Best of Bosses 2008: In Bed With Her Italian Boss\Taken by Her Greek Boss\Blind Date With the Boss (43 page)

‘But cheer up,' Kim said when she saw Sally's long face. ‘It's not your problem and the boss is a genius at handling this kind of drama.'

‘I'm sure he is.' Sally picked up her handbag, slung its strap
across her shoulder. ‘Actually, I think I might cheer myself up by going to see a film tonight. I need a bit of escapism.'

‘I have nothing special on,' Kim said. ‘Would you like company?'

Sally grinned at her. ‘I'd love it.'

The boss was still away on Friday when the white roses arrived. Sally thought their ivory petals were even more perfect and fragrant than last week's blooms and, in the privacy of the lift, she buried her face in them before she delivered them to Maria Paige on the next floor.

Maria was busy on the phone so Sally put the flowers in the vase, which was once again ready and waiting. She wondered what would happen to them. Would Maria arrange for their delivery to Logan Black's lover? Would she take them home to her house? Or would they sit here, unappreciated, in this empty office for the entire weekend?

Maria remained busy so Sally left quietly, none the wiser.

 

Determined to use the weekend to distance herself from a certain person at work, Sally was rather pleased to see Anna and Steve that evening, even though they were only calling to drop off the children.

‘Oliver's inhaler is in the bag with Rose's nappies,' said Anna, looking unusually pink-cheeked and pretty in a grey silk dress and pearls. ‘He only needs it if he starts to wheeze. Two puffs should do the trick.'

Steve, whose bearlike size was accentuated by a scruffy blond beard, gave his sister a rough hug. ‘Great to see you, little Sal. How are you handling the big smoke?'

‘I've got it licked.' Sally grinned extra-brightly to stifle any urge of Steve's to interrogate her endlessly. He had come to her rescue that night at the dance and she needed to curb his fiercely protective instincts.

‘That boss of yours has a reputation for being a tough nut to crack,' he said.

‘Really?' Sally gave a carefully casual shrug. ‘I'm only on the front desk, so I don't really have much to do with him.'

Fortunately, that seemed to be the right answer. Steve and Anna hurried away and Sally spent the evening reading story books aloud. Oliver didn't wheeze at all and by eight he was settled in the little back bedroom in the bed next to Rose.

Once both children were sleeping like cherubs, Sally went downstairs and read a murder mystery while flipping through television channels, struggling to stay awake until their parents returned, shortly after midnight.

The rest of the weekend, usually Sally's two favourite days of the week, seemed to stretch interminably.

Kim invited her to a friend's housewarming party on Saturday night.

‘The more the merrier,' she said.

Sally knew that she needed to get out and meet young people. One of the exciting things about living in Sydney was the smorgasbord of eligible young men. Sally had hoped to meet all sorts of nice guys. But then Logan Black had fallen in a duck pond and his wet shirt and warm smiles at the team-building workshop had redefined her vision of masculinity.

How silly.

Sillier still was the fact that she couldn't dredge up enough interest in this party. Instead, she cleaned out and sorted Chloe's pantry. She visited a pet shop and thought long and hard about buying a cat for company. She went for several long walks and she sent a falsely bright and chatty email to her parents.

 

The boss returned to the office on Monday.

Sally looked up as the big sliding glass doors parted for a
tall, dark-suited figure and when she saw that it was Logan her heart leapt high and hard. She thought he looked strained and tired.
He definitely needs more than a cup of coffee for breakfast.

He smiled at her—actually smiled—and said, ‘Good morning, Sally.'

Sally again. Not Miss Finch, or Miss Sparrow.

‘Nice to see you back,' she said as cheerfully as she could.

‘Thank you, Sally. It's good to be back.'

Surprised but emboldened by his friendliness, she called after him, ‘I was sorry to hear about the accident in Western Australia.'

At the security doors, Logan paused and turned back to her. ‘Yes, it was bad. But the injured men are in good hands. They should make a full recovery. And we were able to put our minds at rest about our scaffolding.'

‘That's good news for Blackcorp.'

He fumbled in his trouser pocket, then slanted an embarrassed smile in her direction. ‘I seem to have forgotten my swipe card. Could you let me in?'

