His Girl Monday to Friday Page 11

  Now that the presentation really was hers she could have inspired risky ideas and throw them in and argue for them. She could be as original as she liked, without worrying that somebody whose work it was supposed to be wouldn’t be able to explain it if asked. She’d never realised how one exciting, original idea led to another; and she’d never realised, she had to admit, just how terrifyingly brilliant Charles was. Mike had been right—you started to explain and Charles was there before you finished. He always saw the point, and half the time he could go one better.

  He’d been as good as his word in keeping her at arm’s length—but every so often, just when Barbara hit her stride in shouting him down and pointing out why her presstation was not the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen, his eyes would meet hers and an involuntary smile would tug at the corner of his mouth.

  As for Barbara, she would never, ever again sit beside him, stealing little glances when she thought she could get away with it. She’d promised to be good, and she was being good. She knew now how easy it was to kiss someone before he could stop you, but had she done it even once? No. And she hadn’t said anything either. But she hadn’t promised not to look.

  He’d thrown off his jacket and loosened his tie about half an hour into the marathon; she could look at the shirt tucked into his belt and remember that she’d once pulled his shirt out and unbuttoned it and put her arms around him inside it. She could look at his hair and remember running her fingers through it. She could look at the hard jaw, the plane of his cheek, and remember running her hand over it. She could look at his mouth and remember that he had kissed her too many times to count.

  By three a.m. on Monday the presentation was complete. Barbara took it into Charles’s office for the last time. Charles was sitting at his computer. He pushed his chair back and gestured at the screen.

  ‘What do you think?’ he said.

  On the screen were the words ‘Simple as a Typewriter’. They vanished, to be replaced by a list of options—directories for pre-existing documents, various types of blank documents. A bar of text at the top of the screen explained how to make a selection, which Barbara did. She was now in a standard letter; again a bar at the top of the screen explained what to do.

  ‘The idea is that we challenge our rivals to a play-off,’ said Charles. His eyes were hollow from lack of sleep, his jaw could have done with a shave, but he was grinning. ‘We bring in people who’ve never used a computer before—how long does it take them to produce a simple letter from scratch? Bring in temps who’ve only used one package—see how long it takes to produce a simple letter on one of the others. Idea is, they buy our stuff and they can use anyone’s.’ He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them wide.

  ‘It’s brilliant,’ said Barbara, staring. It looked simple, but the simpler it looked, the more work lay behind it. Most men at Charles’s level, of course, wouldn’t slog through the programming needed to produce something like this.

  ‘Paperclips and rubber bands, but I think she’ll fly. Enough to give them the general idea, anyway.’ He closed down his machine, then stood up and stretched.

  ‘But…’ said Barbara.

  ‘But?’ said Charles.

  ‘Couldn’t you, or rather our competitors, come up with something pretty similar, starting with any of the other packages?’ she said doubtfully.

  He shrugged. ‘Sure. But I’m betting they won’t. They could if they knew everything you’ve told me about the company, and maybe they’d have found that out if they’d had as much to lose by not getting the deal, but they don’t. Chances are a lot of people in the company already know one or another of the major packages; our competitors can count on factions voting for them who know the commercial product without any modifications. They’ll be trying to sell what they’ve got as it stands. We may not be in with much of a chance, but the only one we’ve got is to take them by surprise.’

  Barbara sighed. He was right, of course. They’d put so much effort into it, and yet at the end of the day that was all they had—not much of a chance. Well, they’d done what they could.

  She yawned uncontrollably. Charles’s estimate of the amount of sleep they’d get had been optimistic; her head felt as though it was filled with wet sand, and her eyes were dry and staring.

  ‘So we’re done?’ said Barbara.

  ‘For the moment. Let’s go to bed, shall we?’

  Barbara stared at him. ‘What, now?’ she said.

