Best of Bosses 2008: In Bed With Her Italian Boss\Taken by Her Greek Boss\Blind Date With the Boss (46 page)

‘I'm afraid they overestimate me, Sally. I'm not given to daft romantic gestures. The women I date never expect anything like that.'

Sally opened her mouth. Shut it again, then frowned. Unhappily, she said, ‘But you let the rumour spread.'

‘Look, Sally, for a start, a boss shouldn't get involved in office gossip.' He chanced a smile. ‘Secondly, why spoil a good story with the truth? More importantly, Hattie is family. She's none of Blackcorp's business.'

‘So why did you take me to see her?'

It was a very fair question. Logan wished he could offer a definitive answer. His decision had felt instinctive, but he'd never been an intuitive type, so taking Sally to visit his grandmother on a whim had been completely out of character.

Almost everything he'd done since he met Sally was out of
character. He would have to rectify that. Very soon. But right now he could think of no plausible explanation to offer her except the simple truth. ‘I knew you two would get on well.'

Sally considered this and said after a bit, ‘OK, maybe you were right about us hitting it off. Hattie's an absolute darling. But if you've never taken any of your…um…female friends to see her before, aren't you worried that she might read deeper significance into my visit?'

With the twenty-twenty vision of hindsight, Logan had to agree. He'd taken one look at Hattie's animated delight and he'd known that his impulse to bring Sally was foolish. But their dancing class had cast some kind of spell on him and the impulsive invitation had made perfect sense at the time.

Later, he'd been attacked by doubts, but then he'd applied logic and had come up with the same answer. Sally Finch got on well with everyone. With her gift for making friends, she would brighten his grandmother's life and give the poor old girl the lift she needed.

It wasn't much fun for an intelligent, lively woman who'd had a passion for life and a brilliant artistic career to end up in a nursing home. But Hattie couldn't live alone any more and she couldn't stay with Logan's parents. She'd never got on with his father. And she hadn't wanted to impose herself on either Logan or Carissa.

Now his parents were travelling around Australia in their caravan—doing the lap of honour, as his mother called it. Carissa was busy with her career and her family and Logan had assumed the responsibility of keeping an eye on Hattie.

Until tonight, he'd always visited her alone. So taking Sally had been something of a risk. Crazy, no doubt.

In the car's darkened interior, he sent her a repentant smile. ‘You deserve an apology. I'm sorry. My bad joke misfired. I should have explained about Hattie.'

‘I'm just embarrassed that she assumes we're a couple.'

‘I'll resolve that confusion next time I see her.'

If Logan expected this to soothe Sally, he was out of luck. With a little huff of annoyance, she crossed her arms and then her legs and sat very stiffly, staring away from him through the passenger window.

The view of her legs, revealed by a short black skirt and encased in sheer tights, became a traffic hazard and he manfully kept his attention on the road.

 

He had reserved a table at his favourite restaurant, nestled close to the water in a cove of Sydney Harbour. As always, he was greeted like an old friend by Marco, the head waiter, who didn't mind at all that he and Sally were late. He showed them to their table, set by a huge window.

It was a rare pleasure to watch the delight in Sally's face when she saw the view of the water and sparkling reflections, the lights of the harbour bridge and the city beyond.

Marco seemed to enjoy watching her too and, as he whisked out her table napkin and set it on her lap, he sent Logan a silent, wide-eyed,
Wow!

Logan had to remind himself that this wasn't a real date. He was only bringing Sally here because he owed her for the lessons.

It helped to remember that Sally wasn't his type. She was warm and generous and lovely—distractingly lovely tonight in her little black dress—but she was also an idealist and a hopeless romantic.

Until he'd achieved his long-term business goals, he simply couldn't afford to become entangled with a girl like her. Tonight, he would be polite and distant, offering courtesy and friendliness, but extra careful to keep everything on a strictly business level.

‘This is a gorgeous restaurant.' Sally smiled her approval
as she took in details of the clean and restrained décor, the crisp white tablecloths, the pale timber floors and modern lighting.

