Make Love Not War (2 page)

What an understatement. According to office gossip, he demanded perfection and would settle for nothing less.

“Mr. Harrington?”

“Yes?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“I’m going to be here for another couple of hours, at least. What do I do about a meal?”

“You can worry about that later.” His office door closed with a loud click.

Caroline seethed as she continued typing. Surely he didn’t expect her to stay late without a break. At five-thirty he came out again and started towards the outer door.

“Were the letters satisfactory?”

“Yes, thanks.” His reply was crisp and sharp as a frosty morning. He looked agitated. Something must be irritating him.

“The kitchen is across the passageway,” he continued. “You’re welcome to use it. Joan, my secretary, keeps a good supply of coffee and biscuits. Take some money out of petty cash and buy yourself a hamburger or something on the way home, if you have to stay too late. Make sure you catch a cab home. There should be a book of travel vouchers in Joan’s desk.” With a brief nod he left.

After another hour of typing, the words started to blur, so Caroline took a break. In the small, well-appointed kitchen with the latest stainless steel appliances, she made herself a cup of tea, using a plain cup and saucer. She squashed down the almost overwhelming urge to use the VIP fine bone china, in case she dropped it. The secretary obviously organized refreshments when required.

In the refrigerator she found a bottle of milk, some butter and several bottles of expensive wine. Jars of oysters, tiny savory onions, and assorted snacks graced the shelves, nothing but the best for any Harrington visitors.

Helping herself to a couple of biscuits, she sat on a hard wooden chair and rested her arm against the sink. Biting into a biscuit, she chewed it thoughtfully. Caroline Dennison, Bryce Harrington’s private secretary. It did have a certain ring to it. After she washed her cup and put it away, she trudged back to work.

At seven o’clock she pulled the last letter out of the typewriter. Finished, thank goodness! She put her hours of
labor
in the in-box, turned the typewriter off, and prepared to leave.

A full-length mirror hung on the back of the door, but she didn’t bother going over to it, just took out her powder compact to apply fresh lipstick. She looked so ordinary. Nondescript, her mother had always said. Had she been glamorous, maybe Bryce Harrington would have given her more than a cursory, disinterested glance.

She didn’t ring for a cab as it was only a short bus ride home to the small apartment she shared with her girlfriend, Kerry. As she sat on the bus she glanced at a paper being read by the businessman sitting opposite. Her heart lurched
and
ice-cold fear almost froze the blood in her veins. The devastating headlines read: 
‘
Heavy casualties in
Vietnam
. Eighteen Australian soldiers from Delta Company, 6th Royal Australian Regiment, killed in the battle for Long Tan.
’

Her hands trembled and she sat on them so the other passengers wouldn’t notice. Like a ton weight, fear pressed down on her lungs, squeezing the air out of them until she gasped for breath. Her brother Andy was nearly finished at the army officer training school. Would he be sent to Vietnam to fight?  War had killed her father and turned her mother into a bitter woman. She didn’t want it claiming her brother, too.

***

The moment Caroline set foot in the typing pool the next morning Miss Bumpstead marched up to her. Rumor had it she used to be a sergeant major in the army. She certainly acted the part, the hard-faced old battleaxe.

“Oh, there you are.” Her tone said about time, too, even though Caroline had arrived ten minutes early. “You’re required in Mr. Harrington’s office immediately. His secretary is still indisposed, so he wants you to take her place.” She sniffed her disapproval.

“Me?” Caroline squeaked.

“Yes. See you don’t let me down. Your behavior will reflect on me, too. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Poor you,” Judith, one of the other typists, commiserated with Caroline.

“Now listen here, my girl,” Miss Bumpstead reprimanded, glaring at Judith’s enormous beehive hair do. “Typists do not make disparaging remarks about Mr. Harrington.”

“I’d better be off.” Caroline was desperate to escape one of Miss Bumpstead’s sanctimonious lectures. The old battleaxe hated some of the modern hairstyles. She had lectured them for nearly an hour one day about the folly of back-combing your hair and using too much hairspray. As if it was any of her business. Giving Judith a grin, she scurried out of the typing pool. Hopefully for good, although she didn’t wish Joan any ill-will.

In her office,
her office,
she gave a gleeful skip. This was definitely a promotion, even if it did prove to be only temporary.

As she switched on the typewriter and set out her notepad and pencils, she debated whether the correct procedure would be to go in and greet her boss, perhaps offer him coffee?  It would be rude if she didn’t. On the other hand…

The ringing of the internal phone interrupted her deliberations. “Caroline speaking.”

“Good morning. Would you make a pot of coffee and bring it in to me. Two cups, please.”

“Yes, Mr. Harrington, of course.”

Two cups?  He wasn’t alone. She hurried into the kitchen and set up a tray with a coffeepot, milk, sugar, and a plate of chocolate biscuits.

When the coffee was ready, she tapped on his door and walked in. Oh, God, if only she hadn’t. He held a gorgeous redhead in his arms.

“Bryce, darling.”

The husky female voice was silenced by his enticing, sexy mouth. Jealousy corroded the lining of Caroline’s stomach, paring it away, and she almost doubled over with the pain.

She cleared her throat. “Mr. Harrington? Y…Your coffee.”

He dragged his mouth free, but held the woman close with a hand on her neat little backside.

“Don’t you believe in knocking?” His gunmetal gray eyes impaled Caroline, and like a mesmerized rabbit she couldn’t look away.

“I did knock, but I guess you…” She nearly said, were too pre-occupied. “Um, didn’t hear me.”

“Put it over there.”  He waved a tanned, well-manicured hand towards the antique mahogany desk. “Thanks. Don’t stand there dithering, I’ve left plenty of work on your desk.”