  Charles stared at her, then laughed. He didn’t know why he was so surprised, considering what had been taking up about fifty per cent of his mental energy for the past four days. The fact was, if he got any more tired he’d be comatose—it wasn’t going to help get her out of his system if he took her to bed and promptly passed out. ‘And I thought I had a one-track mind,’ he said. ‘Barbara, darling, I know it’s been a while, but once upon a time there was a thing called sleep. You do it in a bed. If you want to join me in mine, you can sleep with me. I think I’ll save seducing you for a night when I’m fully conscious.’

  Barbara flushed. Considering the way he’d been looking at her all weekend, she didn’t think she’d jumped to conclusions.

  ‘That’s all right,’ she assured him. ‘I don’t have to turn you down now. If you’d rather be rejected when you’re fully conscious I’m happy to wait.’

  He laughed. ‘I won’t rise to the bait; I’m too tired. You’re welcome to my bed if you want it. Otherwise I’ll take you home.’

  She’d been furious two seconds before, but suddenly the thought of going home alone was depressing. She’d been with him almost non-stop for four days. If she went home it would be over, whereas if she went home with Charles it wouldn’t be over yet. It might look a little inconsistent, but after all he had offered.

  ‘Could I really?’ said Barbara.

  ‘Really what?’

  ‘Sleep with you? Go home with you? I’m so tired,’ she said. ‘It’s at least half an hour to my house, and your flat is only five minutes away.’

  Charles stared at her. He raised an eyebrow. ‘You know, I’d like to think I’d understand you if I were functioning at a hundred per cent capacity, but somehow I doubt it.’

  ‘What’s to understand?’ Barbara said airily. ‘I’m tired. If I go home with you I can be asleep in fifteen minutes instead of forty-five. I didn’t realise you were making an offer I couldn’t accept.’

  Charles ran a hand through his hair wearily. At last he shrugged. ‘Fine. Sure. Let’s go.’

  ‘I’ll call a cab,’ said Barbara. ‘You shouldn’t drive when you’re so tired.’ She began dialling the number, waiting for the inevitable argument, but he just slipped into his jacket and waited for her. He must be more tired than she’d realised.

  They took the lift to the street and fell into the waiting cab, silent from sheer weariness. A few minutes later the cab drew up at the converted warehouse by the river where Charles had a penthouse. He tipped the driver generously. Barbara followed him into the building, her eyes already half-shut, and stumbled after him into the lift.

  There was a soft swooshing noise, and the doors opened onto an enormous room with a spectacular view. Barbara’s eyes were three-quarters shut. ‘Where’s the bedroom?’ she asked.

  This way,’ said Charles. He led the way to a door at the far end of the room. Barbara staggered after him, her eyes seven-eighths shut.

  ‘Do you want pyjamas?’ asked Charles. He was standing at the door of what seemed to be a walk-in closet.

  ‘Don’t care,’ said Barbara, looking longingly at the vast bed in the centre of the room.

  ‘You’d better,’ he said. ‘You’ll want to wear that tomorrow. Here.’ He threw her a pair of black silk pyjamas. ‘You’ve got one minute if you don’t want an audience,’ he said, grinning, and disappeared into the closet. A shirt came flying out. Barbara kicked off her shoes, pulled her dress off over her head and threw it on a chair. Her bra followed. She slipped on the pyjama top, pulled off her tig
hts and pulled up the pyjama bottoms which promptly fell down again. She stepped out of them with a shrug and headed for the bed.

  Charles came out of the closet. He was wearing a pair of pyjama bottoms and nothing else. Barbara had thought she couldn’t open her eyes, but they widened from ninetenths shut to a goggling three-tenths shut-all those hours in the gym certainly had paid off. She slid under the duvet, still staring.

  Charles grinned at her. ‘Preview of coming attractions,’ he said. ‘Let’s get some sleep.’

  He slid in beside her.

  Barbara wouldn’t have thought she could sleep for two minutes with Charles half-naked beside her, but in fact the minute her head hit the pillow she was out cold.

  Six hours later sunlight was streaming in the window and she was wide awake, as if all the tiredness had been wiped away with a sponge. Charles was lying on his side, one arm flung across her.

