Best of Bosses 2008: In Bed With Her Italian Boss\Taken by Her Greek Boss\Blind Date With the Boss (37 page)

‘I let you go,' he said quietly, looking directly at her. ‘I let the woman who loved me go.'

Rose didn't want to be reminded of that. ‘I'm not here to blame you, Nick. You did what you had to do and there are no hard feelings. I haven't come to discuss the past.' She made an effort to slide her hand out of his grasp but his fingers tightened on hers, clasping them into submission.

‘I've always thought that love was a complication, something of which I had no need. I enjoyed women but I didn't want them clambering into my private life and interfering with it. My goals were set and there was no place for cosy nights in and joint holidays in Italy with the eventual two point two.'

Which snapped Rose back to the present like a bucket of cold water.

‘No. I gathered,' she said coolly.

‘I was…mistaken…'

It took a couple of seconds for his words to sink in, then her thoughts were adrift, bobbing about in confusion as she tried to assimilate that telling, wrenched remark.

‘I…beg your pardon?'

‘I was mistaken,' Nick said simply. He felt a weight lift off his chest. Whatever dire news she had come to break, then she would know how he felt and it was something he should have said a long time ago. Courage, he was discovering, was something he had measured using all the wrong tools. Courage was this. Telling the only woman he had ever loved that he loved her.

Rose wasn't sure what she was hearing. She knew what she wanted to hear.

‘You're playing games,' she said uncertainly. ‘Please.' This time she succeeded in withdrawing her hand, which she held up because, riveting though his disclosures were, she couldn't trust herself not to start believing them, and hadn't he already made it perfectly clear that he was not in the
business of love? What would he do to get her back into his bed? she wondered. Seduce her with words he knew she wanted to hear?

No. She would say what she had come to say and watch him fall back in horror. Better that than to be lulled into a false sense of security that would be snatched away the minute she broke her news.

‘Just listen to me and stop…confusing me.'

Nick had the cold feeling that he had left things too late. The horse had bolted and, not only had he failed to realise what a treasure he possessed, but he had closed the stable door and returned to the house whistling a merry tune. He deserved to have her walk out on him and never look back. His punishment would be to spend the rest of his life living with his mistake.

‘I…' Now it was her turn to stammer. She took a deep breath and said in one quick rush, closing her eyes to block him out, ‘I'm pregnant. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen, but it has. You don't have to feel responsible. You don't have to feel anything. I came here because I felt you ought to know, not because I wanted anything from you. You're telling me now about mistakes, but I know you for who you are. I don't want money from you; I don't want time from you. I just thought…you should know…'

In a minute she would do the brave thing and open her eyes. The silence lengthened around them and into it she read an assortment of reactions. Eventually, though, she peeped at him and then opened her eyes fully when she realised that he hadn't drawn back in horror.

‘You're pregnant?'

‘I'm sorry,' Rose whispered.

‘You're pregnant.'

‘I realise this is the last thing you want…'

‘I don't believe it.' Nick shook his head in wonderment. It had never occurred to him. How naïve was he? He had lurched from thinking that she had returned because she wanted him, to imagining the worst, that she was ill, perhaps fatally so. But she was carrying his child and he was overwhelmed with a sudden feeling of elation.

He looked at her and grinned.

‘You're…not upset?' she asked cautiously.

‘You're having my baby…' He wanted to sweep her off her feet and swing her around. ‘I love you, Rose. I love you, I can't live without you and now you've given me the best news I could ever have hoped for. Lord, when you walked through that door, with that serious expression, white like a ghost, I thought…I don't know what I thought…that you were going to tell me that you were ill…that I had lost my chance to show you how much you mean to me…'

Rose's brain had registered his declaration of love and had stuck there.

‘If you loved me, why didn't you say something sooner?'

‘Because I didn't understand myself.' Nick smiled wryly at her. ‘You crept up on me and took over my soul and, like an idiot, I still thought that I was in control. When I heard that you had come here, my world fell into place again.'

‘And what if I hadn't come here?' Rose was not going to allow hope to push her headlong over the precipice. ‘Would you have let me disappear?'

‘I could never have done that.' Nick thought about it, thought about his pride, realised that it would have lasted so long and then he would have woken up to the fact that he couldn't live without her. And he wasn't too proud, now, to tell her that and to delight in seeing her wariness finally melt away.

‘And now I'm going to be a father…' God, he felt choked
up. ‘Let's get out of here. I want to celebrate and then I want us to get married.'

‘What, today?' Rose laughed.

‘By the end of the week,' Nick growled. ‘You need looking after and the sooner I get started, the better…'

Blind Date with the Boss

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

S
ALLY
F
INCH
stood before the mirror in the pretty terrace house she had recently inherited and knew she'd made a huge mistake.

So much depended on today's job interview. If she didn't start earning soon, she wouldn't be able to stay in this gorgeous old house that she'd loved since she was six years old. She couldn't start her new life as an independent woman in the city. Bottom line, she couldn't eat!