‘Of course.' Sally's poor heart was close to meltdown as she pressed the buzzer on her desk to operate the security doors. They slid open with a soft swish, but Logan didn't continue through.

Instead, he stood with his hand in his trouser pocket and he stared at the foyer's marble flooring with a thoughtful frown, and the doors gently closed again. Sally was about to press the buzzer for a second time when he retraced his steps to her desk. ‘Sally, I have a question.'

‘Yes?' She couldn't help adding, ‘I happen to know that you're rather good at asking questions.'

He responded with another small smile. ‘I need a little help with something. Would it be possible for us to meet here at five this evening? I won't keep you long.'

Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged. Had she forgotten to breathe?

Logan frowned at her. ‘Is that a problem?'

‘Oh, no.' At last she found her voice but it was rather squeaky. ‘No, it's no problem. Five o'clock is fine. Absolutely.'

‘Wonderful.' He offered a brief dip of his dark head. ‘I'll see you then.'

He crossed again to the security door and waited and Sally thought how totally, deliciously handsome he looked with his shiny black hair and his lovely dark eyes, his sharp white shirt and classic suit. And she knew exactly how beautiful his body was beneath that superfine clothing. Broad shoulders, deep chest, narrow hips, long powerful legs.

‘Sally?' Faintly bemused, he glanced back at her. ‘The door?'

‘Oh, sorry.' Blushing profusely, she pressed the buzzer to let him through.

F
ORTUNATELY
,
it was a busy Monday morning. Sally was too occupied with telephone calls, courier deliveries, bags of mail and visitors arriving for important meetings to spend much time wondering what kind of help the boss could possibly require from her.

But the question was there, lurking in the back of her mind, along with an uneasy suspicion. Why the boss's sudden interest in her? She knew enough about human nature to understand that when someone changed from being aloof and dismissive to attentive and charming there had to be a hidden agenda.

Logan Black wanted something. From her.

But why did he need a special meeting? Why couldn't he have asked her straight out, or sent an email?

At lunch time in the park, while pigeons hovered, eyeing sandwich crusts, Sally wished she could share the boss's puzzling request with Kim. Instead, she fished for information about his white roses.

‘I suppose they must be for someone special,' she suggested.

Kim pulled a face as she threw a crust that brought pigeons fluttering and swooping like paper in a whirlwind. ‘I doubt it.'

‘Why do you say that?'

‘He seems to have a string of women. All high-flyers—
businesswomen, politicians, lawyers. Every time his photo's in the paper he's with someone different. The white roses must be for his current favourite.'

‘You mean they all get the same treatment? How unimaginative!' Sally's vehemence surprised her.

Kim laughed. ‘Give the man a break. He's a mere male. We can't expect too much.'

‘So true,' Sally said with a sigh. But now she felt more confused than ever. At the workshop last week, when she had suggested to Logan that there was someone special in his life, he hadn't denied it. But Kim was confident that he had a procession of women.

She should be pleased about either possibility, of course. At least she now knew exactly where she stood.

Completely out of the picture.

Maria Paige rang shortly after lunch. ‘Are you very busy, Sally?'

‘Not especially.'

‘Mr Black would like an up-to-date file of all the media coverage of Blackcorp's activities. It's a matter of searching on the Internet for articles in newspapers and mining magazines published over the last couple of months. Do you think you could manage that?'

‘Sure. I can do it now if you like.'

‘Wonderful. Could you make a file of the articles and then email them through to me?'

‘No problem.'

As Sally turned to her computer and clicked on a search engine, she wondered if this was the ‘help' Logan had wanted to discuss with her. Perhaps he'd mentioned it to Maria Paige, suggesting that it was a task suitable for Sally. Perhaps Maria had jumped in and asked Sally first to prove how super-efficient she was?

Sally was happy to do the task, but the possibility that there wouldn't be anything left to discuss with Logan at five o'clock took the shine off her afternoon.

It was interesting, however, to discover how many news stories and articles had been written about Blackcorp. By the end of the day, she had a much better grasp of the huge range of mining ventures the company supported, as well as Blackcorp's role in many industry innovations, their outstanding annual profits and the soaring value of BMC shares. It was all a little overwhelming.

