Best of Bosses 2008: In Bed With Her Italian Boss\Taken by Her Greek Boss\Blind Date With the Boss (42 page)

He glanced again at the question sheet. Without looking at Sally, he said, ‘But I must admit that my recent impressions have been more favourable than my first one.'

Sally was rather pleased that he didn't look up to see her blush.

‘And now it's your turn.' He smiled at her gently. ‘Don't be too brutal.'

‘And risk getting sacked?' She gave a shaky laugh. ‘I wouldn't dare.'

‘But there's no point in being dishonest.'

Sally swallowed, took a deep breath. ‘OK. My first impression was that you were—er—very big and dark.' When his expression remained blank she quickly added, ‘And I also got the strong impression that you didn't like children.'

‘Good heavens.' He looked genuinely shocked.

‘You were holding poor little Rose away from you as if she might be infectious.'

He dismissed this with a shrug. ‘I'm not used to babies.'

‘Since then, of course, I've realised that was wrong. You're wonderful with your nephews.' She waited for him to frown or show displeasure that she'd mentioned this. When he did neither, she said bravely, ‘I've noticed that you're always super-busy and nearly always very serious.'

‘That's true.'

‘I thought you might not be very happy. Perhaps a bit lonely.'

He frowned at her.

‘But then the roses arrived,' she said carefully.

‘Roses?'

‘The white roses that come every Friday.'

‘Oh, yes, of course.'

‘And I realised there must be someone very special in your life.'

A faint smile tilted the corners of his mouth.

‘And, if that's the case—' She paused and swallowed. ‘If there is someone special, then I'm sure you
must
be happy.'

His eyes, as he regarded her, were so thoughtful that Sally wondered what she'd said wrong. She glanced down quickly. ‘What's the next question?'

‘Who do I remind you of? And why?'

‘Oh, yes.' She'd never really known many men from the
city. There'd been that one, of course, who'd caused her so much grief. But he'd been oozing smiles and pseudo-charm and Logan, thank heavens, was absolutely nothing like him.

‘Actually, you remind me of quite a lot of people,' she said eventually. ‘Men I've grown up with. Graziers, head stockmen, gun shearers. You have the same kind of confidence and inner drive. I'm guessing that you're very goal oriented.'

‘And I'd say you're right.'

‘My first impression wasn't accurate at all,' she admitted. ‘You were very different—' She paused and took a deep breath. Perhaps she shouldn't mention how he'd looked during that memorable moment just before he'd fallen in the pond. Or this morning when he'd been talking about music. Instead, she said, ‘I think you have a softer side that you try to hide.'

Predictably, Logan frowned again.

‘But that's OK.' Sally knew she was skating on very thin ice, but the workshop was nearly over and she was feeling rather reckless. ‘I guess a boss has to pretend to be tough.'

‘It's not a matter of pretence. A boss
has
to be tough. It goes with the territory.' Logan glanced again at his watch and stood quickly. His eyes took on a kind of hooded hardness. ‘Now, if you'll kindly excuse me, I really must go to this meeting.'

I
T HAD
been the weirdest day.

Logan drove rather recklessly to his meeting, jumping lanes and taking corners too fast as his head reeled from the conversation he'd just had with his newest employee. Team-building was all very well—he had to admit he'd gained a new respect for many employees today—but he couldn't believe he'd revealed so much of his inner self to Sally Finch.

Allowing a glimpse beneath his careful façade was completely out of character. And to the front desk girl of all people!

And then, what cheek on Sally's part to suggest that he was not as tough as he made out. It was utter rubbish!

At the age of fifteen, when his father had gone bankrupt, he'd developed a super-tough outer shell. Since then, he'd hardened even more, had done everything in his power to make sure he never repeated his father's mistakes.

The traffic lights changed to red just in front of Logan, forcing him to brake sharply. Fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel, he watched pedestrians swarm across the crossing—men in business suits, schoolgirls in straw hats and navy-blue uniforms and a family of tourists in jeans and T-shirts.

Through narrowed eyes, Logan watched the tourists—
parents with two kids, a boy and a girl. The father's arm was draped loosely around his son's shoulders and, as they reached the safety of the opposite footpath, they seemed to share a joke.

Logan and his dad had been close like that.

The traffic lights changed again and Logan accelerated. He drove to the meeting on autopilot, his mind lodged in the past, on the lessons he'd learned from his father.

Dan Black had been loved by everyone for his hail-fellow-well-met bonhomie and it went without saying that Logan had also adored him and looked up to him as his hero. During the football season, they'd gone to every home game, the two of them dressed in the red and green colours of their adored team, the South Sydney Rabbitohs.

