Old Desires/A Stranger's Kiss (2-in-1 edition) (20 page)

‘I have an appointment with Jenny Harmon,’ she said, a sudden flash of anger finally releasing her vocal cords. ‘Will you please direct me to her office?’

‘Sit down, Tara.’ He settled himself on the corner of a large uncluttered desk and without taking his eyes from her face he leaned across and punched a button on his intercom. ‘Sit down!’ he commanded, when she did not immediately obey. She subsided into the chair, certain that he was not above picking her up and dumping her into it. But she perched on the edge, defiant in her determination not to stay a moment longer than she had to.

‘Jenny, are you expecting a Tara Lambert this morning?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Adam. She’s from the secretarial agency I was telling you about. She has arrived, but she appears to be lost somewhere in the building.’

‘I very much doubt that she’s lost.’ His mouth curved in a smile Tara didn’t much care for. ‘In fact I believe she’s exactly where she wants to be. Leave it with me.’ For a moment he didn’t speak. He remained on the corner of his desk, regarding her with every evidence of irritation until, apparently having come to some decision he stood up and settled himself in the chair opposite her.

He rested his elbows on the desk, the tips of his fingers touching his chin as he regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Once, Tara,’ he said, at last, ‘might be considered simple chance. Even an encounter as apparently contrived as the one you arranged last night.’ He ignored her furious denial. ‘But twice? Mrs Harmon is on the twentieth floor. This is the twenty-first. My private apartments.’

‘The receptionist said the top floor.’ She stood up. ‘A simple mistake, easily remedied.’

‘Stay where you are!’

‘Why? So that you can insult me some more? No, thank you.’ She didn’t sit, but she did stay where she was. It seemed improbable that there was any chance of business with this company now, but she owed it to Beth and to an increasingly tetchy bank manager, to make every effort to redeem what she could from the mess. ‘I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Adam. I came here at the invitation of Jenny —Mrs Harmon — to talk to her about temporary secretarial help. I should like to do that now, if I may.’

‘You may not. Talk to me. Convince me that you have something worth selling.’ His eyes were cold. ‘Not quite so easy with your clothes on. But give it your best shot.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ The words were shocked from her.

‘That’s what you wanted, surely?’ He sat back. ‘You threw yourself into my arms last night. Invited me into your flat for what is euphemistically known as a ‘cup of coffee’. Unfortunately I didn’t take the bait. So now you’re here. Sit down, Tara. Make your pitch. Who knows? I might still be tempted.’

CHAPTER TWO

TARA exploded. ‘Just what kind of a girl do you think I am!’

‘I’ll give you ten minutes to demonstrate.’ His eyes coolly assessed the length of her figure. ‘The method I leave entirely up to you.’

Tara sat down quickly. She had already rejected any thought of trying to explain. He would simply switch off and the opportunity would be lost forever. If Adam Blackmore was the head of this company she might as well do as he suggested while she had his attention and make her ‘pitch’. And there was no time to lose. She immediately launched on an outline of the high quality service offered by her agency before he changed his mind and threw her out.

If he was surprised that she didn’t do an instant striptease he didn’t show it. She wasn’t sure that he was even listening, but when she faltered under his apparent lack of interest, his eyes flickered to hers and she pressed on. When she had finished silence flooded back into the room.

‘You’re too expensive,’ he said, at last.

‘We’re the best,’ she countered, with relief. She found hard business a great deal easier to deal with than sexual innuendo.

‘That’s simply your opinion. And your business methods to date are not exactly reassuring.’

She refused to be drawn back down that path. Whatever he thought, she knew she had done nothing to apologise for, nothing to be ashamed of.

‘I can give you references from the companies for whom we work on a regular basis. The companies who are astute enough to understand that you get exactly what you pay for.’ She couldn’t resist the gibe.

‘You’re hardly likely to give me the name of anyone who was dissatisfied. I prefer to make my own judgements.’

She sat forward. ‘I’m happy with that. Try us.’

He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. ‘I’ll try you, Tara.’

She smiled then, glad of the opportunity to offer a rebuff to this infuriating man, ‘I’m afraid I’m not for hire, Adam.’

‘A pity.’ He stood up and walked around the desk, placed a hand beneath her elbow and helped her to her feet. ‘Perhaps when you’re...’ — he raised one mocking brow — ‘...astute enough to grasp the opportunity I have offered you we can talk again.’

Startled by the speed of events, Tara had offered no resistance and was half way to the door before she realised that she had been dismissed.

‘But... I can’t. I have a business to run,’ she protested. ‘I never temp myself... not since...’ her voice trailed away as his eyes challenged her.