Shortly before five, she sent an email with the file she'd created through to Maria, then waited nervously for the boss. He arrived at her desk at four and a half minutes past the hour.

‘I hope I haven't kept you waiting.'

‘No, not at all. I've just sent the media file through to Maria.'

Logan looked puzzled. ‘What media file?'

‘The one you wanted. The last few months' media coverage of Blackcorp.'

‘Really? Maria asked
you
to compile that?'

‘Yes. Was that what you planned to ask me?'

His brow furrowed as he shook his head, clearly puzzled. Then he looked at her and the frown disappeared. ‘No, my question has nothing to do with work.'

‘Oh.' The single syllable was almost more than Sally could manage. She stood very still, hardly daring to breathe.

Logan smiled another of his rare surprise-attack smiles. ‘I'd rather not discuss it here. Do you have time for a drink? There's a quiet bar around the corner.'

Sally's sense of bewilderment deepened. This couldn't be a date, could it? Surely the boss didn't want to add her to his string of women?

Watching her, the lines at the sides of Logan's eyes crinkled. ‘I promise I won't keep you long.'

‘Right.' Sally gathered up her handbag and hoped he didn't notice that she was shaking. ‘Let's go.'

Out on the street, the afternoon had turned gloomy and grey clouds pressed low to the tops of the city buildings. Rain threatened and the temperature had dropped and Sally hadn't brought a coat, so she was doubly glad that Logan hadn't exaggerated—the bar was, indeed, just around the corner.

Logan pushed open the gilt-framed heavy glass door and ushered Sally inside and, as the door closed behind them, the roar and beeping of peak hour traffic disappeared and they were enveloped by warmth and luxury.

The bar was unexpectedly large inside, with parquet flooring and Oriental rugs, timber panelling and plush leather armchairs. The waiters were dressed like butlers and Sally felt as if she were walking into an exclusive men's club. At first she thought all the customers were men in dark business suits, but then she realised that there were several women, also dressed in dark business suits, with serious, businesslike expressions to match.

In her pale grey suit and rose-pink top with a beaded neckline, Sally felt girlish and frivolous by comparison.

‘Let's sit here,' Logan said, indicating two deep leather armchairs and a low polished table in a quiet corner. Sally sat very carefully, as she'd been taught years ago in deportment classes, knees together, feet tucked neatly, so that her legs didn't draw inappropriate attention.

A waiter approached them.

‘What would you like to drink?' Logan asked her. ‘Do you like wine?'

‘Yes, thanks. Red or white, I don't mind.'

He ordered Cabernet Sauvignon for both of them and then, as the waiter left, he confessed, ‘I know you must be wondering why on earth I've dragged you here.'

‘I must admit I can't imagine why you'd need my help.'

He released a button on his jacket and let it swing open to reveal rather a lot of pale blue, very fine shirt.

Looking utterly relaxed, he said, ‘My sister appealed to me to donate money to the Children's Hospital. Her husband's a doctor and she's a physiotherapist and it's a cause dear to their hearts.'

A donation to a hospital?
Sally couldn't imagine where this conversation was heading.

Logan continued. ‘Carissa, my sister, can be extraordinarily persuasive. She spent a few minutes talking to me about very sick children and I found myself writing a cheque with too many zeroes. But, as it turns out, I was actually buying tickets in a raffle.'

‘Oh, dear.' Sally smiled and leaned forward, intrigued. ‘So what did you end up with?'

‘Tickets to the Hospital Ball and the honour of making a fool of myself on the dance floor with Diana Devenish.'

A ball…a dance floor…
Sally's heart took off like a startled possum.
Get over it, girl, get a grip. You're not going to be there.

She swallowed. ‘Isn't Diana Devenish a television breakfast show personality?'

‘The one and only.'

More calmly, she said, ‘I remember reading that she won a celebrity dancing competition on television.'

‘That's right.'

‘And they expect you to dance with her?'

‘Exactly.'

‘But you can't dance. You told me last week that you're absolutely hopeless.'

