Gray Quinn's Baby(3)

       
           



       

'I still can't believe you're not going to be here when the new boss arrives,' Tess said, seeing she had Magenta's attention.

'I'll leave that pleasure to you. All right, go on,' Magenta said,  seeing Tess was bursting to tell her something. 'You've heard some  gossip about him,' she guessed. 'What is it?'

'Girls!' Tess exclaimed dramatically as she turned to face the room.  'Will you enlighten this poor innocent about our new owner, or shall I?'

No one was going to deny Tess that pleasure, Magenta suspected.

She was right. Raising a carefully drawn eyebrow, Tess explained, 'They  call him the Mighty Quinn because according to the gossip mags-' and  here she paused '-Gray Quinn isn't just a giant in business, if you take  my meaning.'

Magenta pretended to be shocked. 'But no one knows him, no one's seen him. How do they know?'

'Oh, come on,' Tess protested. 'Don't tell me you don't like a little mystery in your life? And if he's built-'

'Tess, this is a professional environment.' But Magenta had started to  laugh. 'Okay, so maybe we have to get him into some tight-fitting flares  to find out.'

'There, I knew you wouldn't leave us,' Tess declared. 'You have to stay and see him now. You can't resist.'

Magenta felt a frisson of alarm. She wasn't an experienced  girl-about-town like Tess. Business was her comfort zone; it would be  far better if she wasn't here if Quinn was some sort of lady-killer. She  felt confident behind a desk-writing, dreaming, imagining how other  people might react to an advertisement, to life-but when it came to  herself …

'Look at this,' Tess said, pushing a magazine across the table. 'And  then tell me you're going to stay away from the office while Quinn  settles in.'

'There's not much to see,' Magenta complained, though her body reacted  strangely to what was little more than a shot of a man's back. What was  so arousing about that? For some weird reason, her body disagreed.

Quinn was obviously in a hurry to get wherever he'd been going, Magenta  registered, studying the grainy print to try and fathom out her reaction  to it. And then she got a bolt of something totally inappropriate for a  woman who by her own admission was hardly sexually experienced. Quinn's  height, the imposing width of his shoulders, the way he held  himself-everything appealed to her. Quinn was different from most men in  that he was taut, powerful and exuded confidence, as if he were ready  for anything. He looked like the type of man who inspired confidence in  others, too.

He wouldn't even look at her, Magenta reassured herself, releasing a  long, shivering breath. There were so many pretty girls in the world,  quite a few of whom worked here at Steele Design. Why would a man like  Quinn look at an old maid like her?

Theirs would be a match made in hell, she convinced herself, pushing the  magazine back to Tess. Imagine adding a man like that to her workload!

'What do you know about Quinn, Magenta?' one of the younger girls asked  her. 'We know you did lots of research on him when you started to  prepare this project to entice him to invest in Steele Design.'

'I did,' Magenta admitted. 'But I was never able to find any proper  photographs. I'm surprised Tess found this.' She glanced again at the  magazine. 'I gather Quinn's celebrity-averse. And no wonder, judging by  the gossip you've heard about him. A man like that must prize his  privacy above everything else. I do know he was orphaned at an early  age, and that he dragged himself up by his bootstraps, but that's about  it. Oh, and he doesn't suffer fools gladly.'

'At all,' Tess amended, shooting a warning glance around the circle of suddenly concerned faces.

'Which is why you have to be on your mettle whether I'm here or not,'  Magenta stressed. Smoothing back her long, dark hair, she wound it into  the casual chignon she customarily wore at the office, securing it with a  silver clip. 'And don't forget that, unless Quinn sacks me, I'll be  back in the New Year when we'll make our final presentation to him as a  team.'

'Sacks you?' Tess pulled a face. 'I haven't read that he's crazy.'

'But he may not want a member of the old guard working for him, as my  father calls us. Here are some documents I drew up-where we are with  each campaign et cetera. Make sure he gets them, will you, Tess?'

'Of course I will … ' But Tess still looked worried. 'Do you have to go?'                       
       
           



       

'I can't risk screwing up Dad's deal.'