  She shifted onto her own side to face him. He stirred but did not wake. His jaw was black with stubble; thick black lashes shuttered his eyes; all that ferocious energy was still.

  She’d been right, Barbara thought gloomily; he was marvellous to wake up next to. Just for a moment she indulged in a fantasy in which for the rest of her life she woke up next to Charles. His arm would lie heavy across her just as it did now, his jaw would be dark with stubble, the black lashes would lie on his cheek, and because she had every right to be there she’d be able to kiss him awake and watch the sea-green eyes open, watch his mouth quirk up in a smile…

  Barbara sighed. She had about as much chance of that as of walking on the moon. It was too bad—she thought they’d make a good team. Charles needed someone who wasn’t dazzled by his money and his brilliance and his charisma and his good looks and his charm. Not that he’d ever see it that way.

  Well, Barbara thought, there was no point in worrying about things she couldn’t change. The main thing was to make the most of her opportunities. She was not going to go around for the rest of her life remembering that she’d had the chance to wake Charles with a kiss and had passed it up.

  She slid closer inside his arm until her face was level with the sleep-bound face of the man beside her. She bent her head forward and brushed his mouth with her lips. The stubble on his jaw pricked her cheek; his mouth was hot under hers. She increased the pressure of her mouth on his, and now his mouth returned the pressure and his arm tightened around her. The glorious eyes opened drowsily, then snapped open suddenly. He laughed, and she could feel his mouth smiling as he finished the kiss. Then he propped himself on his elbow.

  ‘I’m surprised you managed to restrain yourself this long,’ he said, grinning. ‘If you could have seen your face this weekend-now I know what the phrase “devour with your eyes” means.’

  Barbara laughed. ‘Well, I never promised not to look,’ she said.

  ‘True enough,’ said Charles. ‘Has anyone ever told you your eyes are like blue laser beams?’

  ‘No,’ said Barbara.

  ‘They must have made you promise not to look,’ said Charles.

  There was a smile in his eyes. Barbara smiled back. ‘They probably didn’t need to—’

  She broke off abruptly, but it was far too late—he was on her like a hawk.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked, one black eyebrow swooping up. ‘Don’t tell me the arrogant monster is your favourite flavour!’

  ‘To look at,’ said Barbara, making a desperate recovery. ‘But handsome is as handsome does.’

  ‘So I’ve heard,’ he said. His eyes were speculative. ‘Which reminds me, we’ve some unfinished business, haven’t we?’

  ‘If you want me to rewrite the presentation again the answer is no,’ said Barbara.

  ‘That wasn’t exactly the business I had in mind,’ he said, an eyebrow flicking up again. ‘I always said I didn’t want to get involved with my secretary, but I never said anything about presentation specialists. I more or less promised to seduce you as soon as time allowed.’

  ‘So you did,’ she said affably. ‘And I promised to turn you down. Would you like me to say “nothing doing” now, or shall I save it up for some later date when time would allow you to seduce me if I were prepared to go along with it?’

  Charles opened his mouth. Barbara bulldozed cheerfully on.

  ‘I should warn you that if you want me to wait it may be some time before you hear the bad news,’ she said. ‘Speaking as a former secretary familiar with your diary, time wouldn’t allow you to seduce me for the foreseeable future even if I were prepared to co-operate—which I’m not. Even as your presentation specialist, I’m going to need to hear your voice on occasion.’

  Charles gave up on whatever it was he had thought of saying. He smiled and kissed her, a long, lingering kiss that turned her bones to water.

  Quite a long time later he raised his head. ‘And to think I’ve been wondering all these years what it would take to shut you up,’ he said, a gleam of mockery in his eyes.

  ‘Since when did you pay a blind bit of notice to anything I said?’ scoffed Barbara, struggling to bring her breathing under control.

  ‘You’d be surprised.’ The deep voice caressed her; the green eyes were as mild as a silky tropical sea—naturally, Barbara thought cynically. After all, she hadn’t slept with him yet. The Great Seducer had had a good night’s sleep—of course he was raring to go. Not that she wasn’t enjoying herself, of course; just because she didn’t believe one syllable of it, that didn’t mean she wasn’t having a good time.