The waiter chose that exact moment to arrive with their wine and Sally blushed when she realised that he must have overheard her comment.
When will I ever learn to watch what I say?

Logan, however, looked more amused than angry and the very discreet waiter showed no sign that he'd heard her.

When they were alone again, Logan smiled and raised his glass. ‘Here's to team-building.'

‘To team-building.' Sally's faint response betrayed her confusion. She took a small sip of the wine, which was very dark and full-bodied and smooth. She was sure it had cost a small fortune. ‘Lovely,' she said.

‘It's not a bad drop.'

She still had no idea where this conversation was heading, so she set the glass down. She had to keep her wits about her.

Logan said, ‘As you so rightly remembered, I'm absolutely clueless about dancing.' With a rueful smile, he took another sip of his wine.

‘I don't suppose you can wriggle out of this?'

‘Not without upsetting a lot of people, including my brother-in-law on the Hospital Board.'

‘Well, the Children's Hospital is a very good cause,' Sally said, thinking of little Oliver and his problem with asthma. ‘And I'm sure you'll be fine. No one will expect you to perform like Fred Astaire.'

Logan laughed. ‘There's absolutely no chance of that.'

Sally smiled. But then she made the mistake of picturing Logan Black on a dance floor, and then, more foolishly, she imagined herself in his arms. And suddenly the bad memories were back—Kyle Francis holding her down, the smell and the taste of earth and male sweat. His hands hurting her. She felt a rush of panic and struggled to breathe as fear gripped her throat.

Fortunately, Logan didn't appear to notice her distress. ‘Even without the burden of great expectations,' he said smoothly, ‘I'd rather not trample all over Diana Devenish's expert toes.'

Sally nodded stiffly.

Logan's long fingers twisted the stem of his wineglass. ‘I don't cherish the idea of making a complete and utter fool of myself in front of Sydney's finest.'

‘You could have lessons,' Sally suggested, feeling more nervous by the second. She felt uncomfortably confused too. She still had no idea why her boss was taking her into his confidence.

Watching her, he said, ‘I'll certainly need lessons. That's where you come in, Sally.'

‘Me?'

‘I was hoping to call on your expertise.'

‘I—I don't understand.' A pulse in her throat began to beat like the wings of a trapped bird.

‘When we were talking the other day, you told me that you were barely out of the cradle before you started dancing at Outback balls with all your brothers.'

‘Oh—w-well, yes, that's true.'

‘So I assume you're a very good ballroom dancer?'

Sally's eyes widened with shock. ‘I—I'm not bad.'

‘I was hoping you could teach me.'

Whack.

The impact of his words exploded inside her, shooting sparks like a firework.

‘I've shocked you,' Logan said, watching her carefully.

Sally reached for her wine. ‘You've certainly surprised me.' Surprised? She was fighting panic. To teach her boss to dance would be stressful enough without the horrible memories that haunted her.

‘It's for a good cause,' Logan said. ‘You'd be helping sick children like your nephew. The one with asthma. And many others who are much worse off. I can't imagine what it would be like to have your childhood blighted by severe illness.'

It was a very good cause. Sally couldn't deny that, but she couldn't let go of her fear at the thought of dancing. With
Logan. Her heart was racing. Her skin was bathed with perspiration and her throat had closed over.

Logan said, with a smiling shrug, ‘I'd be willing to pay you, of course.'

At the mention of money, Sally blinked.
He should hire a professional.
There had to be hundreds of professional dance teachers in Sydney and Logan could hire any one of them. They would provide him with the expert coaching he needed and the added bonus of complete anonymity. And she would be spared the ordeal.

But Logan's sister might have suggested professional classes already. And, even if she hadn't, Sally knew that Logan's request was a perfect opportunity to conquer her fear once and for all.

When she was eleven she'd fallen from a horse. She'd been winded and hurt and, even now, when she thought about it, she could still remember the pain of bruised ribs and the taste of the red dust in her mouth. But, despite her skinned knees and bruises, her father had insisted that she must get straight back in the saddle.

She'd sensed then, at that tender age, that if she hadn't followed her father's advice, she might have developed a fear of horses that could have turned into a debilitating phobia.