His Girl Monday to Friday Page 10

  He grinned. ‘I realised that if I could do in two weeks something that took other people two years there had to be money in it somewhere, and I was right. I realised if I worked hard enough there was nothing I couldn’t do—pretty powerful stuff at eighteen.’

  ‘Then why do you hate me?’ said Barbara.

  ‘I don’t hate you,’ said Charles. He gave her an exasperated look. ‘Of course I was furious at the time. You’d threatened me with the ultimate humiliation—having everyone think an upstart of a twelve-year-old could do it better than I could—but at least it put a gun to my head and made me get on with my life.’

  That was what he said, Barbara thought, but he still looked furious. ‘In that case, I don’t see why you look so furious,’ she said. ‘Here you are, a multimillionaire—and all because of me.’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it,’ said Charles. ‘Another way of putting it seems to be that there you are, a penniless temporary secretary—and all because of me.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Barbara. Whatever it was, he still looked furious. It was fifteen years ago, for heaven’s sake. Why did he have to go on brooding about it?

  He sighed. ‘Look, as I’m sure you remember, you very nobly confessed to your crime and nobody believed you because your marks were as lousy as mine and you were six years behind. You were panting at the bit to take the exam and prove it, but I was damned if I’d let you.’

  He raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘If I had, everyone would have realised what had been sitting under their noses all that time. Something tells me you’d never have looked back. But nobody believed you, and the funny thing is that even though you knew you’d done it, it was as if it hadn’t happened if nobody thought it had. I don’t know why you needed somebody to tell you you could do anything you wanted when you should have seen it for yourself, but you did need it and I took that away from you.

  ‘Now here you are, fifteen years later, and you’re still hiding behind the scenes, as if your work can’t stand on its own if people think you did it. You can’t do something interesting unless you can pretend it’s by someone people take seriously. You’re not twelve any more, Barbara.’ He shrugged. ‘Don’t you think it’s time you grew up?’

  Barbara stared at him. Could any of this possibly be true? Could it really be that Charles had never hated her, except maybe a little just after they’d left the school?

  ‘So you really don’t hate me?’ she said.

  ‘Of course I don’t hate you,’ he said irritably. ‘I’ve been sending you Christmas presents for years. Why would I do that if I hated you?’

  ‘I thought you didn’t want to hurt my parents’ feelings,’ said Barbara.

  ‘Barbara,’ said Charles, ‘I’m a selfish, arrogant swine, as you never tire of telling me. If once in a while I decide to spare someone’s feelings I get my secretary to send a dozen roses. I don’t go out and look for a present. Besides…’ his eyes gleamed ‘…how could you possibly think I hated you after last night?’

  ‘You’re always telling me sex has nothing to do with feelings,’ said Barbara. ‘But I’m glad you don’t hate me.’ She was shivering inside. She would probably feel happy later; right now she felt terrified.

  ‘I don’t hate you,’ Charles said evenly, ‘but I’m not having any more of this kind of thing.’ He flicked her Barrett presentation with his hand. ‘If you work for me you take responsibility for what’s yours.’

  ‘But if I’d taken responsibility you wouldn’t have let me do it,’ said Barbara.

  ‘Of course I wouldn’t,’ he agreed, ‘because there’s no way someone can function effectively as my secretary and at the same time put together a presentation at this level.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Only you have, haven’t you? Or, rather, you would have if you’d brought in the right version. So, now that I see what you can do I’d have to be a damned fool to keep you as my secretary.’

  ‘You don’t want me to be your secretary?’ said Barbara. ‘But I thought you couldn’t do without me.’

  He grinned. ‘You were always over-priced as a secretary. Seems to me I can get more for my money if I kick you upstairs—or rather downstairs. You’ll probably end up with an office on the ninth floor.’