Back then, Logan had been blissfully unaware of the dangers of his father's impulsive, happy-go-lucky nature. It was only later that he'd understood the perils that came when a man's heart ruled his head.

Dan Black used to joke that he was the most successful businessman he knew who didn't work to a business plan.

Who needs strategies, son? Follow your heart and you'll always be right.

Sure, Dad.

For a while Dan Black had done well in real estate. Until there'd been a downturn. He'd come up with a grand scheme for aquaculture and set up a fish farm on the north coast. Six months later it had been wiped out by disease. Another dream, growing hydrangeas for the cut flower market, had been shattered by a hailstorm. Dan hadn't been insured.

The problem was clear to Logan now. His father had never focused on the main game. He'd never been prepared for potential problems, hadn't researched projects carefully, and his cash reserves had always been too low, so he hadn't been able to afford insurance, or to hedge against downturns.

After the final disaster, when Dan had been declared bankrupt, he'd collapsed with a complete nervous breakdown. He'd let his family and his investors down. Friendships had collapsed because Dan had eloquently persuaded pals to invest. Some had actually borrowed money to help him with his disastrous projects.

Logan and his sister had been forced to leave their private schools in the middle of term. Their teachers had been terribly upset, which had only added to their mortification.

Only their mother had adapted quickly to the changes the family had faced. Happily giving up her social life of tennis and bridge parties, she had taken lowly office jobs, intensifying Dan's humiliation by working for their friends.

The lesson for Logan had been crystal clear and painfully personal. Men who led with their hearts rather than their heads brought humiliation and hardship on the people they loved. It was absolutely vital to be disciplined, to put one hundred and ten per cent into studies and planning and business.

To make this happen, Logan had devised his five-year plan. Only when his finances were secure and he'd reached the very top of his game would he relax and allow himself to think about starting a family of his own.

He wondered now, as he drove into an underground car park, if he should have told Sally Finch about his plan. She'd given him the perfect opening when she'd suggested he was goal oriented. Perhaps he should have told her then exactly what his goals were and what he was prepared to give up while achieving them.

That would have stilled her tongue. He doubted she would have continued then about his hidden softness.

In retrospect, he wished he'd been honest, was surprised that he hadn't been.

Then again, he thought with a wry smile, revealing exactly
how tough he was might have snuffed out the dancing lights in Sally's eyes.

A man would have to be criminally insane to do that.

 

That evening, for the first time since she'd come to Sydney, Sally felt strangely unhappy and restless. Lonely too and just a little homesick.

How annoying.

She had been dead set on proving to herself and to her family that she was ‘cured'. And today she'd taken an important step—she hadn't shied away from the conversation about dancing. She should be celebrating. She'd won a major battle with that particular demon.

Actually, she'd achieved many of her goals already. She had an interesting job, money coming in, new friends. Everything would be perfect if her boss were old and grey and happily married with a family.

OK…face the truth, Sally. Logan Black is your problem.

How silly. It was bad enough that she'd been smitten by the boss's good looks ever since that first sight of him on the day she'd applied for the job. But now, after their long and intimate conversations, she couldn't stop thinking about him. Not for a second. He was a man of such intriguing contradictions.

Today she'd caught glimpses into all sorts of interesting facets of his personality.

Stop it, Sally. Stop it now! He's out of bounds.

Promising herself for the hundred and fiftieth time that she would put the boss right out of her mind, she cooked up a big bowl of comforting pasta and poured a glass of white wine. Rather than eating alone at the kitchen table, she took her meal through to the lounge room, where she drew the pretty floral curtains and turned on the pink lampshades.

Usually, this room with its thick cream carpet, its lovely paintings and welcoming cushiony sofas lifted her spirits as soon as she entered it, but tonight the lovely house wouldn't—or couldn't—work its magic.

Sally knew it would be foolish to listen to the Brahms concerto tonight when she was trying, desperately, to forget about Logan Black, but in the end she was too weak to resist the temptation.

Curled in one of Chloe's squishy armchairs, she ate the pasta and drank her wine while the lush sounds of the gorgeous music swelled to fill the room.

I'm an idiot.

She longed for Chloe to be alive and here with her. She could picture her godmother sitting on the sofa in one of her bright kaftans with her silver hair piled gloriously on top of her head, a warm smile at the ready, as she offered sage advice.

But Chloe was gone and Sally was alone and she didn't want to ring her mother. Her mother was too attuned to her every mood and she would know immediately that something was wrong, and Sally was supposed to be proving that she was fine on her own.

