Secretary on Demand (3 page)

‘Why? Does it make you feel uncomfortable?' He didn't labour the point, though. Thankfully. Instead,
once their coffee and pastries were in front of them, he began asking her about her work experience and what she had done in Ireland and what she had done since moving to London, tilting his head to one side as she rambled on about her education and her first job and her secretarial qualifications.

‘So,' he said finally, ‘you did secretarial work, but really you'd call yourself quite adaptable.'

‘I can turn my hand to most things.'

‘I'll get to the point, reds. Sorry, Miss McKee. I feel very badly about what happened today. I've been coming to Alfredo's for months and I know that you're good at what you do. I suspect you enjoyed working there and the fact is that if I hadn't chosen to go there at lunchtime with that particular person, you would not now be out of a job.'

‘It's not your fault.'

Kane relaxed back and folded his arms. ‘That's as maybe, but the fact remains that I would like to make amends by offering you a job…working for…me.'

‘Y
OU
want me
to work for you
?' Shannon asked incredulously. ‘But you don't know me! Not really! You don't even have any references! You've seen me wait tables at Alfredo's for a few months, and we've chatted off and now, and now you're offering me a job as your secretary because
you feel obligated
?' Her eyes dropped from Kane's face to his big hands, cradling the sides of his mug. Somehow the thought of working for this man frankly terrified her.

‘And are you qualified to throw job offers around willy-nilly?' she pressed on, frowning. ‘What will your boss say?'

‘I
am
the boss. I own the company, lock, stock and barrel. I told you that already. Everyone in the company reports to me, reds.'

‘I told you to stop calling me by that name,' Shannon said absent-mindedly. ‘Anyway, aren't there more suitable candidates lining up for the job? And how come you've coincidentally got a position vacant?' She chewed her lip, mulling over this wildly improbable development and trying to read between the lines to the hidden agenda. Because there must be a hidden agenda. Job offers involved interviews and references and procedures. They didn't land like ripe plums into your lap without there being one or two glaring catches.

‘I mean, top executives are never without a secretary. Someone is always available to handle things like that, to make sure that vacant positions get filled.' If he
owned the company, he need only snap fingers and there would be someone on the scene, saluting and racing off to make sure that a suitable secretary was located pronto. He wouldn't be lounging around, making do on the offchance that someone might show up at some point in time.

‘Oh, dear. In that case, perhaps I'm lying. Perhaps I don't own Lindley publications after all.' He laughed with genuine amusement and gave her a long, leisurely and far too all-encompassing a look for her liking. ‘Don't worry, reds, you're asking all the right questions. The job exists because my old secretary retired to live in Dorset with her widowed sister two months ago and since then I've been using a selection of secretaries, none of whom has been particularly suitable. My only alternative at the moment is to usurp one of my director's personal assistants who
would
be able to cope with the workload, but it's not an ideal choice because it would entail leaving someone else facing the same problem. Aside from that obvious problem, there are one or two other considerations that need to be met, and I assure you, not that I need to, that the lady in question would be unable to meet them.'

As far as Shannon was concerned, the situation was getting more and more bizarre by the moment. ‘What other considerations?' she asked slowly. She nibbled one of the pastries and looked at him steadily as she did so.

‘Before we get to those, just tell me whether or not you're interested in the job.'

‘Naturally, I'm interested in getting
a
job. Having just been forced into early retirement from the last one.'

‘Well, shall we skip the arguments for the moment so that I can try and establish what sort of secretarial experience you possess? Obviously, if your experience is
insufficient, you can be slotted in somewhere a bit lower down the scale, although working for me is more than a matter of relevant secretarial experience. I'm looking for an attitude and I think you've got it.'

‘Because I've been so successful as a waitress? Except for today when I flung a plate of hot food over a customer?'

‘I particularly liked the way you pointed out the stray mange-tout he had missed on his shoe.' He gave her a crooked smile, then before she could respond he leaned forward and casually brushed the side of her mouth with his finger. ‘Pastry crumbs,' he murmured. ‘So, run your background by me.'

‘All right. What do you want to know?' She had to clasp her hands very tightly together to stop herself from touching the spot where his finger had been.

