Five Exotic Fantasies: Love in Reverse, Book 3 (2 page)

“I know for a fact you don’t use hairspray. I don’t think Veronica’s hair dare misbehave.”

“Damn straight.” Coco pulled her glasses out of her pocket and slid them onto her nose. She only needed them for reading, but she liked the professorial look they afforded her and tended to wear them most of the time in the office. “There. I hope they’re ready for Miss Stark, because she’s more than ready for them.”

“Strength and honour,” said Amy, putting her fist on her chest in a grand impersonation of Russell Crowe’s Maximus.

“Don’t make me laugh. You know Miss Stark doesn’t smile.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot.”

Coco lifted her chin as they walked toward the large glass doors that marked the entrance to McAllister Dell’s lobby.
I’m Veronica Stark,
she thought.
I run this office. And I’m not going to let Peter Dell and Mr. Felix Fancy Pants ruin my special moment
. No matter what the day threw at her, she’d take everything in her stride, the same as she usually did.

Chapter Two

Felix pushed through the glass doors of McAllister Dell’s impressive building and walked up to the main reception desk. A young woman with dark hair cut in a neat bob smiled up at him from her seat and said, “Good morning. Can I help you?”

“Thank you, yes. Felix Wilkinson from the Auckland office to see Christopher McAllister. I believe he arrived yesterday?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. McAllister’s working in the boardroom this morning—I’ll give him a ring. If you’d like to take a seat.”

Felix smiled at her and walked across to the waiting area. He sat in one of the plush leather chairs, put his briefcase on the polished oak table in front of him and sat back to look around.

Uh-oh,
was his first thought, although he maintained his calm appearance and made sure not to display his surprise and unease. He hadn’t anticipated this. The Wellington offices of his law firm made him feel as if he’d travelled back sixty years or so to the nineteen fifties. They were a stark contrast to the swish, modern branch he originated from.

There, in Auckland, the offices were decorated with cream carpets, stylish chrome-and-glass furniture, and large, colourful abstract paintings on the walls. The huge windows overlooked the busy harbour of the “City of Sails”, and all the lawyers worked with the latest technology, with laptops and iPads, digital voice recorders, and with access to vast online libraries. Felix loved it. He’d been at the firm for five years, worked sixty to seventy hours most weeks and was hoping to make partner soon. He hadn’t been to the Wellington office before. He’d started work at the Bay of Islands branch because that was where his family came from, and he’d visited Christchurch, Dunedin and Nelson, but both times he’d scheduled a visit to Wellington he’d had to cancel, once due to sickness and the second time because his brother had been getting married.

So this was his first visit, and unease bubbled in his stomach at his initial impression. Usually he wouldn’t have thought twice about his surroundings—his head would have been working on the latest case, and he’d have his laptop out in seconds to save wasting time. But his reason for being in Wellington was to investigate the co-founder, Peter Dell, and for that he also needed to investigate the branch itself and its processes.

So far, it didn’t bode well. The other co-founder of the firm, Christopher McAllister—now senior partner of the Auckland branch—had spent time developing policies on sexual harassment and other issues such as equal rights in the workplace and establishing generous maternity and paternity leave. The branch offered a good balance between male and female employees—okay, maybe not quite fifty-fifty, but a good sixty-forty, with an impressive percentage of minority groups represented. The branch’s policies were reviewed regularly and updated accordingly.

From what Felix had read, the Wellington branch’s policies hadn’t been updated for years. And looking around the reception area, he thought he could understand why. From the dark red carpet to the old-fashioned flock wallpaper, from the polished oak table and chairs to the traditional, faded watercolours on the walls and the subtle but unmistakable stale smell of cigar smoke, the furnishings spoke of class and sophistication. They also stank of the old boys’ network, of secret handshakes and deals made over after-dinner brandies in men’s clubs, of the trophy wife at home and secret office affairs, and he didn’t like it one bit. He’d been astonished to read the list of partners and see only one woman among them, with nearly all the females in the branch under thirty and working in the secretarial field.

The setup was unusual for an office in a capital city that was generally seen as modern and advanced, and he could only assume it was mainly due to the influence of the senior partner there, Peter Dell.

That did not bode well for his investigation.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. A week before, Christopher had called him into his office and explained that one of the young secretaries at the Wellington branch, Sasha De Langen, had accused Dell of improper sexual conduct, and by law they had to investigate the matter. Rob Drake, a lawyer in the Wellington branch, had interviewed Sasha and taken a written statement, but Christopher wanted a member of his branch unconnected with Peter Dell to carry out the hearing in the capital city.

Felix had been puzzled as to why Christopher had asked him when he had little experience with harassment issues—his expertise was in family law, with paternity suits, custody battles and restraining orders. But Christopher had explained that was why he’d chosen him—Rob Drake had the harassment background, but Felix was good at understanding people and relationships, and he wanted his unbiased view of things.

Besides, it was pretty much a formality, Christopher had said. A misunderstanding that would be quickly cleared up and then they could all go back to normal.

But now, looking at the surroundings, Felix began to wonder. Maybe the story wasn’t as simple as Christopher had implied?

“Felix!”

He turned to see his boss striding across the carpeted floor from the elevators. Ten years after co-founding the Wellington office in the eighties, Christopher McAllister had moved to Auckland to establish a branch there, and it was he who had hired Felix on his return to New Zealand after five years in the UK. Felix liked Christopher, who was pleasant, matter-of-fact and of a similar build to himself, which was a good few inches over six feet and broad shouldered to boot. Felix hoped his own hair would mirror his boss’s by the time he reached sixty—he’d much rather have Christopher’s silvery white thatch than go bald.

He rose to shake Christopher’s hand. “Morning.”

“Flight okay?” asked his boss.

“Fine. Damn windy here though.”

