Best of Bosses 2008(151)

Actually, she’d achieved many of her goals already. She had an interesting job, money coming in, new friends. Everything would be perfect if her boss were old and grey and happily married with a family.

OK…face the truth, Sally. Logan Black is your problem.

How silly. It was bad enough that she’d been smitten by the boss’s good looks ever since that first sight of him on the day she’d applied for the job. But now, after their long and intimate conversations, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Not for a second. He was a man of such intriguing contradictions.

Today she’d caught glimpses into all sorts of interesting facets of his personality.

Stop it, Sally. Stop it now! He’s out of bounds.

Promising herself for the hundred and fiftieth time that she would put the boss right out of her mind, she cooked up a big bowl of comforting pasta and poured a glass of white wine. Rather than eating alone at the kitchen table, she took her meal through to the lounge room, where she drew the pretty floral curtains and turned on the pink lampshades.

Usually, this room with its thick cream carpet, its lovely paintings and welcoming cushiony sofas lifted her spirits as soon as she entered it, but tonight the lovely house wouldn’t—or couldn’t—work its magic.

Sally knew it would be foolish to listen to the Brahms concerto tonight when she was trying, desperately, to forget about Logan Black, but in the end she was too weak to resist the temptation.

Curled in one of Chloe’s squishy armchairs, she ate the pasta and drank her wine while the lush sounds of the gorgeous music swelled to fill the room.

I’m an idiot.

She longed for Chloe to be alive and here with her. She could picture her godmother sitting on the sofa in one of her bright kaftans with her silver hair piled gloriously on top of her head, a warm smile at the ready, as she offered sage advice.

But Chloe was gone and Sally was alone and she didn’t want to ring her mother. Her mother was too attuned to her every mood and she would know immediately that something was wrong, and Sally was supposed to be proving that she was fine on her own.

With a heavy sigh, she turned her thoughts to Maeve, who was out tonight on a date with her young geologist.

How sensible of Maeve to be going out with one of the many friendly and unattached young fellows at Blackcorp. Sally knew that was exactly what she should be doing. Already, several friendly young men had stopped by her desk.

Why couldn’t she have been smitten by one of them instead of dreaming about their aloof and unattainable boss, who hurried past her desk with more important things on his mind and bought white roses for another woman?

To make Sally’s downbeat mood worse, the music reached the especially beautiful passage she’d tried, so inadequately, to describe to Logan today. She remembered the tender expression in his eyes and tears rolled helplessly down her cheeks.

When the phone rang she almost left it, believing herself too maudlin for any kind of conversation. But, at the last gasp, she dived out of her chair, swiped at her damp cheeks and lifted the receiver.

‘Oh, Sally,’ cried Anna’s voice, ‘I’m so glad you’re home. You see, Steve got back today and we were hoping to have a night out while he’s on leave. Is there any chance you could mind Oliver and Rose on Friday evening?’

Sally assured her sister-in-law that she’d love to mind the children. And then, wanting to throw off any Cinderella-like sensibilities, she climbed the stairs and filled the bath with hot water and a quarter of a bottle of Chloe’s expensive and utterly self-indulgent bath oil.

It was a night for pampering.



Logan sat in darkness in his penthouse apartment overlooking Sydney Harbour, watching the spectacle of lights reflected on the silky black water below while he listened to Brahms.

He tried to listen without thinking about Sally Finch. It was crazy that he was still thinking about her. But he kept picturing her here in his apartment, curled comfortably beside him on the sofa, her head resting on his shoulder as they listened to this music together. He imagined running his fingers through her dazzling curls.

Fool.

With an angry cry, he lurched to his feet and stood at the big picture window with his hands plunged deep in his pockets, staring hard at the inky water and the reflections of city lights while he willed his thoughts away from X-rated possibilities.

Sally Finch was an employee and he was a boss who never mixed business with his private life. He’d seen other men follow that course, only to run their businesses off track, or to crash on the sharp and treacherous rocks of office politics.

But, all that aside, Sally wasn’t his type. With no professional qualifications, no burning ambition, no long-term plans, she’d drifted into an inheritance and found herself an easy job where she could chat all day.