‘A brief job history would be nice. Details of what your actual jobs involved.'

‘School, secretarial college, several temporary positions and then, for the past three years, a permanent job working for a radio station just outside Dublin. A local radio station that focused on good music and gossip. Generally speaking, I did all the office work and also updated their computer programs to accommodate their growth. They were in a bit of an administrative mess when I arrived, actually, so it was a challenge to get things straight. It was a fantastic job,' she added wistfully. ‘Never a dull moment and the people there were great fun.'

‘So, bored with the personal satisfaction of it all, you decided to leave…'

‘Not quite.'

‘Then why did you leave?' He looked at her evenly. ‘I'm not asking out of morbid curiosity, but as your po
tential employer I have to establish whether your abrupt departure might influence my decision. I mean, did you leave for the pay?'

‘I left…for personal reasons,' she said, flushing. Passing conversations with him had not prepared her for his tenacity.

‘Which might be…what?'

‘I don't see that that's relevant.'

‘Of course it's relevant.' He drained his cup of coffee. ‘What if you left for the personal reason of, let's say, theft?'

‘Theft!'

‘Or…flamboyant insubordination. Or immoral conduct…'

Shannon burst out laughing. ‘Immoral conduct? Oh, please! What kind of immoral conduct?'

‘Stripping at the office party? Smoking on the premises? Sex in the boss's office when there was no one around?' His voice was mild, so why did she suddenly feel her skin begin to prickle? She imagined herself lying on a desk in his office, with those long fingers touching every part of her body, and she shrank back in shaken horror from the image. It had been as forceful as it had been unexpected.

‘I have all my references back at my bedsit,' she told him primly.

‘At your
bedsit
?'

‘Correct.'

‘You
live
in a bedsit?'

‘It's all I could afford. Anyway…' she paused and reluctantly flashed him a wry smile ‘…a bedsit is the height of luxury after you've grown up in a house with seven siblings.'

‘You have…' He looked green at the thought of it.
Hates children, she thought smugly, perversely pleased that she had managed to shake some of that formidable self-control. Probably an only child. She and Sandy had never actually speculated on his family background but she would have bet money that he was the cosseted son of doting parents who had given in to his every whim, hence his unspoken assumption that he could get whatever he wanted at the click of a finger.

‘I know. That's how most English people react when I tell them that. My mother maintains that she wanted each and every one of us, but I think she just got a bit carried away after she was married. I suppose you're an only child? Only children are particularly appalled at the thought of sharing a house with lots of other brothers and sisters.'

‘I'm…well, we're not really here to discuss my background, Miss McKee…'

It didn't escape her notice that he had reverted to a formal appellation now that he was no longer manipulating their conversation. ‘Oh, it was merely a question. Are you an only child?'

‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I am.'

‘I thought so. Poor you. My mum always said that an only child is a lonely child. Were you lonely as a child?'

‘This is a ridiculous digression,' Kane muttered darkly. ‘We were talking about your living arrangements.'

‘So we were,' Shannon agreed readily. She took a small sip from her coffee, enjoying the sensation of sitting and having someone else do the waiting for a change. Their cups had been refilled without her even noticing the intrusion.

‘And your decision to leave Ireland and come down here?'

‘I thought we'd already talked about that. I told you that I had references and that you could see them. My last company was very pleased with my performance, actually,' she continued.

‘Did you leave because of Eric Gallway?'

The luminous green eyes cooled and she said steadily, ‘That really is none of your business, Mr Lindley.'

‘No, it isn't, is it?' he said softly, but his eyes implied otherwise. ‘Now, there are one or two other minor considerations that come with this job,' he said slowly, resting both his elbows on the table and leaning towards her. He had rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt so that she had an ample view of strong forearms, liberally sprinkled with fine, dark hair.

‘Minor considerations?' Shannon met his thoughtful, speculative look with a stirring of unease. What minor considerations? She didn't care for the word ‘minor'. Somehow it brought to mind the word ‘major'.

‘There are a few duties connected with this job that will require some overtime…'

She breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't afraid of hard work and clock-watching had never been one of her problems. If anything, she'd often found herself staying on to work when she could have been going home.

‘I'm fine with overtime, Mr Lindley,' she said quickly. ‘Alfredo will vouch for that.'

