnings of dark body hair.

The laser-sharp gaze swept over her. ‘Hi.’ It was casual, easy. ‘Good journey this morning, I hope?’

‘Fine, thank you.’

He nodded. ‘Let’s hope it lasts. I seem to remember Pat thinking she could commute from somewhere or other but within six months she was living in the city. Right, Pat?’

Pregnant and contented, Pat smiled serenely. ‘And a month later I met John and within four months we were married.’

‘Whirlwind courtship, I remember.’ The piercingly blue eyes switched to Kim. ‘I trust history isn’t going to repeat itself?’

Kim occasionally had flashes of her father’s quick wit. Straight-faced, she said, ‘I doubt it; I’m sure John is very happy with Pat.’

Blaise stared at her for a moment before throwing his head back and chuckling. ‘You’ll do,’ he said, smiling, and disappeared back into his office.

Which was just as well. The brief glimpse of the man behind the tycoon had made Kim’s knees weak. He was gorgeous, she told herself with something akin to horror, but she couldn’t fall for her boss. Not on day one.

Whether something of what she was feeling showed in her face she wasn’t sure, but the next moment Pat said quietly, ‘He’s not an easy man to work for but I wouldn’t have missed a minute and I think you’ll feel like that too. He’s the most charismatic man I’ve ever met and has a succession of girlfriends that change with the wind. They only have to get a tiny bit clingy and they’re history—he’s strictly a love ’em and leave ’em type. I thought I was in love with him for a little while after I first started but I quickly realised it was a hundred times better to work for him than go out with him; he’d be murder to date. The only female who will ever lay claim to Blaise’s heart is his daughter—he’s devoted to her. Now, let’s get back to those files. As I was saying…’

The rest of the day flew by. At the end of it Kim staggered to the train and sat in dumb senselessness all the way home. After a hot bath and a cold meat salad she fell into bed incredibly early and slept solidly until the alarm went off the next morning. The next four days were a repeat of the first and by the weekend she felt she couldn’t have survived one more day without a break.

After sleeping most of Saturday and Sunday away, she went in to work on Monday morning feeling rested and prepared for the challenge. She fared slightly better that second week, and by the third had got a handle on most things. By the fourth week she knew she had gone up several gears and was coping fine. She was still exhausted most evenings but Pat said that went with the territory.

It was just as well she had acclimatised to life at Blaise’s pace fairly quickly, because at the end of the fourth week Pat began to feel unwell. Within twenty-four hours there was a risk she could lose the babies. This didn’t materialise, but the end result of the scare was that she was hospitalised and would remain virtually flat on her back for the rest of the pregnancy.

When Kim went to visit her with a bunch of flowers and several good novels, she found Pat in a private suite which didn’t bear any resemblance to the general wards.

‘Blaise insisted on footing the bill when it was discovered the firm’s private health insurance didn’t cover one or two things,’ Pat confided once she had thanked Kim for the flowers and books. Considering Kim had had to negotiate the jungle of hothouse blooms the room held to reach the bed, her little offering looked rather forlorn. ‘He got one of the top men in the country to look at me and then had me moved here.’

‘That was generous of him.’

Pat nodded. ‘It’s certainly put John’s mind at rest. He thinks Blaise is the best thing since sliced bread. How much it’s all going to cost by the time the twins are actually born I dread to think, but Blaise is adamant it’s OK.’

‘You know Blaise wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want to do.’ Kim smiled at the woman she had come to like very much in the last month. Pat had gone the extra mile in helping her slip into the job, smoothing out a hundred and one difficulties and being generous with her time and advice. ‘Now, just try to relax and make the most of being waited on hand and foot. You’re going to be pretty busy once the babies arrive.’

‘I’m already bored out of my head.’ Pat wrinkled her small nose. ‘And I want you to promise me you’ll call if there’s anything you’re not sure about.’

‘Of course I will,’ Kim lied. She had no intention of worrying Pat with office matters when she was supposed to be having complete rest and being kept free from any stress or anxiety. ‘But I’ll be fine. You’ve been fantastic the last few weeks and all those notes you’ve given me cover everything from A to Z.’

Pat had been taken ill during Thursday night and today was Sunday. Because Blaise had been tied up with organising the consultant and Pat’s hospital care himself, Kim had seen little of him on the Friday. Tomorrow would be the first proper day she was alone with him in the role of personal assistant, and she was ridiculously nervous already. She knew Blaise well enough by now to know that she had to hide any tension she might be feeling from him, though. He valued self-control and a cool, calm approach to any situation above anything else.

She sat talking to Pat until John arrived fifteen minutes later and then made her excuses and left. She had driven into London when she discovered the hospital had a car park; she had enough of the train every day in the week. Humanity packed into a small space was never particularly uplifting—or fragrant.