“Always is,” said Christopher. “Makes your teeth ache in winter. Should be warming up by now. Fucking southerlies. Come on. I’ll take you up to your office.”

Felix picked up his briefcase and walked across the reception area, giving a parting smile to the young woman at the desk. She blushed prettily, and he chuckled to himself.

As usual, his first thought was
She’s not as pretty as Lindsey.
He sighed. It had been nearly eight years since Lindsey died—why did he always feel the need to compare other women to her? And, more importantly, would he ever meet anyone who exceeded the memory he had of her as the most beautiful girl on earth?

Unbidden, a vision formed in his head of the woman he’d met at the coffee shop before he’d visited the bank to get some cash out. He should have asked where she worked. Her bold statement about sex “and lots of it” had caught his attention, and her elegantly swept-up blonde hair and refined features had held it, along with her bright, intelligent eyes and her straight white teeth as she’d burst into laughter on seeing his
Angry Birds
app. Yes, she’d been a stunner, but he had to put her to the back of his mind. He’d probably never see her again, and besides, he had more pressing things to think about than getting laid.

“How’s Peter?” Felix asked, following Christopher into the elevator.

Christopher shrugged and pressed the button for the fifth floor. “I suggested he take a two-week holiday until the investigation is over. Didn’t want to suspend the man for such a trivial matter, but wanted him out of the picture, you know?”

Felix nodded, taking note of the word trivial. “But he’s coming in this morning?”

“Yes, ten o’clock. Rob sent him a written notice setting out the allegations and stating he can bring a support person, that sort of thing. I wanted it all done properly.” But his tone implied that he knew what the outcome was going to be. Felix frowned.

The elevator shuddered to a halt and the doors opened, and Felix followed Christopher out into another reception area much the same as the first, full of dark, earthy colours, mahogany and oak furniture and dull watercolours that had probably been there since the founding of Wellington in the eighteen forties.

“This way,” Christopher said, and led him through a maze of corridors. Felix felt a pang of homesickness for the spaciousness of the Auckland building. Thank God he was only there temporarily. He wouldn’t want to work there on a permanent basis.

Christopher finally stopped outside an office and gestured for Felix to precede him. “This’ll be yours for the duration of your stay.”

Felix went in. It wasn’t as bad as he’d feared—large windows overlooked the quay, and the harbour, although a dull grey in the early morning light, reminded him of home.

“Thought it would be a bit more familiar for you.” Christopher smiled.

So, his boss was aware of the old-fashioned appearance of the Wellington branch? Interesting. Why had he never suggested to Peter Dell that they change it?

A long wooden desk stretched in front of the far window with a computer, notepads, pens and pencils and several manila folders presumably holding the details of the case. To one side were four comfortable armchairs and a coffee table. In front of them stood a man who came forward now and held out his hand with a smile.

“This is Rob Drake,” Christopher said. “He’s an associate like yourself. Great guy, switched on, knows the branch inside out, as well as harassment law. He carried out the initial interview of Miss De Langen and put the file together for you. He’ll be your right-hand man if you want anything.”

The two men shook hands. Rob was about his own age, Felix thought—late twenties, a bit shorter than himself, with fluffy brown hair and large brown puppy dog eyes that the women in the office would no doubt be falling over themselves to stare into. But the eyes were intelligent, his handshake firm and confident, and Felix liked him immediately.

“Good to meet you,” Rob said. “We’ve heard a lot about you down here, Mr. Oxford.”

Felix smiled. He’d been given a scholarship to study law at Oxford University in England and had lived there for five years, the final two in London. His brothers still teased him when he unconsciously dropped Cockney phrases into the conversation. “All good things, I hope.”

“Mostly.” Rob grinned, and Felix laughed. He was relieved he had someone to help with the investigation. He’d quiz Rob about it when Christopher had gone.

“Right,” his boss said. “I’ve got a few things to do before we meet Peter at ten and then hopefully I can be off out once it’s all done and dusted. I’ll leave Rob to show you around. Anything you need, just let Rob know, or Miss Stark, our office manager.”

“You might want to put a crash helmet on for her induction meeting,” Rob commented dryly.

“And hold onto your balls,” Christopher said. “The Dragon has a tendency to emasculate most of the men around here.”

“Her balls are bigger than yours,” Rob said with a grin.

Christopher snorted and walked over to the door. “We’re just teasing. Miss Stark’s been here for ten years. Started on her seventeenth birthday. Hardest-working secretary I’ve ever known. Top-class secretarial skills, and she runs this office with a rod of irony.”

“You mean iron?”

“No.” Christopher said. “You’ll understand when you meet her.”

“Jeez,” Rob said, “is she only twenty-seven? I thought she was at least forty. Although she hasn’t got the figure of a forty-year-old.”

“Don’t let her catch you talking like that.” Christopher pointed his pen at him before opening the door. “She’ll have you hung, drawn and quartered before the end of the day.” He winked and left.

“I’ll take you over to her office now, if you like,” Rob said, eyes twinkling. “Might as well get it over with.”

Felix left his briefcase on the desk and followed him out of the office. “Is she really that terrifying?”

“Oh yeah.” Rob rolled his eyes. “Scares me shitless. But Christopher was right—she’s organised and efficient. She probably understands the law better than I do, and she knows this office inside out. She trained under Mrs. Ingram, who just left after a long illness. This is Miss Stark’s official first day on the job, but she’s run the office alone for the last three months, and she’s been Mrs. Ingram’s second in command for years. Very old school, you know? Traditional and bossy.”

He turned at the end of the corridor and opened the door to the first semi-open-plan room Felix had seen, consisting of partitioned areas housing the legal secretaries—all women, he noticed—and others who he thought were probably the legal executives helping the solicitors with the day-to-day running of the firm.