Best of Bosses 2008: In Bed With Her Italian Boss\Taken by Her Greek Boss\Blind Date With the Boss (34 page)

The frame of the redhead's fingers clawing into Nick's hair repeated itself endlessly in her head, like a snippet of film viewed in slow motion.

‘I'm not trying to rescue you,' Nick grated, leaping out of the car as soon as it had stopped.

‘Don't let me keep you.' Rose turned the key in the lock, pushed open the door and smiled sweetly at him.

The woman was crazy, Nick thought. Had she no idea what sort of temptation she presented to a red-blooded male? Wearing a dress like that with everything on display? Her cleavage was just a teasing reminder of her succulent breasts, which he considered outrageously hugged by the thin, stretchy fabric. If she was his, he thought, there was no way that he would let her out of the house looking like that.

‘You're not getting rid of me that quickly,' he growled, pushing the door wide open with the flat of his hand and stepping inside the house before she could shut the door in his face.

Rose spun round and folded her arms. ‘We have nothing to say to one another, Nick.'

‘You're not to leave the house dressed the way you were tonight.' Where the hell had that come from?

‘You're telling me what I can wear?'

‘For your own good.' He flushed darkly and walked away from her incredulous expression, into the sitting room where he prowled restlessly before perching against the bay window so that he could look at her framed in the doorway.

‘For my own good?'

‘Stop parroting me,' Nick said irritably. He failed to see why she would stare at him as though he had taken leave of his senses when, as far as he was concerned, he was being perfectly reasonable and pretty decent.

‘You may think you know what you're letting yourself in for, but you don't,' he informed her bluntly, and Rose's mouth fell open a fraction further. So it was fine for him to practically make love in front of an audience with a bimbo who seemed to have an allergy to fabric, but he still found it perfectly acceptable to lecture
her
about her dress code and her general code of behaviour.

She had never known anything so hypocritical in her life. She opened her mouth a few times to say something and instead succeeded in giving a goldfish impression.

‘Not only is it dangerous for you to dress like that because you're giving off all the wrong signals, but you're dressing for the wrong crowd anyway. Half the men there were gay and the other half would put Casanova to shame when it comes to scruples.'

‘And since you don't fall into the gay category, Nick, we both know which one you belong to.'

‘We're not talking about me.'

‘No, we're talking about double standards. Maybe I'm in search of an unscrupulous man. Have you considered that? Maybe my Big Change involves taking a break from the safe guy and just seeing what the grass is like on the other side.'

‘You know you don't mean that.'

‘Really?' Rose fumbled in her bag and whipped out the business card on which Ted Splice had written his various numbers. She waved it in the air as if proving her point, as if one small piece of cardboard were actually a key to the gates of wildness, adventure and scandal. As if she would ever, in a million years, seriously consider dating a man whose nickname was Splice.

‘I didn't tell you this, but Ted and I are going out…on a date…next Saturday to…' She named the first restaurant that came into her head, which, unfortunately, was a cheap and cheerful pizza place not a hundred miles away from where she lived. ‘And who knows what might happen once we've finished eating?'

T
HE
advantage to the cheap and cheerful pizza place lay in its size. It was vast and, at eight thirty on a Saturday evening, brimming with families.

Nick hadn't intended to end up there. In fact, for the better part of the week he had told himself that he had more important things to do than to waste time on one highly infuriating woman. If, he piously concluded, she wanted to hurl herself into the party scene, then she could damn well live with the consequences, and consequences there most certainly would be. If she paraded her body with a type like movie producer Ted, then she might just as well have Available stamped across her forehead in large neon lettering.

Especially with this Ted character, about whom he had managed to source some information. The man had been in and out of rehab like a yo-yo, which was not exactly a notable event in the world he lived in, but Nick could not think of Rose seriously dating a guy like that. In fact, he had discovered that he couldn't think of her seriously dating any guy without feeling ferociously possessive.

Possessive over a woman.

The notion, when it first trickled into his head, was so unbelievable that it bordered on amusing. He had never been a
possessive man, had never been jealous, had prided himself on his controlled approach to relationships.

Six days down the line, there was nothing amusing about it. He thought of the man's oily hands stripping Rose of her skimpy black dress, unhooking her bra, feasting his eyes on her big, beautiful breasts and felt sick.

He should never have allowed what they had to finish. That was the problem. Things that ended prematurely became unattainable objects of desire simply because basic need hadn't been sated. He had thought himself in control of what they had and only now realised that what they had had been controlling him.

But still. Going to the pizza place had not been an option. He had just somehow found himself driving over there well before she and her date were due to arrive, found himself taking the quietest and least noticeable table at the very far corner of the room where he was half shielded by an oversized plastic plant in drastic need of dusting. He found himself doing all this and it was almost as if his head had no say in the matter.