But as Sally studied the results of this morning's careful grooming, she was swamped by doubts—niggling at first, but growing stronger with every twist and turn in front of the mirror.

Until this moment, she'd been confident that she knew exactly how to dress for a big city interview, but the mirror posed an uncomfortable question. Shouldn't she, at the very least, be able to recognise her own reflection?

What had gone wrong?

She'd woken early in a fever of confident excitement, had sung in the shower, eaten a super-healthy breakfast of fresh fruit and yoghurt in Chloe's cheerful, sun-filled kitchen—she still thought of this house as her godmother's—and then she'd raced upstairs to her bedroom.

The new and too expensive navy-blue dress fitted like a dream. Made from fine merino wool, with a high neckline and
a neat white collar, it fell in straight, slim lines to a softly flared hemline. Its simplicity and neatness, Sally fervently hoped, signalled the very essence of efficiency.

Intent on completing her efficient image, she'd carefully brushed and crammed every wayward wisp of her blonde curling hair under hairpins and into a tight knot at the back of her head.

And then she'd stepped back to appraise the results and saw, with a chilling certainty, that she looked as grim and forbidding as her unforgettable third grade teacher.

How had this happened? The neck to knee navy had looked flattering in the shop. ‘Fabulous' was the word the shop assistant had used.

Now the dress made Sally look too thin.

Admittedly, she had always been on the light side. Her older brothers had teased her about it when she was a skinny kid and she hadn't given two hoots. Dressed in their hand-me-down jeans, sensible cotton shirts and sturdy riding boots, she'd simply been one of the gang, riding horses or quad bikes all over her family's Outback property at Tarra-Binya.

Today, however, at the age of twenty-three and on the brink of life as a city woman, Sally would have loved to show more of her womanly curves.

She wondered what Chloe would have thought of this outfit. Her godmother had had a brilliant sense of style, and an even greater capacity for living life to the full. She'd been sensitive and warm-hearted too and had always said exactly the right thing to make Sally feel good about herself.

That she wasn't here to help Sally phase into city life was almost too much to bear.

Blinking back tears she couldn't afford on such an important morning, Sally tipped her head from side to side and swiftly switched her attention to her hair. Perhaps that was an
even bigger problem than the dress. She'd overdone the efficient image.

After all, her interview at Blackcorp Mining Consultancies was for a front desk job and, if she got it, she would be meeting people all day long. And, although the Human Resources manager at Blackcorp would require efficiency in a receptionist, she would be expecting friendliness too.

Friendliness was Sally's forte. She loved people and loved to chat, had always hoped for a job that involved plenty of talking. But now, as she practised smiling into the mirror, forced a sparkle into her eyes and gave a cheerful flash of her white teeth, she still looked like the Wicked Witch of the West.

That hair knot has to go.

Frantically, she began to rip out hairpins. She didn't really have time to start rearranging her appearance, but she couldn't face her appointment looking like this.

Pins scattered left and right, hitting the glass tray, the polished timber dressing table, the carpeted floor. Sally paid little heed to them as blonde curls bobbed up, like coiled springs, happy to be free again.

The front doorbell rang.

No.

Not now!
Who on earth would be calling at eight o'clock on a Monday morning? She was only halfway through the rescue attempt on her hair.

Unwilling to waste precious time by going all the way downstairs to the door, Sally dashed to the bedroom window, conveniently poised above the front steps. With a flick of the curtain, she could identify her caller.

‘Anna!'

Her sister-in-law was almost jogging on the top step, balancing her young daughter, Rose, on her hip while she pressed the doorbell again.

‘I'm up here,' Sally called.

Anna Finch looked up, her face chalk-white and terrified. Sally's first thought was that something had happened to Steve, her brother, who worked on an oil rig off the Western Australian coast.

Without another word, she left the window and flew down the stairs, her hair problems instantly dismissed.

‘Anna,' she cried as she flung the front door open and encountered a heart-stopping close up view of her sister-in-law's pale cheeks and fearful, worried eyes. ‘What is it? What's the matter? Is it Steve?'

‘No, Steve's fine. It's Oliver. He's having a terrible asthma attack.'

It was only then that Sally saw Anna's blue car parked at the gate and her three-year-old nephew's sad face peering anxiously out at them. Poor little Oliver looked pale and sunken and, even from this distance, Sally could sense that he was struggling to breathe.

‘I rang the doctor's surgery and they told me to take him straight to the hospital,' Anna said.

‘The poor darling. How can I help?'

‘I was hoping you could mind Rose.' As she said this, Anna thrust her chubby young daughter into Sally's arms. ‘Oliver's so frightened and I'm almost as terrified as he is.'

Sally could believe that. Anna was often in a state of high anxiety, one of those mothers who were perpetually worried. And this time she had a real emergency on her hands.

‘I don't think I could manage at the hospital if I had Rose with me as well,' she said.

Sally nearly said,
I have my interview this morning
, but she bit it back. Anna had enough on her plate.