‘Perhaps you’re afraid of putting yourself on the line?’ he offered, softly. He opened the door. Another moment and it would be too late.

‘Of course not!’ Her mind was racing through the possibility he had presented and maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. No one was better able to demonstrate the quality of her agency; she measured all her girls against her own standards. Beth would have to manage the office for a week or so and she could catch up with her own paperwork in the evenings. He was waiting. Tara gave him a straight look. ‘Very well, Adam. Thank you for the opportunity. May I assume that if I can meet the required standard you will give my company the first opportunity to fill your temporary vacancies on the terms I have outlined?’

‘You may.’ His smile was a challenge. ‘But I warn you, my standards are very high.’

She lifted her chin and met him head on. ‘So are mine. When shall I start and who do you want me to work for?’

‘You start now, Tara. And you work for me.’

She recalled the badly typed report he’d been reading and knew she should have seen that coming. Meanwhile, Adam was watching her, his expression giving nothing away, waiting for her to protest. She would not give him that satisfaction. She had sold her girls as the ultimate secretaries. Now was the moment to demonstrate all the calm, unflappable qualities of that breed.

‘Certainly. May I ring my partner to explain?’

A spark of annoyance that kindled for a moment in his eyes was quickly masked, but Tara had seen it and felt a ridiculous surge of triumph. ‘I’ll show you to your office.’

He led the way to a hi-tech office next door to his own. ‘You’ll find everything you need in here. I’ll give you five minutes to make your call and find your way around then you can bring in a notebook.’ His eyes left her face and drifted down, absorbing every detail of her appearance from the snowy white blouse, to the prim knee length skirt. He paused in the doorway, a faint smile curving his lips. ‘You’ve taken so much trouble to look the part. Is it too much to hope that you can actually take shorthand?’

‘Shorthand?’ Tara said, as if she’d never heard the word before. Her fingers gently touched the little gold brooch pinned to her collar. ‘I expect I’ll manage.’

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that,’ he said, with satisfaction. ‘Or you’ll fail at the first hurdle.’

Tara tried the three telephones that lined the desk until she found one with a direct outside line, called Beth to briefly explain what had happened and arrange an evening meeting to organise working arrangements.

A quick exploration of a cupboard revealed a pile of stationery and she took a notepad and several pencils from a new box. She tapped on Adam’s door and opened it.

‘Ready?’ He didn’t wait for her answer. She had hardly seated herself before he began. ‘I want this retyped.’ She recognised the report from the previous evening. He looked up. ‘Preferably without any mistakes.’

‘I’ll do my best, Adam.’ Her humble tone earned her a sharp look.

He worked swiftly through a pile of correspondence. ‘Tell these people no. No. No. Ask for more details,’ he said, tossing letters at her. And so it went on. Eventually they reached the bottom of the pile and he leaned back and linked his hands behind his head. ‘I’m going to dictate a report that I need as soon as you can manage.’ He raised an eyebrow in polite query. ‘Today, perhaps?’

‘Perhaps,’ she agreed, half-hopefully and once more received the benefit of a searching glance.

He began to dictate, without reference to notes and at such a speed that Tara wondered, in a brief moment when he paused for breath, if he was simply reciting from memory in an effort to have her begging for mercy. Her pencil flew over page after page until, at last, he reached his conclusion.

She looked up then, waiting for the next onslaught. ‘Is that everything?’

‘It should keep you busy for the rest of the morning. Let me have a draft of that before you do anything else.’

‘It’s already half-past-twelve,’ she pointed out. ‘And according to your secretary’s diary you have an appointment at one o’clock. With Jane.’

‘So I have.’ She made a move to go. ‘Oh, and Tara, while I remember.’ She paused before his desk. ‘I don’t want to see any of your admirers, desperate or otherwise falling over themselves in my office. You will make certain they are all aware of that fact?’

Tara was in grave danger of losing her self-control. In danger of slapping Adam Blackmore’s imperious, overbearing face so hard that all chance of gaining his company’s business would be lost forever. That thought alone kept the smile pinned to her mouth.

‘I’ll issue a bulletin for the one o’clock news. Just to be certain,’ she said, her voice somehow retaining a teasing lightness she was far from feeling.

‘There are so many?’ A spark that might have been anger flashed in the shadowed depths of his eyes. ‘I leave the method of broadcast entirely up to you, Tara. Just make sure you do it in your own time.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said. But very quietly.

* * *

Tara did not consider the possibility of taking an hour for lunch. Or even half an hour. Lunch would have to wait. There was too much at stake to waste time eating and she set to work, rattling out a draft of the report that Adam had dictated.