  Barbara held on to the door for support. She wondered if she was going to faint. Charles went on talking, and now he was talking about all the things he thought she could bring to the company if she went on doing work like the presentation—ways she could bring her languages into play, what an asset she was going to be. He was actually talking about her the way she’d heard him talk about some of his subordinates, the really good ones he’d found in various unorthodox ways and lured into the company for the sheer fun of working with that brilliant, notorious slave-driver, Charles Mallory.

  Hmm. Well, it might be fun to stop taking dictation, Barbara thought. Except that Charles was always dictating, one way or another. On the other hand, she’d had fun, working on the presentation. And it wasn’t as if she couldn’t stand up to Charles. In the past she’d sometimes been handicapped, knowing the terrible thing she’d done to him. If it wasn’t such a terrible thing after all, she’d be in a much better position to keep him from riding roughshod over her.

  ‘It does sound interesting,’ said Barbara.

  ‘Good,’ said Charles.

  ‘And one good thing is that nobody will think I slept my way to the top. If I’d slept with you, you’d never speak to me again.’

  ‘What?’ said Charles. His green eyes sparkled ominously.

  ‘It’s common knowledge,’ said Barbara. ‘Or, rather, it’s common knowledge to people who know you. Women who’ve just met you obviously don’t know, but of course then you sleep with them and they get the picture after a day or two.’

  Charles glared at her. ‘That’s not true,’ he said. ‘Obviously I’ve had some one-night stands—most people have in this day and age—but it’s certainly not the rule. If people think that, they have completely the wrong idea of me.’

  Barbara smiled at him. Now that she wasn’t going to be his secretary she wouldn’t have to be quite so polite. ‘I see,’ she said sceptically. ‘So, what you’re saying is you’ve sometimes slept with a woman and called her the next day.’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘Within the week,’ Barbara amended charitably.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But probably it was sometimes because you’d promised to call and you thought you really had to.’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  Barbara raised an eyebrow. ‘Did you ever do it because you actually wanted to? I mean, were you ever disappointed when she wasn’t there? Were you ever not disappointed when she picked up the phone?’

  There was a short pause while Charles looked back over the years. ‘I can’t remember a specific occasion,’ he said at last. ‘But that doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t tend to analyse my feelings when I pick up the phone, Barbara. Sometimes I call, sometimes things come up. End of story.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Barbara said noncommittally. ‘Well, all I can say is if I’m as good as you think it’s a good thing we didn’t go all the way. As things stand, you’re not losing a secretary, you’re gaining a presentation genius. If we’d slept together, something tells me you’d have just ended up accidentally on purpose losing a secretary.’

  Her eyes sparkled. She couldn’t wait for Charles to say something rude so she could say something rude back. He wasn’t saying anything, though; he was just looking at her. There was a rather strange expression on his face.

  Over the years Charles Mallory had developed a knack for picking talent. He could spot it in people with no formal qualifications; he could spot it in people with disgraceful exam results, people whose teachers and employers deplored bad attitude, lack of industry, inability to concentrate. Mallory Corporation had shot ahead of most of its competitors on the back of a stable of dark horses, each one hand-picked by its maverick founder.
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br />   He was used to finding people in dead-end jobs and giving them their first big break. Every single one had been almost speechless with disbelief; every single one had stammered out a promise to do his very best, to justify Charles’s faith, to do whatever it took not to let him down.

  None had taken the news matter-of-factly. None had launched into an unprovoked critique of his personal life. None, that was, until now.

  Charles walked across the room to the doorway where Barbara was still standing.

  ‘Barbara, darling,’ he said softly, ‘if we’d slept together you wouldn’t be quite so prickly right now—in the first place because you’d have had a lovely time, and in the second place because you’d want to do it again.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘But I wouldn’t be avoiding you, Five Per Cent, because if I’d slept with you I’d want to do it again too.’

  Barbara looked up into his eyes. They were the glorious glowing green of the Aegean Sea—you’d never have guessed he’d been hauling her over the coals not five minutes ago. Just the look in his eyes turned her knees to water—but that didn’t mean it couldn’t change in two seconds. That was the thing to remember about Charles. He was as ruthless and changeable as the sea, and you could never count on anything he said.