With a heavy sigh, she turned her thoughts to Maeve, who was out tonight on a date with her young geologist.

How sensible of Maeve to be going out with one of the many friendly and unattached young fellows at Blackcorp. Sally knew that was exactly what she should be doing. Already, several friendly young men had stopped by her desk.

Why couldn't she have been smitten by one of them instead of dreaming about their aloof and unattainable boss, who hurried past her desk with more important things on his mind and bought white roses for another woman?

To make Sally's downbeat mood worse, the music
reached the especially beautiful passage she'd tried, so inadequately, to describe to Logan today. She remembered the tender expression in his eyes and tears rolled helplessly down her cheeks.

When the phone rang she almost left it, believing herself too maudlin for any kind of conversation. But, at the last gasp, she dived out of her chair, swiped at her damp cheeks and lifted the receiver.

‘Oh, Sally,' cried Anna's voice, ‘I'm so glad you're home. You see, Steve got back today and we were hoping to have a night out while he's on leave. Is there any chance you could mind Oliver and Rose on Friday evening?'

Sally assured her sister-in-law that she'd love to mind the children. And then, wanting to throw off any Cinderella-like sensibilities, she climbed the stairs and filled the bath with hot water and a quarter of a bottle of Chloe's expensive and utterly self-indulgent bath oil.

It was a night for pampering.

 

Logan sat in darkness in his penthouse apartment overlooking Sydney Harbour, watching the spectacle of lights reflected on the silky black water below while he listened to Brahms.

He tried to listen without thinking about Sally Finch. It was crazy that he was still thinking about her. But he kept picturing her here in his apartment, curled comfortably beside him on the sofa, her head resting on his shoulder as they listened to this music together. He imagined running his fingers through her dazzling curls.

Fool.

With an angry cry, he lurched to his feet and stood at the big picture window with his hands plunged deep in his pockets, staring hard at the inky water and the reflections of city lights while he willed his thoughts away from X-rated possibilities.

Sally Finch was an employee and he was a boss who never mixed business with his private life. He'd seen other men follow that course, only to run their businesses off track, or to crash on the sharp and treacherous rocks of office politics.

But, all that aside, Sally wasn't his type. With no professional qualifications, no burning ambition, no long-term plans, she'd drifted into an inheritance and found herself an easy job where she could chat all day.

In fact, she had too much to say.
I thought you might not be very happy.

Her comments still nagged at him.

How could he
not
be happy? His life was at the exact place he wanted it to be. His business plan was on target, he had an enviable apartment with position, position, position. Women—beautiful, intelligent women—found him attractive. He was perfectly happy.

Today he'd told Sally that she reminded him of his sister and he had been dead right. Carissa had said something equally annoying last week when he'd dropped off the boys. She'd tried to lecture him about the women he dated, tried to suggest that he was deliberately choosing women who were career driven. Women who weren't looking for marriage and children.

That was true. So what?

It was an important part of his five-year plan. He couldn't afford to be distracted by the kind of romance his sister wanted for him. Surely she understood his perennial fear? If he took his eye off the ball, he'd make a fatal error of judgement, a bad gamble like his father's, and everything he'd tried so hard to achieve would collapse around him.

But when he'd tried to explain that to Carissa, she'd said:
I'd hate to see you take a gamble with your happiness.

What was it with these women? Why did they think they
had a special gift of second sight that could detect happiness at twenty paces? How could Sally Finch or his sister know anything about his state of mind, his personal level of contentment?

Before Logan could get his head around this quandary, the telephone in the kitchen rang and, with an irritated sigh, he turned the music down and went to answer it.

‘Hi, Logan, it's Carissa.'

Speak of the devil.

‘I know you're probably terribly busy, so I won't beat about the bush. I'm ringing to ask a big favour.'

 

For Sally, it was business as usual at work the next morning. People who'd been at the team-building workshop smiled and greeted her. Maeve was bubbling with happiness—last night's date had been sensational.

Logan gave Sally a brief nod as he hurried past with his phone glued to his ear and then, midmorning, he completely ignored her as he hurried out again, deep in conversation with a consulting engineer. They didn't return for the rest of the day.

Sally, working hard at being sensible, decided she was pleased. Life was much easier when Logan Black didn't talk to her, didn't smile at her.

At five, she was getting ready to leave when Kim told her that some scaffolding, provided by Blackcorp, had collapsed in a big mine in Western Australia. Three men had been injured and the boss and his engineer had flown over to Perth to investigate what had gone wrong and to ensure that the injured men received the very best medical attention.