She found the original version of the report that needed corrections and dealt with that, too, before hunger finally drove her in search of a sandwich. She had been gone barely fifteen minutes, but when she returned it was to find Adam Blackmore fuming in her office.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ he demanded, before she had hung up her coat.

‘Lunch?’ she offered.

He stared at his watch. ‘Lunch! Is this the usual length of lunch break your so-called superior secretaries take?’

‘About average,’ she agreed. ‘If you’re looking for your report I left the draft on your desk.’

He turned and walked into his office without a word.

‘Thank you, Tara. You’re a treasure, Tara,’ she murmured to herself. Then she began to tackle the pile of correspondence he had given her. Despite an endless stream of interruptions from Adam she had finished by five. He threw the blotter of signed letters on her desk.

‘When you’ve got those away you can go,’ he said.

‘Go?’ For one appalling moment she thought he had decided that one day was enough, but before she could protest that he hadn’t given her a fair chance, he took the wind out of her sails.

‘I’ve a meeting this evening with the manufacturers for whom I prepared that report and I want you to take notes.’

Whew… ‘Are you holding the meeting in the boardroom, or up here?’

‘Neither. The meeting is in Hammersmith. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.’ He paused in the doorway that connected their offices. ‘It’s not inconvenient is it, Tara?’

‘And if it is?’ she asked.

His mouth curved in an insolent smile. ‘Tough.’

He didn’t wait to see the effect this response had on her, which was probably as well. She telephoned Beth to cancel their meeting then swiftly stuffed the envelopes with the mail, stamped it and put on her coat.

‘Still here?’ She had just summoned the lift and swung round to find Adam Blackmore, wrapped only in a short towelling robe, his dark hair damp and dishevelled from the shower, standing behind her. A matching pair of doors opposite his office, stood half open to reveal a glimpse of the accommodation beyond.

The significance of “private apartments” suddenly struck her.

‘You live here?’ she asked. But she already knew the answer. It was little wonder he had thought she was pursuing him.

‘Very good, Tara,’ he said, his mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. ‘Did you ever consider a career on the stage?’ He didn’t give her an opportunity to protest. ‘I’ll show you round when there’s more time. We might even try that ‘coffee’ you were so keen on. Now we know exactly where we stand.’ He leaned against the wall. ‘I told you to leave half an hour ago. Why are you still here?’ There was no denying the steely insistence underlying the velvet softness of his voice.

She swallowed hard. ‘I had to change my own arrangements for this evening.’

His jaw tightened imperceptibly. ‘I’m sure he’ll wait. You are worth waiting for, aren’t you, Tara?’

‘You’ll never know.’

There was a disquieting confidence about his smile. ‘You can use the private lift. It will take you to the side entrance on the ground floor.’ He opened the door for her. ‘I prefer to keep it locked. Otherwise all sorts of odd people can wander up.’ He took her hand in his, pressed the key into her palm and wrapped her fingers around it. ‘Keep it safe.’ He turned her and propelled her towards the small private lift. ‘Six-thirty. Not a minute later.’

* * *

Tara was still fuming as she stood under a hot shower. Who on earth did he think he was? How could anyone work for such a man? Yet the neat stack of dated shorthand notebooks she had found in the cupboards suggested that the secretary she was standing in for had been with him for a long time.

The water was relaxing, taking the tension out of her neck muscles. He was just testing her. Making sure she was what she claimed to be, but if he thought that she was prepared to use her body in the furtherance of business, she would disabuse him very quickly if he ever tried to put it to the test.

A little smile of satisfaction lifted the corners of her mouth. She had survived the first day. She had taken the worst he had been able to throw at her and come through more-or-less unscathed. Feeling decidedly more confident she grabbed a towel and began to dry herself vigorously.

She decided to wear a simple black jersey dress with long sleeves and a scooped neckline, elegant enough for the evening, but sufficiently understated for a secretary at a business meeting. She fastened the little gold brooch near her shoulder, tracing the simple shape with the tip of her finger; the outline of her name in shorthand. A reminder, a talisman against the aggressive charm of Adam Blackmore.

A peremptory ring at the bell summoned her to the door and she glanced at her watch. Precisely six-thirty. She hadn’t doubted it for a moment. She picked up her coat and bag and opened the door.

He ran an assessing glance over her appearance and raised a sardonic brow. ‘How appropriate. Come along.’

Tara made no comment. She dressed for the job she did. She knew that in many offices the staff were much more casual these days, even wore jeans, but she had her own very good reasons for preferring to keep her dress formal.

He led the way down the steps and ushered her into a sleek black Jaguar and she allowed her herself a smile as she fastened her seat belt. The car so exactly suited her idea of the sort of car a twenty-first century knight might drive. A black knight. The analogy was so apt that she was forced to smother a giggle.