Defiant Mistress, Ruthless Millionaire
Yvonne Lindsay
One
"I don't feel comfortable with this, Irene."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth Callie knew she'd said the wrong thing. A mere shift in Irene's expression was all it took. A barely perceptible change, but it was enough to forewarn her of her employer's displeasure-displeasure that generally had most staff at Palmer Enterprises scurrying for the nearest hiding place.
"Why is that, Callie?"
"Well," she foundered a moment, lost for words. "Is it even legal? He's bound to want me to sign a confidentiality agreement."
"Should that be your worry?" Irene countered. "As one of our valued employees, you know we'd look after you if there happened to be any fallout."
The older woman's subtle emphasis on the word valued sent a chill down Callie's spine. She owed the Palmers-and in particular, Irene Palmer-everything. Without Irene she would have had nothing-not her education, her job, where she lived; even the designer shoes on her feet.
"This works to our advantage, you know," Irene's voice interrupted Callie's thoughts.
"What do you mean?"
Callie looked up at her boss and mentor-the first adult to ever give her hope for a future. The woman who'd actually made her believe she could make something of her life rather than disappear down a drain lined with drugs and crime.
Only no one had ever told her that with debt came a duty to repay it. After twelve years Callie had been forced to ask herself, when would enough be enough?
"Obviously any other time I'd miss having you here as my assistant, but the Guildarian honorary consul position will be announced on Christmas Eve. That's in, what, nine weeks' time?"
Callie nodded, her gaze locked on Irene's face.
"Don't you see, Callie, it's the perfect opportunity. Everyone knows you're my assistant and the whole of New Zealand knows the announcement of Bruce's appointment is only a matter of time. And while it's well documented how fiercely loyal you are to me, when Bruce and I move to Guildara you will be forced to seek other employment."
At Callie's in-drawn breath, Irene waved a graceful, perfectly manicured hand in the air.
"Yes, I know you expected to head up the new special developments team, but if we don't identify Tremont's mole, and nip his steady undermining of our business firmly in the bud, there won't be a special developments team for you to head because in all likelihood, in a couple of years, there would be no Palmer Enterprises." Irene leaned forward in her chair, her eyes suddenly bright with unexpected tears. "I will do whatever it takes to protect Palmer Enterprises and you're going to help me. This is the ideal opening for you to be seen to be seeking something else."
Callie felt sick to her stomach. She knew Josh Tremont's activities had affected the Palmers-but to the extent that he could destroy the business within a couple of years? Things were worse than she thought.
Inevitability settled like a fatalistic dark cloak around Callie's shoulders.
"So I'm supposed to go in there and spy on him?" She fought to keep her voice level.
"Well, far be it from me to suggest such a thing," Irene blinked back the remnants of weakness in her eyes and composed a smile, the action barely creasing her smooth complexion.
No one would guess, from looking at her, that she was sixty-five. She had the kind of elegant beauty that was timeless, ageless, although there was an air about her that didn't invite confidences. Not many people ever got close to Irene. Callie was one of her chosen few.
"Of course not."
Callie's answering smile was equally lacking in humour. Irene would never stoop so low as to verbalise such a command, but the implication was clear.
"My dear, you know how grateful we will be," Irene said with an inclination of her elegantly coiffed head. "Essentially, you'd still be working for us, just … differently, that's all. You know I'm not one to over-dramatise things but, right now, you're our only hope."
Suddenly filled with nervous energy, Callie pushed up out of her chair and stalked back and forth across the carpet.
"We don't even know that he's going to offer me a job," she blurted. "He only asked me to meet him for lunch."
A small crease formed between Irene's brows. "Don't be naive, Callie. I taught you better than that. Of course he's going to offer you a position. It's how he works. Each one of the key staff he's poached from us has been invited to lunch with him first. It's not as if he hides his intentions."
"Does he really believe all he has to do is snap his fingers and everyone will drop everything to do his bidding?" Callie responded in impotent frustration.
"Generally, my dear, people do," Irene Palmer observed dryly as she leaned back in her leather executive chair, the serenity on her face giving no clue as to her thoughts.
"Well, not people like me."
"Which is why this will be all the more convincing. I'm sure I don't need to tell you about how difficult things are in the marketplace right now. Jobs are increasingly hard to come by. And with your position on the verge of disestablishment … Suffice to say that no one would blame you for jumping ship, as it were. Besides, you can't deny that Tremont has a certain magnetism about him."
Callie threw herself back into one of the button-back leather armchairs in front of Irene's desk and sighed. Magnetism. From what she'd heard, Josh Tremont had it in spades. But that didn't mean she wanted to work for him.
"What if, after meeting me, he doesn't want me?"
Irene laughed, the sound like wind rustling through dry leaves in autumn. "Oh, Callie, you underestimate yourself. The man wants you all right."
Something in Irene's voice made Callie stiffen. Just how far did they expect her to go in this spying mission?
More to the point, how far was she prepared to go for the Palmers and for her future?
Two days later, Callie gripped the steering wheel of her late-model hatchback and groaned in frustration. A sleek black Maserati coupe slid neatly into the last parking space in the restaurant car park. Now she'd have to find a parking lot blocks away, and she'd be late.
She hated being late even more than she hated the reason for this meeting.
Her stomach pitched as she recalled what she'd agreed to do. Irene had advised her not to appear too eager initially, in case it might put him off. Well, Callie had no problem with that. She had no respect for the man. None whatsoever. She only hoped that when the offer came she could verbalise the word yes when every instinct in her body screamed the opposite.
She reminded herself again of Irene's expectations and why she'd agreed to do this, but it did little to assuage the slow-burning anger that began to seethe deep inside.
She fed the flames by recapping Josh Tremont's insidious methods to undermine the corporate structure at Palmer Enterprises. In the past five years he'd poached several key staff, even going so far as to attempt to buy out their employment contract restraint clauses. When that hadn't worked for the last two executives he'd lured away, he'd simply paid them for the year's standdown period while they languished, ostensibly on holiday, while he'd waited patiently for the months to roll by, secure in the knowledge that Palmers was hurting for their loss.
Now he had his sights set on her.
By the time Callie found a metered car park about three blocks from the restaurant, she'd built up a head of steam to match the rich auburn tint of her hair. She walked with sharp, clipped steps to her destination, oblivious to the catcalls and whistles directed her way from a nearby building site.
She'd deliberately dressed down for the meeting today, in pencil-slim, chocolate-brown trousers and an apricot, chocolate-and-white-striped, long-sleeved blouse. Never mind that the clothes had cost more than she had ever dreamed she would earn in a week, let alone spend on clothing. To her they screamed blasé, certainly not what one would wear to try to impress a prospective employer of Tremont's calibre. They would set the tone nicely, she thought, with a private smile.
Up until this morning she hadn't been too sure how to play this interview, but on choosing her clothes she'd reached a personal compromise. She didn't want to look too keen, and that certainly wouldn't be difficult, but she didn't want to be too reluctant, either. A balance between the two suited nicely, and if she came off a little brash, well, it wasn't as if he'd withdraw his job offer once he'd made it. He wasn't that kind of man.
Auckland's typically humid spring air had already begun to play havoc with her hair. Wisps that had strategically been pulled free from her ponytail to smoothly frame her face now began to curl flirtatiously. Not exactly the image she'd wanted to project, but short of an interlude in the ladies' room with a hair straightener there was little Callie could do.