The pizza he ordered for himself as he waited was surprisingly good. The wine slightly less so, but nevertheless drinkable.

By eight-thirty, when neither Rose nor her date had yet arrived, he was smugly contemplating the very satisfying theory that Ted the movie producer had stood her up. He imagined her sitting bleakly in her sitting room, wondering whether or not to text, knowing that this was the first nail in the coffin of her new lifestyle.

She might even, he thought with a kick of real pleasure, be glumly admitting to herself that he, Nick, had been right after all to warn her off the man.

This was such a pleasing fantasy that he almost missed them. Feeling a little ridiculous because of his cloak-and-
dagger tactics, Nick watched them through the fronds of the plastic plant, watched them taken through to a table uncomfortably sandwiched between two families with exuberant kids.

She had steered away from wearing anything revealing, but, instead of finding this acceptable, he darkly decided that she looked even sexier in her short grey skirt, her too-short grey skirt and neatly tailored blouse. She could almost have been going out to work except for the two top buttons of her shirt, which were undone. Nick was pretty sure that if he noticed that little detail, then so did Ted the reformed producer. He couldn't actually see the man's face because Ted had his back to him, but it was easy to imagine those beady little eyes flicking rapaciously over her body while he tried to work out the fastest way of getting her into bed.

Nick tensed and he finished his glass of wine and signalled the waitress over so that he could order something else. Coffee and dessert, because now he was condemned to remain where he was or risk being seen on the way out.

Not that he had plans to leave until they did. He sat back and folded his hands on his stomach and watched.

Rose, sitting on the opposite side of the room, was glumly regretting the impulse that had led her to this place.

She had reacted to Nick's horrible, patronising attitude towards her a week ago by fabricating a non-existent date with a man who had been flattering and pleasant enough for a couple of hours but several thousand light years away from someone she would ever have considered going out with.

In fact, there had been no need for her to telephone Ted at all, but she had been prompted into doing so for all the wrong reasons. Hurt at seeing Nick with another woman, anger that he should dare tell her how to live her life having done such a comprehensive job of ruining it, and a stubborn feeling that
if he warned her against Ted, then she would damn well go out with him because the last thing she needed was Nick Papaeliou's misguided good intentions.

She had been tormented by the thought that he and his leggy redhead had probably chuckled at the silly little woman in the short black dress who was clueless to the ways of the world. That, as much as anything else, had driven her to pick the phone up and dial one of the several numbers Ted had left with her.

She had said she would be going to Angelo's Pizza Emporium with Ted Splice and she would go to Angelo's Pizza Emporium with him if only to prove a point to herself. That she was a free woman, liberated from the chains of fear that had kept her anchored all her life. Nick, she had decided as she had got dressed earlier, making sure to wear clothes that wouldn't give Ted the wrong impression, might well turn out to be just the first in a long line of many.

She had been tempted to telephone Lily on the other side of the world and inform her of this new departure, a whole brand-new set of moral codes, but Lily had failed to show the appropriate disgust at Nick's high-handed behaviour at the party and had just laughed when accused of not coming to her rescue. She had departed for America still clinging to the belief that everything was going to be fine, just wait and see.

Now, sitting in the pizza emporium, which was truly an emporium and one that seemed unnaturally full of rowdy children, Rose was in danger, not of dodging Ted's wandering hands, but of nodding off through boredom.

Ted was not only very, very fond of the sound of his own voice and enchanted with all the funny stories he had up his sleeve, but he had also confided, on the way over in the taxi, lowering his voice, as if the cab driver could care less, that his inclinations were not entirely of the straight variety.

Of course, he adored women, but…

Rose had nodded and resigned herself to an evening of listening to Ted's anecdotes and looking at her watch.

At least the place was big so that they could manage to avoid a falsely intimate setting, and once or twice, as she nibbled at her pizza and salad, she actually found herself laughing at some of the wild things he had to say.

Apparently he found her
cool
and refreshing because she was such a good listener.

‘If you were a guy,' he paid the highest compliment, ‘then I'd be wining and dining you and inviting you back to my place to…'

‘Look at your etchings?'

Which brought them right back to square one, the main subject for the evening, Ted himself, and his trials and tribulations as an artist before he had discovered his true calling behind the lens of a camera.

It was a little after ten by the time Ted asked for the bill.

‘Been a bit of a waste for you, hasn't it?' he said sheepishly. ‘I should have let you know…told you where my preferences lay…'

Rose laughed and impulsively reached across the table and held both his hands in hers. ‘I just don't understand why you don't come out of the closet. It's the twenty-first century, after all, and you work in a world where it's pretty much the norm, anyway.'

