Best of Bosses 2008(97)

He would sweep into his apartment at six-thirty and, although he had told her that she could clear off by five and email him with her findings, she had pretty quickly sussed that, whatever he said, he expected her to work until at least six-thirty and if necessary later.

And she didn’t mind. She had thought, a lifetime ago it seemed, that she would be crammed into his small personal space and, like a cat on a hot tin roof, would spend every minute there in nervous expectation of his sudden entry. She had envisaged being surrounded by his private objects, which would intrude on her, a constant nagging and stomach-churning reminder of his overwhelming personality.

But his apartment, for starters, was vast. It was also peculiarly impersonal. The abstract paintings on the white walls gave no clue to the man except to indicate his wealth. There were no photos in frames or ornaments standing on shelves. Two cleaners came promptly at eight every morning, and departed at ten, leaving the apartment spotless. Her office was no makeshift affair. It was large and kitted out for serious work and, once there, Rose had no trouble concentrating.

And then, just as she was usually packing up to leave, he would sweep in. From the office, Rose would hear the slam of the front door and the jangle of keys as he carelessly tossed them on the granite kitchen counter. Then he would appear in the doorway, tugging at his tie, leaning against the doorframe and watching her for a few seconds in silence as she logged off the computer.

It was the time of day she had been dreading. Yet now, it was the time of day Rose waited for with a sense of heady, forbidden, crawling expectation.

Tonight was no exception and she felt her stomach churn with excitement as she heard him approach. She knew it was wrong but her attraction to him was something she just couldn’t seem to stuff away somewhere conveniently out of reach. It had ambushed her from behind and her only defence against it was to hang onto her veneer of professional self-control.

‘I’ve got those costings for you.’ She had trained her eyes not to stare whenever he tugged his tie off, but, like recalcitrant kids, they still always managed to sneak a look at that glimpse of hard brown chest that was revealed as he undid the top two buttons of his shirt.

‘And I’ve got something for you…’ He walked towards her, waggling a piece of paper in his hand.

‘What is it?’

‘Have a look.’ He gave her the envelope and leant on the computer terminal, watching as she slit it open. ‘We’re going on a trip.’ He smiled slowly as she tipped her face up to stare at him. ‘A little look-see at some prime land in Borneo.’ He moved round so that he was behind her chair and then he bent towards her. Rose could feel his warm breath against her neck. ‘Fish out the summer glad rags, Rose. It’s going to be mighty hot out there…’





CHAPTER FIVE




NICK told Rose everything there was to know about the timetable for his project and what had inspired him to pick Borneo for its location. Over a bottle of wine and some delivery Chinese food, which they ate in his ultra-modern, rarely used kitchen, he explained his connections with Malaysia, starting with an old university friend with whom the project was to be undertaken, and ending with an impassioned and persuasive belief that Borneo would soon be the rising star as Kuala Lumpur and Penang became overrun with tourists.

Rose did her utmost to play down her excitement and treat the whole thing as something that happened practically every day. She asked cool, sensible questions but her mind was running rampant with thoughts of planes and sea and lush green forests and, of course, being sequestered somewhere remote with him.

That was the most frightening aspect of the whole thing. How on earth was she going to maintain her sang-froid when she would be with him twenty-four seven? How long before her professional mask slipped and she made a complete fool of herself? Thus far, Nick had no idea that she followed him with her eyes, drinking in the powerful lines of his body, feasting on his harsh beauty, filing away throwaway remarks, the way he laughed, the slashing gestures he used when he was in a bad mood, so that she could bring them out at a later date and savour them like a guilty secret.

To him, she was the ugly duckling he had rescued out of obligation who, she hoped, was proving herself to be as efficient an employee as he could have asked for. Occasionally he teased her and very occasionally some of that teasing bordered on flirtation, but Rose, having lived her life in the shadow of her stunning sister, was a realist. Charming, good-looking men liked charming, good-looking women. A beautiful woman, for a man like Nick Papaeliou, was an essential accessory and if he occasionally flirted with his plain employee, then it was simply an overspill from his unconscious ability to charm. She shuddered to think how he would react if he ever found out about her inappropriately lustful imaginings.