  A little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Maybe you couldn’t count on him; all the same, this was better than watching him promise undying devotion or at least a two-night stand to other women. Here was Charles as good as saying he wanted to sleep with her, and she hadn’t even won a Nobel Prize!

  “That’s what you always say,’ she said, unimpressed, ’before you sleep with someone. Afterwards you realise you’re just not interested and if you’re not interested what’s the use of pretending?‘ She grinned up at him insouciantly. ’Better stop while you’re ahead, Charles. You’ll never win this one. I’ve known you too long.’

  Charles was looking down at her with mingled amusement and exasperation. ‘If we’d gone all the way—as you rather quaintly put it—last night, I’d have won this one already,’ he said. ‘But we’ll have to put this on hold for now.’

  He ran his thumb across her mouth, his eyes holding hers. Then he shrugged and laughed and kissed her. Barbara kissed him back enthusiastically. It wouldn’t last, of course, but it was lovely to have Charles acting as if he found her irresistible. It would be horrible when he went on to someone else, but maybe she’d just be able to remember the good parts.

  Now Charles was saying something sensible.

  ‘In the next four days we’ll be lucky to get twenty hours’ sleep between us,’ he was saying. ‘We can’t afford to waste time, Barbara, so no personalities. We’ve got to turn out work that can outclass people with a hell of a lot more resources than we can call into play—which means we’ve got to do it on sheer brainpower.’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘Which means we can’t afford distractions. This has got to be a purely professional relationship, Barbara.’

  Barbara flicked up an answering eyebrow. ‘I understand perfectly,’ she said. ‘Next time I see you about to kiss me I’ll stop you, politely but firmly. Would you like me to wear something long and concealing?’

  ‘I’d like you to get down to work,’ said Charles. ‘Call Personnel and have them book me a new secretary. She must have a tractable disposition and not resent getting out of bed before noon.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Mallory. Of course, Mr Mallory. You’re so wonderful, Mr Mallory,’ said Barbara. ‘We’ll see what we can do.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHARLES leaned back in his chair and scowled. They’d been working non-stop for two days. The latest version of the presentation lay on the desk in front of him; on the other side of the desk the ex-Perfect Secretary was explaining why no one but an idiot would have made six of the ten criticisms he’d made. He reckoned she was right about three of them.

  On the other hand, he wouldn’t have slipped up in the first place if he’d been working with, say, Mike Carlin. That was, he wouldn’t have slipped up if he’d gone out with Julia on Wednesday as originally planned, fired Mike Carlin the next day when the whole mess came to light, and then just dealt with it himself. Because the fact was that no one but a complete idiot would have imagined he could keep his mind on the job when he’d done everything but sleep with Barbara two nights before.

  In theory he’d just pulled off another brilliant bit of talent-spotting. Barbara had a better mind than Mike Carlin, and it was a pleasure to see her apply it to something up to her weight. But she was also a lot betterlooking than Mike. The more businesslike and professional her clothes, the more he couldn’t help remembering that he’d undressed her just a couple of days ago.

  He’d look at her, remembering, and she’d catch his eye, eyebrow raised, mouth in a mocking smile, and he’d know she knew exactly what he was thinking. It was as much as he could do not to pull her into his arms on the spot. If he’d just stayed another hour on Thursday morning and slept with her he could have kept Mike and given her a much deserved promotion and it wouldn’t have mattered because he’d have got her out of his system.

  Now, when one of the biggest contracts to come their way was in the balance, and he needed to give the job at hand a hundred and twenty per cent of his attention, he found himself mentally undressing his new presentation expert. He’d never been worried by a challenge before, but he’d brought to every challenge he’d ever faced the same ruthless single-mindedness he’d brought to that ridiculous maths exam. He couldn’t afford this.