  ‘If I were you I’d save the charm for Barrett,’ she said. ‘They pay better, and they might actually fall for it.’

  ‘Who said I was going to Barrett?’ Charles flicked up an eyebrow. ‘I’ve got to go to Prague, Barbara—I should have been there days ago. I pulled every string I could think of to get them to put things on hold till this week.’

  ‘Then who’s going to Barrett?’ Barbara asked blankly. ‘Mike?’

  ‘Mike?’ said Charles. ‘Why, because he scribbled a few ideas on a pad five months ago?’ His eyes mocked her. ‘No, I had in mind someone who knows the presentation inside out.’

  Barbara stared at him in horror. ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean, “No”? You’re the obvious choice,’ he said cheerfully.

  ‘I am not the obvious choice,’ said Barbara. ‘I’ve never done anything like this before. The deal’s worth millions. I wouldn’t know where to begin—’

  ‘Well, you’ll just have to get coaching,’ Charles said ruthlessly. ‘You know Barrett, you know the presentation—why should I send in someone less qualified just because you’ve got first-night nerves? You’ve got to start somewhere-might as well try the deep end.’

  Barbara closed her eyes. She hadn’t thought anything could distract her from lying in Charles’s arms in his bed beside him, with another kiss imminent, but the nightmare in store was working wonders. ‘When is this supposed to happen?’ she asked weakly.

  ‘Next week. They want the preliminary proposals in tomorrow, then the candidates get to make their pitches next Monday with the full thing. Gives you a week to get on top of the finer points of the software, iron out any wrinkles in our “Temp Challenge” and practise your public speaking. It’s a walkover.’

  Barbara shuddered. She opened her eyes to look at him pleadingly. ‘I’m sorry, Charles,’ she said. ‘I just can’t. You’ve got to find someone else. I’ll let you down and I’ll lose you the contract—’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ he said ruthlessly. ‘You’ll start earning that ridiculous pay package or I’ll know the reason why. Sorry, Barbara, but you’re the right man for the job. End of story.’

  ‘I want my old job back,’ said Barbara.

  Charles grinned at her. ‘You can’t do that, Barbara,’ he said. ‘You know I can’t sleep with my secretary.’

  ‘I don’t want you to sleep with me,’ Barbara said tartly.

  ‘Sure you do,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Tell you what, we’ll save it f
or after Prague. You can sew up the Barrett deal, I’ll charm the pants off the Czechs and we’ll celebrate before we take on the world. Is it a deal?’

  ‘No,’ said Barbara.

  ‘Then that’s settled,’ said Charles. He kissed her again, his mouth hot and urgent, then raised his head to look in her eyes again. ‘I can hardly wait.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ON TUESDAY Charles caught a noon flight to Prague. He settled into his seat in Business Class and opened his briefcase. He’d brought a lot of company reports and background material to go through, and had also asked his new secretary to give him a printout of the breakdown of the latest results for Mallory. He’d given her the document number and asked her to put the hard copy in his briefcase. He now took out the document, which was in a folder.

  He began to look through it, then flipped through with gathering fury. The document gave the results as of February—it was now June. The folder, he now saw, was labelled ‘Results—latest breakdown’. The girl seemed to have thought a version of the document which had been ‘latest’ several months earlier had a permanent right to the title, and that there was no point in going to all the inconvenience of printing out a more recent version. In point of fact there had been any number of more recent printouts—it was just that the idiots Personnel had foisted on him over the months had not happened to file them in this particular folder.

  He put the document back in his briefcase with a scowl. This was what he got for promoting Barbara—more of the standard issue of hopelessly incompetent assistants. Well, there was nothing he could do about it now, but as soon as he got off the plane—Actually, as soon as he got off the plane he could call Barbara, he thought suddenly. He had the laptop and a portable printer with him. She could just e-mail him the latest version of the document, and he wouldn’t even have to talk to the idiot who had given him this one. Not that he could expect any sympathy from