She was just going to get into the car when she heard her name called. Her heart thudding, she swung round. ‘Blaise—what are you doing here?’ Stupid question, but he didn’t appear to notice. In fact, for once he looked distinctly harassed. It suited him; made him appear more like the rest of the human race.

Kim just had time to notice how the black jeans and charcoal open-necked shirt he was wearing did even more for him than the immaculate business suits he wore to work, before he said, ‘You’re leaving, I take it?’

She nodded. ‘Why?’

‘I’ve got a couple of forms Pat needs to sign and as next week is going to be a busy one I thought I’d kill two birds and bring them myself and make sure they’re looking after her properly. At the last minute Lucy wanted to come with me but she doesn’t like hospitals.’

Kim nodded again. Pat had told her Blaise’s daughter had been in hospital for a couple of weeks after the accident which had killed her mother. She had also hinted that the child was a bit of a handful.

‘She’s insisting she can wait in the car by herself, although I’d rather not leave her alone.’

Kim stared into the tough, attractive face. His daughter was ten years old in a couple of weeks’ time, more than old enough to sit in a parked car and wait while her father delivered the papers, surely? ‘I can wait a while with her if you like.’

In true Blaise style, there was no prevarication or asking her if he was putting her about. ‘Thanks,’ he said shortly. ‘Come and meet her.’

He led the way to his Ferrari. It was a panther of a car, black and sleek and powerful, and always sat in the space reserved for it in the firm’s car park like a dark, brooding presence. The young child sitting in the passenger seat couldn’t have been more at odds with the car’s aura. She looked much younger than nearly ten, seven at the most, and was tiny and fragile and as blonde as Blaise was dark.

As Blaise opened the door, saying, ‘This is my new personal assistant, Lucy. Her name’s Kim,’ she bent and peered at the little girl, smiling widely.

‘Hello, Lucy. Nice to meet you.’

The child stared back at her with enormous clear blue eyes. ‘Hello,’ she said reluctantly. She didn’t smile back.

‘Come and sit in; I won’t be more than a minute or two.’ Blaise took Kim’s arm, moving her round the bonnet of the car and opening the driver’s door. She had no option but to slide in beside Lucy, who was now eyeing her resentfully, as Blaise said, ‘Kim’s going to keep you company, Lucy,’ and then shut the door.

Great. She turned to the child but before she could speak, Lucy muttered, ‘I’m not a baby, you know.’

Kim watched Blaise disappear into the building in the wing mirror. ‘I know that. You’re ten in two weeks’ time, aren’t you?’ she said brightly. ‘Are you having a party?’

Ignoring this, Lucy continued, ‘So you don’t need to sit with me, all right? You can go.’

She wished. ‘Your father asked me to wait until he comes out,’ she stated calmly.

‘I’ve told you, there’s no need.’

Kim took a deep breath and let it out evenly. ‘Nevertheless, I said I would.’

‘I don’t want you to.’

‘I’m sorry but I can’t help that.’

‘This is my car, not yours. If I want you to get out then you have to.’

Thanks a million, Blaise. And this definitely didn’t come under the job description. Looking into the angry little face, which was undeniably pretty, Kim said quietly, ‘Are you always this rude, Lucy?’

Blue eyes blinked in surprise. For a moment Kim thought Blaise’s daughter was going to defend herself but instead she repeated stubbornly, ‘I want you to get out now.’

‘Very well. I’ll stand by the car until your father comes back, OK? Will that satisfy your desire to show me I’m just one of your father’s employees?’ She opened the car door but didn’t exit immediately, saying first, ‘One day you will learn that having lots of money and power should make you treat people under you, those not as fortunate, more kindly than anything else. Throwing your weight about makes you look like a spoilt, petulant brat, that’s all. And that is extremely unattractive.’

She would have liked to climb out of the car with dignity but it was crouched so low to the ground it was more of a scramble. Shutting the door extra gently because what she really wanted to do was slam it hard, Kim stood by the car. Perfect. Not only would this little scenario make Blaise think she couldn’t even handle a nine-year-old child, but she had insulted his daughter to boot. The apple of his eye. Wonderful start to the week.

She didn’t glance down into the interior of the car before she saw him hurrying towards her. Then she slanted her eyes at Lucy, who was staring stiffly ahead, scowling.

As Blaise reached the car Kim began walking, saying over her shoulder, ‘Over to you.’ And you are more than welcome.

His voice, somewhat startled, followed her. ‘Thanks. See you in the morning.’

Unless I get a phone call to tell me I needn’t bother. But no, he wouldn’t do that, not with Pat in hospital. Blaise wouldn’t cut off his nose to spite his face.

Would he?

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