  ‘You know I’m right,’ said Barbara, coming around the desk. She perched on the edge, flipping through the presentation. ‘You can’t take this out without changing the whole focus and making it sound way too technical.’

  Charles glared at her. She wasn’t that different from the way she’d always been—she’d always been coming up at odd moments and perching on the nearest piece of furniture the better to pester him. But the long, skinny legs of the eleven-year-old had turned into legs that went on for ever; he had to fight down an impulse to run a hand up over her knee, see the vivid face so set on its argument turn towards him in sudden awareness.

  ‘You could be right,’ he said curtly. He stood up abruptly and began pacing up and down the room, hands in his pockets.

  ‘Of course I’m right,’ said Barbara, slipping off the desk to the ground again. ‘Also, if you look at this pie chart you wanted to put in—’

  ‘I take your point,’ he said hastily. She seemed to be about to come over and buttonhole him; if she did he couldn’t answer for the consequences. ‘Look, why don’t you get on with your departmental sections? I’ve got to slog through some pretty nasty programming; I’d better get on with it.’

  For a moment Barbara looked as though she was going to carry on the argument regardless. Then she shrugged and left the room. It was what he’d wanted, but as soon as she’d left he wanted to call her back.

  Damn the girl—he’d heard other men complain about this sort of thing, going on about some woman they couldn’t get out of their head, and he’d always felt a sense of cool superiority. He’d never let himself get bogged down in anything like that. The women in his life took second place to work and they knew it or, if they didn’t, they weren’t in his life much longer. Most of the time they didn’t mind; sometimes one threw a scene and walked out and found someone else, and he just shrugged and moved on.

  Barbara didn’t look as though she was about to walk out, but he had an uneasy feeling that if she did he wouldn’t like it. If only he’d slept with her when he’d had the chance, he thought for the thirtieth time. Well, it wasn’t too late. They’d wrap this up and he’d take her out to dinner and back to his place and then he could get on with his life.

  Cheered by this simple plan, he walked over to the computer, sat down and began to give at least a hundred and ten per cent of his attention to the nasty programming. Just like a typewriter, he thought, remembering Barbara’s slogan. Just like a typewriter. Why can’t a woman be more like a man? Why can�
��t a computer be more like a typewriter?

  Barbara returned to her desk to brood over departmental sections. She’d told Charles what an idiot he was, but she wondered whether it had really struck home. In fact, for the last two days she’d been wondering what on earth Charles had seen in her. The first thing he’d done was to go through her presentation and tear it apart. Then he’d gone through the manual on the new version of the software with her, grilling her on how its various marvellous features might go into the presentation and putting tabs on the pages. Then he’d sent her away and told her to have a preliminary draft ready in two hours.

  Barbara had brought the draft back in three hours and Charles had torn it apart and sent her away again. He hadn’t torn it apart this time, but he’d complained about a lot more things than he had any right to. And now she had the special departmental sections to write. As soon as she did he’d probably tear them apart, she thought resentfully. She’d thought they’d be working together, but every time she went in to talk to him he just tore apart what she’d done and then sent her away again. He was probably wishing he’d decided to work with Mike Carlin.

  By the end of the weekend Barbara thought she must have rewritten the presentation twenty times. Charles never bothered to be tactful. If he liked something he usually just said it would do; if he didn’t he said he’d never seen anything so stupid in his life. On the other hand, at least she gave as good as she got. She’d go in to Charles and argue with him and go away and go back and argue some more.

  She’d never been so tired in her life. She’d never had so much fun before in her life.

  She didn’t care if Charles shouted at her; the fact was, he’d given her something she hadn’t even known she’d wanted.

  She’d always imagined that she didn’t care who got the credit for something, as long as the quality of the work was acknowledged. What she hadn’t realised, she saw now, was how conservative and unadventurous you had to be if you were working undercover, doing something someone else would put before a board, or a committee, or a panel.