Did he really think she wanted to watch as he held his lady friend in a passionate clinch?  

“Bryce, darling, don’t be such a grouch.” The redhead gave a breathy laugh. “You’ll frighten the poor girl to death.” 

Caroline pivoted on one stiletto heel. Thank goodness it didn’t snap off. She stifled a sudden jealous impulse to kick the door shut behind her.

It served her right for committing the cardinal sin, the definite no-no for any sensible secretary, falling in love with your boss. Could she put up with watching him canoodling with other women?

Twenty minutes later, the ravishing redhead glided out. Caroline recognized her. Shereen St. Clair, a top model, elegant, sophisticated, and pencil-thin. She remembered seeing the woman’s pictures in the newspapers and fashion magazines. How could any ordinary mortal hope to compete with such perfection?

Chapter Two

  Joan
had not returned to work
but sent in a letter of resignation. Maybe she had tired of
Bryce’s
mercurial mo
od swings
,
and the continual stream of tantrum-throwing women. Caroline had bec
o
me all too familiar with those lady friends. Why did she set herself up for constant heartache by accepting the position as his secretary? The rise in salary was welcome, but she earned every cent of it.

She arranged flowers for his current favorite, organized movie and restaurant bookings and vetted all his calls. Those women who held his interest she put through to him, or pacified them if he couldn’t come to the phone.

The castoffs, she dealt with them, also. It wasn’t easy. Petulant, spoiled socialites or movie stars didn’t like being unceremoniously dumped.

One particularly nasty piece of work, Natalie Dubois, a wanna-be movie star, had been so abusive, Caroline had put her on
‘
hold
’
and dashed into Bryce’s office.

“Line one,” she yelled in a fit of uncharacteristic temper. “You break it off with her. I won’t have a creature like Natalie Dubois calling me foul names.”

He calmly picked up the phone. “Natalie, abuse my secretary again and you’ll be hearing from my lawyer. By the way, we’re through.” He slammed the phone down. “Satisfied?” He returned to his work as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

As she typed a long letter, she stabbed the keys in angry frustration. She shouldn’t put up with his bad temper and playboy ways, but she couldn’t bear not to see him, either. On the rare occasions when he did smile at her, the whole office lit up like a Christmas tree. He paid her well and was a generous benefactor to several charities. She often sent off six-figure checks, his only stipulation to the recipients being that his donations should remain confidential.

He didn’t know how she felt about him, thank goodness. That would be the ultimate humiliation. She longed to be something more than a capable pair of hands and a polite mouthpiece, but knew it was an impossible dream. Pigs would fly to the moon before Bryce Harrington took any romantic interest in Caroline Dennison, with her light brown, not-quite-blonde flyaway hair and serviceable chain-store clothes.

The door of his office swung open and Shereen sashayed out. Caroline had to admit she was a striking woman, her slender figure encased in slinky, skin-tight slacks. The matching camisole top displayed gold trim around the neckline and sleeves. She lifted her hand in a desultory salute before tottering off in her ridiculously high gold stilettos, a trail of cloying perfume wafting in her wake.

The phone on Caroline’s desk rang. “Good afternoon, Mr. Harrington’s office, may I help you?”

“Alexander Harrington here, put me through to my son, would you please?” Though Harrington senior sounded authoritative, he was always polite and friendly.

She switched the call through to Bryce’s office and continued typing. A few seconds later he stormed out his face taut with anger.

“Get me that file on the Mountainside estate. I want to see Geoff Davies in here, straight away.”

He slammed the communicating door. Once again his mood had turned feral.

She put through a call to Mr. Davies’ secretary.

“Hi Dulcie, it’s Caroline. The boss wants to see Mr. Davies.”  

“Another drama?”  Dulcie chuckled. “I’ll tell him. Why do you put up with Harrington?”

“The money’s good.” What a pathetic lie. She knew perfectly well why she put up with his mood swings, but on pain of death would never admit it.

Mr. Davies smiled as he walked into her office. “How are you, Caroline?” Being the company’s senior architect, he took charge in Bryce’s absence.

“I’m fine, how are you?”

“Not bad for an old codger. Do you know what the boss wants me for?”

“No, but he’s in a filthy mood. This is the Mountainside file he asked for.”  She handed it over and watched Mr. Davies enter Bryce’s office without knocking.

The buzzer on her desk sounded about five minutes later. She grabbed her notebook and pencil and hurried into Bryce’s office. “The information has been leaked,” he snarled.

“I didn’t mention it to anyone,” Mr. Davies protested.

“Then who did? You and I were the only ones to see those plans and specifications, except…”  Bryce shot out of his chair. “What about you, Miss Dennison?”

“I didn’t mention it to anyone. I never discuss my work once I leave the office.”

“Someone did. Geoff’s worked here for years, and I certainly didn’t do it.”   He glared at her. “How much money did they offer you?”

“I didn’t do it,” she whispered. For Bryce to think her capable of such disloyalty nearly killed her, especially after the way she had slaved for him over the last few weeks.

“If she says she didn’t do it, I believe her.” Mr. Davies leapt to her defense. “Don’t upset yourself, Caroline.”

“Someone leaked that information,” Bryce growled. “The land will cost us a fortune now.”  He slammed his fist so hard on the desk Caroline jumped.

“Those plans were on your desk for the last few days, Mr. Harrington.” Caroline fought to retain her composure.

“So what?” He took an angry puff on a cigarette. “Someone let the cat out of the bag. God knows what other information has been leaked. With government defense contracts coming up for tender, a security breach like this could jeopardize our chances.”

Caroline clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms. “Miss Francis spent time alone in your office last week.”

Temper darkened his features. “Are you insinuating Miss Francis would tamper with my files?”