‘I knew you wouldn't mind.' Without checking Sally's response, Anna slipped the strap of a large crimson vinyl bag
from her shoulder and set it on the doorstep. ‘Everything Rose needs should be in here.'

‘Right.' Sally looked at the fifteen-month-old toddler in her arms—all golden hair and sunshiny smiles—and her heart sank. What on earth could she do with Rose while she went to the interview? She was already in danger of running late. And her hopes were pinned on scoring this job. Already, an alarming number of bills had landed in her letter box.

‘You're wonderful, Sal,' Anna said. ‘It's so great having you close by now.' At the bottom of the steps, she seemed to remember something. ‘What on earth have you done to your hair?'

‘Oh.' Sally knew she must look a fright with one half of her hair still in pins. She shrugged and a hysterical little laugh escaped her. ‘It's—it's an experiment. I was trying a new look.'

With an unflattering roll of her eyes and a shake of her head, Anna raced back to her car.

 

Logan Black sat in his office, which was perched like an eagle's eyrie high above Sydney's glittering blue harbour, and spoke smoothly into the phone. ‘I'm sorry to disappoint you, Charles, but I couldn't consider that proposal without—'

Logan stopped in mid-sentence. He wasn't easily distracted from a business conversation, but he could have sworn he'd heard a giggle coming from beneath his desk.

But that was impossible.

Ridiculous.

‘As I was saying, I—' He paused again. This time he'd felt a distinct tug on the lace of his right shoe.

What the devil?

Swivelling in his leather executive chair, he peered into the shadowy depths beneath his enormous cherry wood desk and almost dropped the phone.

A very small child grinned cheekily up at him—a little girl, if Logan guessed correctly—not much more than a baby really. Her face was distinctly impish and she was clutching Logan's shoelace in her tiny pink fist.

Logan cursed and then blustered, ‘How did you get in here?'

‘What's that? What are you talking about?' The CEO of Australia's biggest mining company was suddenly confused and impatient on the other end of the line.

‘Ah—one moment, Charles.' Logan stared down at the tiny intruder. How had a baby materialised in his office? In
his
office—the inner sanctum of the Managing Director of Blackcorp Mining Consultancies? It didn't make sense. The occasional attractive woman might have found her way in here unannounced, but that was another matter entirely.

Surely it was impossible for any trespasser to enter here without being seen. Had the child crawled? Or was she simply so small she'd been out of eye range? Below the radar, so to speak.

With his hand over the receiver, Logan pressed the button connecting him to his PA's desk and, at the same time, he barked, ‘Maria!'

To his dismay, there was no reply from outside and no reassuring female figure appeared at the doorway. To make matters worse, the little trespasser had abandoned Logan's shoelaces and seemed intent on climbing his leg, clasping at the fine wool of his expensive trousers with distinctly sticky paws.

‘Down!' Logan ordered in much the same voice he might have used to scold a wilful puppy.

‘Logan, what the hell's going on?' Charles Holmes's voice thundered into the phone.

‘I'm sorry, Charles.' Eyeing the toddler with an emotion approaching horror, Logan cleared his throat. Where was Maria? ‘Something's—er—come up. An emergency. I'll have
to call you back. I'll email through my suggestions for the changes and then we'll take another look at your proposal.'

As he hung up, Logan scowled at the small person now trying to straddle his knee. Her eyes were dark brown and enormous, like a puppy's, her hair super-fine and shiny gold, her skin soft and pink.

She looked deceptively angelic, smelled of shampoo and was dressed neatly in a pink dress embroidered with ducks. Her shoes were soft leather, her socks clean and white. She had, Logan admitted silently, the noticeable attributes of a child whose mother cared for her. This morning, however, her mother had been noticeably care
less
.

‘Where are your parents?' Logan demanded aloud.

‘Jig-jig!' the baby girl replied, bouncing vigorously on his Italian-shod foot.

‘No, I will not jig-jig.' Gingerly fitting his hands beneath her tiny armpits, Logan lifted her before she could scramble any higher and set her back on the floor. ‘I don't have time to jig-jig. I have a company to run. We need to find your parents.'

Again he pressed the buzzer on his desk and, when there was no answer, he marched to his office doorway and glared at the abandoned PA's desk. If Maria was engaged elsewhere, he would have to call the front desk. Surely someone knew where this child belonged.

Behind him, Logan heard another disturbing giggle.

The little girl was under the desk again, peeking out at him and grinning mischievously, as if they'd begun a new game of hide and seek.

For a moment Logan felt an unexpected warm sensation in his chest. The baby was undeniably cute and he thought of his nephews, his sister's boys. He really should visit Carissa more often.

But he was snapped right out of this uncharacteristic
moment of sentiment when a chubby pink hand reached for the dangling cord attached to his computer.

‘No, kid. No!'

Five years ago Logan had been proud of his rugby tackles, but today, as he hurled himself into a low dive across the office carpet, he knew he was already too slow and too late.