His Secretary Mistress(23)

‘I thought you were supposed to be living it up in Cannes?’ she accused, frantically trying to disguise the flare of pleasure in her eyes.

‘Is that why you’re late? You didn’t feel the same urgency to arrive on time, believing that I was still away?’ He watched the way she hastily disentangled herself from him through hooded lids, and inhaled sharply as he caught the drift of her perfume.

‘That’s grossly unfair; as you once pointed out, I have no control over the vagaries of London Transport.’ She glared at him, hands on hips, her eyes flashing with the temper that was her only weapon against the insidious warmth that flooded through her at the sight of him.

‘When you’ve calmed down, I’d like you to bring me the Robson file. Margaret has some letters for you to type—oh, and we’re flying to Paris on Monday. I assume your passport is in order?’

‘Paris!’ She stared at him in consternation. ‘For how long?’

‘A couple of days.’ He noted the panic in her eyes and sighed irritably. ‘It’s not Mars, Jenna, it’s just across the Channel. Do you have a problem?’

‘Absolutely not,’ she lied as she followed him into his office, her mind already reeling with preparations.

It was the first time she had been asked to travel with him. Up until now her job had worked out better than she had anticipated, and she had been home at six each evening, just after Nora had collected Maisie from the day nursery. It was only a couple of days, she reassured herself. Maisie would be perfectly happy staying with Nora and Charlie, and Chris would be on hand to help out. She mentally listed all the tasks that needed to be done before she went away. She would have to reschedule taking the cat to the vet, and fit in an evening dash to the supermarket before she left. Alex’s words went straight over her head.

‘Sorry, what was that?’ she murmured into the taut silence that spoke volumes about his annoyance at being ignored.

‘I said there’s no need to come into work on Monday; I’ll pick you up from home. You’ll need to travel in something comfortable, but pack an evening dress as we’ll be dining with my client.’

Would her faithful black skirt and a blouse constitute evening dress? Jenna wondered as her mind made the short trip through her wardrobe. It would have to do. Maisie needed a new winter coat, and the boiler was on the blink; she certainly couldn’t afford to buy a new outfit.

‘One other thing.’ His voice halted her as she was about to escape to her own office. ‘Do something with that suit.’

‘Do what with it?’ she queried with a puzzled frown.

‘Bin it, preferably.’

‘It’s the only smart suit I own.’

‘So I gathered,’ Alex replied dryly, and she flushed at his implied criticism of her appearance.

Admittedly she had worn her grey suit to the office every day, but she had bought a couple of new blouses and taken time with her hair and make-up. She didn’t look that much of a mess, surely?

‘Perhaps you can sweet-talk your husband into splashing out? A few good-quality outfits are a necessary requirement of your job.’

‘Alex, by the time I’ve repaid my mortgage I’ll be ninety-seven. I can’t afford a new wardrobe of clothes. If you want me to go to Paris, it’s in this or nothing.’ She stalked out of his office, bristling with indignation and humiliation.

His dulcet comment followed her. ‘Nothing could prove interesting.’ But it failed to evoke even a ghost of a smile.

It was the morning from hell, she decided later, having discovered that she had deleted an hour’s work from her computer by mistake. Alex’s presence unsettled her, she felt on edge whenever he was near, and she had managed to spill an entire cup of coffee over his desk simply because her fingers felt as though they had turned into bananas.

‘I’m sorry,’ she had muttered, close to tears as she attempted to blot the pile of coffee-stained documents in front of him.

‘Don’t worry about it.’ His unexpected kindness had been worse than if he’d lost his temper. She’d almost wished he would crucify her with one of his scathing comments, because at least then she could have kidded herself that she hated him.

‘I think I’d better buy you lunch. That way you might actually get some work done this afternoon.’

He materialised in front of her desk and her gaze focused on his chest, admiring the way his blue silk shirt echoed the colour of his eyes. He looked so gorgeous it hurt: tanned and fit, the superb cut of his charcoal-coloured suit emphasising his height and the formidable width of his shoulders.