‘Oh, it's my mum, babe. Don't think she'd be too hip to the idea and, well…she's getting on a bit…Gotta play the respect card, man, gotta play the respect card.'

‘Well, if this helps at all, I was playing a part that night as well.'

‘You mean…'

‘Oh, no! Not that.' Rose threw back her head and laughed, then she leaned forward and whispered confidentially, ‘I'm actually a closet introvert. But last Saturday, I dressed to impress and played the part.'

‘Well, now we know each other's wicked secrets, I think we're going to be friends for life.'

It was turning out to be an okay evening after all, Rose considered as they stood up, and when he slipped his arm around her waist she was quite happy to nestle against him and not at all offended when they parted company on the pavement outside, after promising that they would meet up again, maybe in a couple of months time, because Ted's schedule was ‘like hectic, man'.

She washed her face, kicked off the high shoes and changed into her very un-wild gear of grey track-suit jogging bottoms and a sloppy tee shirt with a faded picture of Minnie Mouse on the front.

Heartbreak had, at least, had one good side effect. Her eating habits had changed. She had lost her appetite and it had conveniently failed to return so as she sat down to finish what remained of the evening in front of a bowl of carrot sticks and some low-fat dip she rested safe in the knowledge that the pizza was not going to be accompanied by a great slab of comfort-eating chocolate.

It took her fifteen minutes of surfing the channels before she landed on one that was watchable.

It would pass the rest of the evening, she supposed. No point heading up to bed because she knew that she would be unable to sleep. It had been the same for ages. She would close her eyes, will herself to think of something mundane, like what Annie at work had done with the reports she had laboriously redone three days ago, or what would be the next
stage in her programming to update the Accounts Receivables department, and then she would think of him.

He sprang into her head like sweet temptation and forbidden fruit wrapped up in one agonisingly dangerous package. And he would always be laughing at her. Mostly, he would be laughing at her while rolling around in the bed with the redhead.

She was sipping some of the green tea with lemon that she had made to drink with her carrots and dip when the doorbell rang. She consulted her watch and frowned—nearly eleven-thirty on a Saturday evening.

Much as she had ended up enjoying her evening out with Ted, she hoped it wasn't him. She was certain that she would see him again because, as she wryly acknowledged, he enjoyed talking and in the field in which he worked so did nearly everyone else, she suspected, so a good listener was a valuable find. He had also shared a major confidence with her and that, in itself, would be a strong bond between them. All very nice, but she was looking forward to an hour or so of mindless television, drifting in and out of thoughts of Nick.

She tried to wipe the disgruntled expression from her face as she went to open the front door. She was pretty much prepared to give Ted one cup of coffee, but really nothing else. His urge to confide would have to wait for a more convenient hour.

But when she pulled open the door, it wasn't Ted hovering on her doorstep. It was Nick. Rose was so startled that she remained speechless for a few heart-stopping seconds. It seemed that he made a habit of appearing on her doorstep and sending her into a state of paralysing confusion.

‘What are you doing here?' she demanded coldly. ‘You can't keep just turning up on my doorstep, Nick.'

‘Are you going to invite me in?'

‘No.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because I have better things to do than talk to you.'

‘Aren't you dressed in the wrong clothes for the better things you have in mind?' Wrong approach. This wasn't how things were meant to develop, not that he knew quite how things were meant to develop. He had just known, when he had seen them walking out of the restaurant, wrapped around each other like a couple on the way to the altar, that he had to do something. He couldn't just turn his back and walk away because he would be haunted by her for the rest of his life and that was a consequence he had no intention of accepting. He needed to get her out of his system and he wasn't going to achieve that by antagonising her.

‘I have no idea what you're talking about,' Rose informed him, her voice cooling by several degrees. ‘And I don't like your attitude.'

‘I apologise.'

‘What?'

‘I apologise. I can see your point of view. I show up here, uninvited and unannounced, without so much as a bunch of flowers or a box of chocolates…'

Rose felt the colour crawl into her skin. She didn't know what was going on but there was a lazy warmth in his eyes that made her shiver with a horrible excitement, which she tried valiantly to slap down.

‘What's going on, Nick? Why would you bring me flowers or chocolate?'

‘Let me in, Rose. Give me a chance to explain.' It was an effort keeping his voice smooth and even and controlled because his only thought was that Ted the reformed producer was lurking somewhere inside her house, probably in her
bedroom. True, women on the threshold of a rampant affair didn't usually deck themselves out in track suit bottoms and what looked like an ancient tee shirt from when she was a kid, but who was he to tell? The woman was a law unto herself.