‘The chef here is superb,' he told her, sending a salute to the busy open-plan kitchen. ‘He's French, but the menu is very cosmopolitan and there's always a good selection.'

Sally studied the menu carefully and her brow furrowed more deeply as she progressed.

Logan wondered what was wrong. Carefully, he asked, ‘Does anything there take your fancy?'

‘It all sounds lovely, but everything's so expensive. The fee for one dancing class might buy me a bowl of soup, but not much more.'

Good grief.
Was she serious?

He caught a wicked gleam in the china-blue eyes watching him over the menu and knew she was teasing, was surprised by how much this delighted him.

‘Let me see,' he said, poker-faced. ‘I'd estimate that this dinner should cover the cost of one, maybe two lessons.'

Lowering her gaze to the menu, Sally replied serenely, ‘But we'd better not have wine. That would push the price way too high.'

‘Unless you escorted me to the ball as well.'

The menu slipped from Sally's hands as quickly as the colour left her cheeks. ‘You can't mean that.'

She was right. Logan couldn't believe he'd made such a reckless suggestion. He was never impulsive!

‘Look,' he said, exasperated by his inability to remain sensible and composed in this woman's presence, ‘let's forget about the ball for now. It's Friday evening and it's getting late and we're hungry. I'd like to enjoy a pleasant meal and I've invited you to share it with me. Let's leave it at that.'

‘Right,' Sally said with surprising meekness.

He thought he'd dampened her spirits then, so he was
relieved that they enjoyed a very pleasant evening. The meal began with an excellent vichyssoise soup, followed by a schnitzel pan fried with parmesan for Sally, who thought it was ‘fabulous', while Logan had a superb Greek lamb dish. For dessert he chose a chocolate pot and Sally a light lemon tart.

While they ate, they talked sensibly about places they'd visited, books they'd read and movies they'd seen. Logan found himself laughing at some of Sally's witty observations and there were times when he had to remember to stop smiling. But for the most part they shared a safe and impersonal conversation. He thanked heavens that Sally had got the message that this was payment and not a date.

The only hiccup arrived with their coffee, when the dashing French chef, Michel, brought an extra coffee cup and joined them at their table.

Michel was an old friend of Logan's and he'd developed a ritual of sharing coffee with him towards the end of the evening, when the pace in the kitchen slowed and could be dealt with by minions. Logan usually enjoyed his friend's company.

But tonight, Michel, with his Frenchman's love of romance, took a long look at Sally and Logan knew there'd be trouble.

The chef's dark eyes flashed a thousand fervent signals as he bent low to kiss Sally's hand. ‘Enchanted to meet you,
mademoiselle
,' he murmured in his sexiest accent.

Sally was incredibly flattered, of course, and Logan struggled with a ridiculous urge to tell his good friend to get lost.

‘You're a sensational chef,' Sally told Michel. ‘The food tonight was divine.'

Michel pressed a melodramatic hand to his heart. ‘My constant inspiration is the knowledge that a beautiful woman like you will be eating my food.'

Sally laughed and then she shot Logan a telling glance. ‘I guess you must come here often.'

‘My friend has superb taste,' Michel said, giving Logan's shoulder an enthusiastic thump.

‘And I dare say he provides you with lots of inspiration,' Sally suggested silkily, ‘via his companions.'

There was a mischievous glint in Sally's eyes, but Logan glared at her.

Michel guffawed and clapped his hands. ‘Ah, but tonight my good friend has surpassed himself.'

‘Be careful, Michel.' Logan was compelled to set the record straight. ‘Sally is a colleague and tonight's dinner is a—a business dinner.'

Throwing up his hands in horror, Michel cried, ‘A business dinner on a Friday night? What a terrible thought. Logan, I thought you were much more sensitive than that.'

Despite his discomfort, Logan managed to grin. ‘OK, mate, I won't insult you. It's impossible to discuss business with such amazing food as yours.'

‘So, Sall
ee
,' Michel said, adding charming emphasis to the second syllable, ‘what do you think? Was your mind totally focused on business tonight? Or were you swept away by my brilliance in the kitchen?'