'Well, at least you don't have to worry about the documents. I'll see Quinn gets them.'

'Thank you.' Magenta turned to go. But she should have known Tess hadn't finished with her yet.

'And if you change your mind about the party … '

'I only wish I could.' The end-of-year party was important, but nowhere  near as important as keeping Magenta's team in work. The last thing she  wanted was to alienate Quinn, or have him think she was trying to split  the team's loyalty. She hoped she had made a persuasive case for keeping  all her colleagues on in the documents she'd given Tess. To add a  little weight to that hope, she had drafted an outline for the next  campaign, centred on products she knew Quinn wanted to push and which  she hoped would keep his interest in the company going forward. 'You  can't leave us,' Tess stressed discreetly as Magenta prepared to go.  'You're the heart of the team.'

'You'll do just fine without me-and, anyway, I haven't gone yet. Let's  see how it goes. Quinn isn't a fool. Just keep doing what you're doing,  and he won't be able to let any of you go.'

But Magenta started fretting before she left the room. The promise to  her father counted highly with her, but it went against the grain to  walk out on her friends. Her father had his money now and wanted nothing  more to do with the company, whereas her colleagues were all desperate  to keep their jobs. Maybe Tess was right; maybe she wouldn't be able to  stay away.

When Magenta got down to the car park it was full of recovery vehicles with red lights flashing and men in high-vis jackets.

Why was nothing ever straightforward? Magenta wondered, urging herself  to remain calm as the mechanics explained to her that, as hers was a  vintage car, they couldn't repair it now but would have to order a tyre.  They were going to recover the vehicle and keep it in the garage over  Christmas and she could collect it some time in the New Year. No, they  couldn't be more specific than that, the mechanic in charge told her,  scratching his head.

Pulling up her collar against a sudden squall of icy wind, Magenta  thanked the men for turning out in such diabolical weather and insisted  on giving each of them a crisp new note. Why shouldn't someone enjoy  their day?

Wrapping her arms around her body to keep warm, she watched as her car  was loaded onto the transporter. She was just bending down to retrieve  her bag and briefcase when a familiar roar made her jump, and a familiar  boot stamping down by her feet made her scowl.

'Don't tell me,' she managed as the biker lifted off his helmet. 'You  didn't get me the first time around, so you've come back to finish me  off with a heart attack?'

'Your heart's safe from me.'

Oh …

Was she supposed to feel quite so disappointed? Magenta's brain raced as  the biker lifted one ebony eyebrow, sending a tidal wave of hot, feral  lust rushing through her veins. Removing one protective leather glove,  the man stretched out his hand for her to shake.

'You surely don't expect me to shake your hand after you've frightened me half to death, not once but twice?'

He grinned. 'You're not that feeble, I'm sure. But my apologies, if I frightened you.'

The mock bow made her heart thunder into action. But what exactly did he find so funny?

'Something tells me we're going to be seeing a lot of each other,' the  biker said, closing one warm, strong hand around Magenta's frozen  fingers.

Yeah, right. In your dreams, she thought.





CHAPTER THREE




AS THE biker dismounted his machine and straightened up, Magenta felt  her cheeks fire red. He was a lot taller than she had expected and had  the type of shoulders that blotted out the light. She had to fight the  desire to give him a comprehensive twice-over. She already knew he was  an amazing-looking man and that tight black leathers were no respecters  of female sensibilities. She dropped her gaze as a dangerous stare  levelled on her face.

'Lost your voice?' The voice was low and amused, husky and compelling.

And leather didn't conceal or contain, it stretched and moulded shapes lovingly …

'Well? Have you?' he prompted.

No, but she had been struck by one too many thunderbolts in a single  day, Magenta concluded, whipping her head up to stare the man in the  eyes. He curved a smile in response that threw her totally, a smile that  made his eyes crinkle attractively at the corners.

'I'm glad you think this is funny,' she said, covering her growing  feeling of awkwardness with a scowl. 'I don't care who you are, what you  just did was dangerous.' Now she sounded like his headmistress and felt  old enough to hold the post.