‘Good, good.' He paused and his dark eyes flitted across her face. ‘These duties, however, are possibly not quite what you have in mind.'

‘What do they involve, Mr Lindley?' Shannon asked faintly, for once lost for words in the face of the myriad possibilities filling her imaginative mind. She hoped that he wasn't about to spring some illegal suggestion on her because she'd just become accustomed to thinking that
gainful employment was within her reach and to have it summarily snatched away would be almost more of a blow than the original loss of her job.

‘I have a child, Miss McKee…'

‘You
have a child
?'

‘These things
do
happen as an outcome of sexual intercourse when no contraception has been used,' Kane said with overdone patience. ‘As,' he added mildly, ‘you are probably aware.'

Shannon failed to take offence at his tone. ‘I—simply never associated you with a child,' she stammered, realising belatedly that her admission might give him the idea that she had been speculating wildly about him behind his back.

‘And may I ask why?'

‘You just don't look…the fatherly sort…' She shrugged helplessly. ‘I mean,' she said hurriedly, as his eyebrows slanted upwards, ‘you were always at the restaurant so early… I just assumed that you weren't much of a family man… How old is your child?'

‘Eight and it's a she. Her name's Eleanor.'

‘Oh, right.' Shannon paused long enough to digest this piece of information. ‘And if you don't mind me asking, what does all this have to do with me?'

‘At the moment I have a nanny in place to—'

‘You have
a nanny in place
?' She gave a snort of derisory laughter.

‘Would you do me the favour of not interrupting me every five seconds?'

‘Sorry. It's just the expression you used.'

‘I have a nanny in place who takes Eleanor to school in the mornings and brings her back home. Under normal circumstances, I would have a live-in nanny but Carrie has always insisted on having the evenings to
herself and I've been loath to replace her because she's been there since Eleanor was a baby.'

‘What about your wife? Does she work long hours as well?' Shannon's voice was laced with curiosity.

‘My wife is dead.' He glanced down and she felt a rush of compassion for him and for his child. She tried to imagine a life with no siblings, no mother, an absent father and a nanny—and failed.

‘I'm sorry.' She paused and then asked curiously, ‘When did she die?'

‘When Eleanor was born, actually.' There was a dead flatness in his voice which she recognised. She'd heard her mother use that tone whenever someone asked her about her husband. She'd used detachment to forestall questions she didn't want to answer. ‘The pregnancy was fraught, although the birth was relatively simple. Three hours after Eleanor was born, my wife haemorrhaged to death.'

‘I'm so very sorry, Mr Lindley.'

‘So occasionally I might need you to act as babysitter, for want of a better word. My old secretary was very obliging in that respect but, as I said, she now lives in Dorset. Naturally, you would be paid handsomely for the inconvenience.'

Shannon cradled the cup in between her hands, rubbing the rim with her thumbs. ‘Looking after a child could never be an inconvenience,' she said quietly.

‘So.' He signalled for the bill and she could sense his eagerness to be off the subject of his child and back into the arena of discussing work. ‘When would you be able to report for work?'

‘Whenever you want.'

‘What about next Monday morning? Eight-thirty
sharp. And, naturally, I needn't tell you that your first month will be a probationary one.'

‘On both sides, Mr Lindley,' Shannon told him, just in case he got it into his head that she would somehow feel obliged to work for him even if she hated the job, simply because he had offered it to her out of duty.

‘I wouldn't—' he graced her with such a powerful smile that her heart seemed to stop for a few seconds ‘—dream of expecting otherwise.' He stood up and politely offered her a lift to wherever she was going. When she declined, he nodded briefly in her direction before ushering her out of the coffee-bar.

The fresh, cold air whipped around her and for a few seconds, she had the unreal sensation that it had all been a vivid dream. She had always been particularly good at dreaming up improbable scenarios. Perhaps this was just another one. But, of course, it wasn't. She had quit one job and then Fate had smiled on her and decreed that she land another within hours of losing the first. Wasn't that just like life? Things, she had always thought, were never quite as black as they seemed. All you ever needed to do was leap over the first sticky patch and, sure enough, things would right themselves. There was always room for healthy optimism.