‘Oh, from the moment I stepped through the door, I was totally,
totally
swept away.'

‘Yes, yes!' Michel grinned widely and leapt to his feet. ‘You see, Logan. This wonderful woman, she understands. And I was watching from the kitchen, you know.' He tapped the side of his arrogant French nose with a long forefinger and grinned. ‘We all know that this was no business dinner.'

If Michel saw Logan's gritted teeth and clenched jaw, he made no sign, but perhaps the chef knew he'd played this to the hilt and that it was time to depart. Taking Sally's hand, he kissed it once more, gave Logan a parting salute, then abruptly returned to his kitchen.

‘Bit over the top, wasn't he?' Logan muttered when they were alone once more.

‘I guess he's allowed to be when he produces such fabulous food.'

‘I thought you might have been embarrassed that yet another person latched on to the wrong idea about us. It's annoying when we've both been clear from the start that this wasn't a date.'

She didn't meet his gaze, gave a small shrug. ‘I don't think we've done anything or said anything tonight that crossed the line between a business arrangement and a date, do you?'

‘No, no, of course not.'

Eyes still lowered, Sally fiddled with the napkin on her lap.

Anxious that the evening didn't end on a bad note, Logan tried to make amends. ‘It's all a game with Michel. He's French and he's a hopeless romantic. He likes to think his little restaurant can turn total strangers into lovers at one sitting.'

Sally offered a tiny smile. ‘Don't worry. I was joking about being carried away. I know very well that it takes more than a dinner date for two people to fall in love.'

Logan was sure that this comment should have given him comfort, but was dismayed that he felt even worse.

O
UTSIDE
the restaurant, a chilling breeze whipped at Sally's hair and she wished she felt happier after such a magical evening. She'd adored every moment of Logan's company, and she'd watched him relax, had seen the way his gorgeous smile lingered more and more often, had seen the glow in his eyes when he'd looked at her.

It had seemed such a fitting sequel to earlier this evening, when Logan had taken her to meet Hattie and he'd shown her the softer side she'd always suspected. Better still, he hadn't tried to hide his pleasure that his grandmother liked Sally. And now it appeared that he wasn't in a serious relationship with another woman.

Barriers had been tumbling left and right and, at some deeply intuitive level, Sally had sensed that this evening had been special for both of them. No matter how loudly they tried to deny it, strong threads of attraction had been drawing them closer and closer.

But at the end, with the chef's arrival, the delicate balance had been upset. It was as if she'd been weaving a wonderful fiction, but had suddenly been forced to face bald facts.
Wake up, Sally Finch! Tonight has been a fairy tale. The boss and his front desk girl are not going to have a meaningful romance.

Now, as the lights of the restaurant narrowed to yellow dots in the distance, the truth of her situation became plainer to Sally. She'd finally become relaxed and confident around her boss, but somehow, in the process, she'd forgotten that he was unattainable. She was playing out of her league.

The annoying thing was that deep down she
had
known that. She and Logan were poles apart and a country bumpkin, newly arrived in the big smoke, could not expect to capture the heart of a high-flying corporate executive. Sydney was overflowing with women who operated on Logan's wavelength, business and professional women with a great deal more to offer a man than mere chatting and dancing skills.

Sally had no chance of competing. It would take years and years of city life before she developed the finely honed sophistication and fashion know-how of the women who'd been born and bred here.

So what if Logan had been relaxed and happy this evening? Dinner and pleasant conversation did not mean that she and the boss were an item.

Now, as they walked beside the harbour to the parked car, their tense silence seemed to magnify the sounds of the night. Footsteps on paving stones. Waves from the wake of a boat slap-slapping against the harbour's rock wall. The blast of a ferry's horn, warning that it was about to leave Circular Quay.

A fresh burst of wind gusted across the inky water, making Sally shiver.

‘You're cold,' Logan said. ‘Here, have my jacket.' Gallantly, he ignored her protests that it wasn't far to the car and he slipped his jacket around her shoulders.

‘Thanks,' she whispered and a high voltage thrill zapped through her when the silky lining settled intimately over her shoulders. The silk was warm from Logan's body heat and the
very thought that
his
hunky torso had been inside this garment robbed her breath and made her head spin.

Running footsteps erupted on the pavement behind them and Logan, immediately alert, kept his arm protectively around her. But their pursuers turned out to be a group of young people, running and laughing to catch the last ferry. Logan's arm remained there and Sally thought there was every chance her knees might give way before they reached the car.

‘Keep the jacket on,' he said as he opened the car door for her.

She looked up and her breathing faltered when she saw his face in the faint moonlight.

This isn't a date. He's out of my league.

Nevertheless, the emotion shimmering in Logan's eyes stole Sally's breath. A shadow fell as he dipped his head closer and she knew that he was going to kiss her.

Her senses reached out to him. Instinctively, she lifted her lips just a fraction…

‘Sally,' he whispered and his dark gaze devoured her, roving from her hair to her eyes, to her mouth, her white throat.

His hand lifted to touch her hair and Sally held her breath. Her blood hummed with anticipation. Every cell in her waited…

But then she saw sadness—unmistakably—in his eyes. With a gruff, thick-throated sound, he dropped his hand and stepped back abruptly.

Mortified, Sally scrambled into the car and pulled the door shut before Logan could attend to it. Fighting silly tears of disappointment, she scolded herself for being so foolish. Of course she understood that Logan couldn't kiss her. How could he when they'd both spent the entire evening making a song and dance about the fact that he was her boss and this was not a date?

When they reached her house, he walked her to the door, but she didn't ask him in.

‘Thanks for your jacket,' she said as she handed it to him. ‘And thanks for a lovely evening.'

‘My pleasure, Sally. Thanks for your company.' About to return to his car, he said, ‘I should have checked my diary. I'll let you know on Monday about the next lesson. Is that all right?'

If she was sensible, she would have told him that she couldn't manage any more dancing lessons. She was quite sure she couldn't endure more time alone with him. But he'd just bought her a lavish meal. And, honestly, even though she knew it was pointless to love him, how could she bear to give him up?

‘Sure,' she said softly. ‘You still need some more polish. Let me know on Monday.'

When he reached her front gate, she called, ‘Have a good weekend.'

‘Thanks, Sally. You, too.'

As she went inside, she thought,
I'm not sure that's possible.

 

Memories of that moment when Logan had
almost
kissed her reverberated in Sally's awareness all weekend. As a distraction, she invited Anna and the children over for Sunday lunch and afterwards they all went to a park by the harbour, played on the swings, fed the ducks and generally had a good time. Sally fought off memories of that time she'd seen her boss playing in the park with his nephews.

On Monday morning, Logan arrived at Blackcorp with his mobile phone welded to his ear. He gave Sally a hurried nod as he sped past her, then disappeared.

So…it was business as usual.
What else did I expect?

She was a fool to be disappointed.

Maeve bounced in with a smile that spread from ear to ear. She and her geologist had spent a weekend away in the Blue Mountains and it had been
so-o-o
romantic. Sally tried not to feel jealous, with little success.

Maeve was in the middle of describing a marble spa bath set in a bay window overlooking the Megalong Valley when Maria Paige swept through the security door.

Sally couldn't explain why, but something about the boss's PA bothered her. She always felt on edge whenever Maria was around.

Pushing past Maeve, as if she were invisible, Maria dumped a pile of computer disks on the desk in front of Sally. ‘Can you be a darling, Sally, and download these on to a file on your computer?'

A darling?
Sally choked back an exclamation. What was this about? She knew her job description didn't include working under the direction of Logan's personal assistant. Just the same, she wanted to please this woman. Maria was the only person in the company who sent off negative vibes and Sally certainly didn't want to make an enemy of her.

‘Don't look so worried, Sally. I just need a backup. For security.'

‘Of course. I'll get on to it straight away.'

With a thin smile, Maria spun around and, ignoring Maeve again, marched back through the security door.

Maeve watched in silence until she'd gone, then gave an expressive roll of her eyes. ‘It might be wise to remember that you're a very small finch.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘That one's a predator, and a dangerous one at that.'

‘Oh, come on, Maeve. That's a bit mean. Maria's a bit sharp, but I suspect she's under a lot of pressure, working for someone like Logan…I…I mean Mr Black.'

Maeve shook her head slowly. ‘I've been watching that woman for two years and I'm still waiting for her to pounce. You be careful with her, my girl.'

She tapped her nose knowingly and walked on, but her
warning echoed like a menacing alarm bell as Sally loaded the first disk and started saving Maria's files.

In the middle of the afternoon, however, any niggles of disquiet about Maria's request flew out of her head when the boss telephoned.

‘I hope this isn't too late notice, but would tomorrow evening suit you for another dancing lesson?'

Sally knew she should give him an excuse. Could she really go through another night of self-torture? Perhaps she should tell him she was babysitting Oliver and Rose.

But it would be a lie and Sally was terminally honest. Logan needed at least one more lesson. How could she let him down?

Miserably aware that she was inviting another round of heartache, she assured him that Tuesday evening was fine.

 

This wasn't working.

Halfway through the second dancing lesson, Logan's concentration was shot to pieces.

It was crazy, really, because tonight's session should have been so much easier than the first one. Not only had he one or two clues about waltzing now, but Sally had been considerate enough to abandon the dangerous low-backed yellow dress in favour of a simple T-shirt and boyish jeans.

Her shirt was high-necked with long sleeves, so Logan was spared the distraction of her bare, soft and silky skin. But, even though she was clothed from neck to toe, Sally Finch still provided far too many distractions. Logan's fingers could sense the supple warmth of her through the T-shirt's thin fabric, could smell her clean hair, her fresh, fragrant skin.

This close, she made him too painfully conscious of the lush invitation of her lips, smiling mere inches from his.

But the worst torment came from his own clumsiness,
which caused him to bump, every so often, against her. Each brush against Sally was like a teasing promise, each brief point of contact a burning fiery brand.

If this went on much longer, Logan feared he might self-combust.

In the past, if he'd been aroused by a woman, he would have moved swiftly to seduce her. In the past, he'd always been able to steer his desires towards suitable women who were as pragmatic as he was about balancing their desires with the demands of their careers.

In the past, Logan had not met Sally.

Sweet, warm and dangerous Sally.

He feared, at some deeply primitive level, that if he took Sally to his bed, he would want to keep her there for ever. And that wasn't part of the game plan.

‘Logan, lead with your body, not with your feet,' Sally's voice commanded from somewhere below his ear.

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. If he led with his body, he would bump into her again.

‘Look to the left to watch where you're going.'

Logan looked to his left and he twirled her as lightly and deftly as he could.

‘Smile!' cried Sally.

‘I can't.'

That
was asking too much.

To his relief, the music they'd been dancing to came to an end and Sally stopped. ‘That was great, wasn't it?'

‘Do you think so?' He was sure he'd made next to no progress.

‘Oh, yes.' She spoke soothingly—a teacher calming an over-anxious pupil. ‘I think you've almost mastered the waltz.'

Crossing to the player plugged into the wall, she said, ‘Have you thought about any other dances you'd like to learn?'

‘Other dances?'

‘You're going to spend an entire evening at the ball and you can't waltz the whole time.'

‘But I'm only dancing the one dance for the charity.'

‘Oh, Logan, don't be silly. You can't stand out for the whole evening.'

‘Can't I?'

‘Everyone else will be dancing. Your partner will expect you to dance with her. That's what balls are all about.'

Exactly. And he'd been tardy about finding a partner for this function. Apart from the fact that he thought of it as an ordeal that had to be endured, he'd delayed his invitation because no one on his usual list of female companions had
felt
right. Carissa had rung at the weekend to warn him, somewhat heatedly, that he was running out of time.

Sally fiddled with the player, pressing buttons until she found different music. A bright and modern and up-tempo sound erupted, filling the room with its brassy, foot-tapping beat.

Swaying and nodding in time to it, Sally sent him a cheeky grin. ‘What about trying a little of the old disco shuffle? Just to loosen up? You've been to nightclubs, surely?'