That was a…a terrible thing to have happened! Sabrina told herself, knowing that she should never have let it take place! To allow her boss to kiss her, really kiss her, in an unbelievably heart-stopping way, was pure madness! Their relationship…association—whatever the word was—was going somewhere neither of them wanted!

Well, she was sure he didn’t want it, and she couldn’t afford to want it! They could never have a business arrangement now, after that, surely!

Buttoned-Up Secretary, British Boss

By

Susanne James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author

SUSANNE JAMES has enjoyed creative writing since childhood, completing her first—sadly unpublished—novel by the age of twelve. She has three grown-up children who were, and are, her pride and joy, and who all live happily in Oxfordshire with their families. She was always happy to put the needs of her family before her ambition to write seriously, although along the way some published articles for magazines and newspapers helped to keep the dream alive!

Susanne’s big regret is that her beloved husband is no longer here to share the pleasure of her recent success. She now shares her life with Toffee, her young Cavalier King Charles spaniel, who decides when it’s time to get up (early) and when a walk in the park is overdue!

Recent titles by the same author:

THE MASTER OF HIGHBRIDGE MANOR

THE BOSELLI BRIDE

THE PLAYBOY OF PENGARROTH HALL

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Chapter One

SABRINA’S heartrate quickened slightly as she walked along the unfamiliar street. If it wasn’t for the money that was being offered for this post, no way would she have considered applying for it, she assured herself. But the straitened circumstances they were in at the moment left her little option. She would have to bite the bullet and hope that her face fitted.

Most of the houses in this part of north London were rather grand, Sabrina noted, yet now and again a distinct shabbiness was apparent. But when she arrived at the one she was looking for—number thirteen—she saw at once that it stood out from the others. And why wouldn’t it, when you considered who lived there? The imposing, deep-blue front door had been freshly painted, its brass knocker and bell-push gleaming brightly in the mid-morning September sunshine.

She pressed the bell once—its discreet tone reminding her of the one at the dentist’s—and waited, trying to imagine what her interviewer, the world-renowned author, might look like in the flesh. Of course, she’d seen him featured in the newspapers from time to time, but press photographs were never accurate or flattering.

Suddenly, the door was opened by the man himself—and Sabrina recognized him straight away. He must be nearing forty by now, she thought instinctively. His dark, tousled hair had begun to grey slightly at the temples, and there were discernible frown lines on the handsome, rugged face. But the penetrating, inky blue-black eyes were clear and discerning as he looked down at her. His expression was somewhat implacable, though not unfriendly, as he opened the door wider.

‘Ah, good—Sabrina Gold?’ When Sabrina smiled up at him in acknowledgement, he said, ‘I’m Alexander McDonald. Come in. You found us all right…clearly,’ he added.

His voice was businesslike, strong and authoritatively resonant, and Sabrina couldn’t help feeling just slightly in awe of him as he led her up the thickly carpeted stairs to the first floor of his house. Treading carefully behind, Sabrina was more than aware of his athletic, vigorous body. He obviously worked out daily, she thought, no doubt with a personal trainer. Well, he and his equally famous brother Bruno—the well-known impresario with so many successful musicals to his credit—seemed to hold a permanent position in the Times Rich List. They could have whatever they wanted of this world’s goods.

Realizing that she’d barely spoken since her arrival, Sabrina cleared her throat. ‘Actually, I don’t know this part of the city,’ she said. ‘But I had no problem finding you. And the walk from the tube was quite pleasant, especially in this sunshine.’

He glanced back at her casually as she spoke, feeling reasonably cheered at his first impression of her. She was simply dressed in jeans and a cream shirt, her long, fair hair pulled well back from a somewhat nondescript face which was devoid of any make-up, he noted. But she had expressive, large, grey-green eyes which he found interesting; they had a most unusual, feline shape.

They reached the first floor and he pushed open a door at the top, ushering Sabrina in before him, and as she brushed past he caught the drift of the perfume she was wearing, only just enough for him to be aware of it. Good; women who soaked themselves in heavy scents unnerved him. It was something he’d always hated. Since of necessity the successful applicant for the vacant post of his personal assistant would be sharing his space for a good part of every day over the next few months, it was essential that he found her presence acceptable. If ever she was going to materialize, he thought ruefully. Was Miss Gold number six or number seven so far? he thought wearily. He’d lost count.

Sabrina took in her surroundings at a glance. It was a large, high-ceilinged room, its full-length windows permitting daylight to reach every corner. A huge Persian rug covered much of the well-worn dark-oak flooring, and generously stocked bookshelves lined the walls. The whole room was dominated by an untidy, massive mahogany desk holding a computer and telephone and littered with random sheets of paper and other writing materials. Slightly apart from it was another, smaller desk with another computer—obviously awaiting Alexander McDonald’s new assistant, Sabrina thought. There were also a couple of easy chairs and at the back, away from the light, was a chaise longue covered in brown velvet with a few cushions scattered on it haphazardly.

Alexander pushed one of the easy chairs forward. ‘Have a seat, um, Miss Gold,’ he said, as if he’d already forgotten her name, before moving behind the desk and seating himself in his large leather-upholstered swivel chair.

Doing as she was asked, Sabrina looked across at him steadily, trying to remind herself that she was here for one reason only—to secure the very highly paid employment he was offering, which could be hers if luck was on her side.

He came straight to the point. ‘I see you have a degree in psychology,’ he said, glancing down at some papers on his desk. ‘Are you sure that this job, working for me, is what you want? What you think you can…tolerate, shall we say?’ he added, the uncompromising mouth twisting slightly at one corner. The remark surprised Sabrina. She hadn’t anticipated any degree of diffidence from Alexander McDonald. She decided she wasn’t going to tip-toe around—she’d tell him the truth and be done with it.

‘I think what you really want to know, Mr McDonald, is why I am not using my qualification,’ she said coolly. ‘And the answer is that it is difficult, with all the cutbacks, to get suitable work in my own field at the moment. My department was halved last year, and I was one of the unlucky ones that had to be let go. I’m sure you’ve heard the term.’ She paused. ‘It means that I was sacked for being too highly qualified and they could no longer afford to pay me on that level—and I was not prepared to accept the rather demeaning position I was offered instead.’

She hesitated before adding, ‘The salary which the agency told me you were prepared to pay the right person encouraged me to try and persuade you that I could be the one.’ She swallowed, realizing how awful that must sound, avaricious and money-grabbing. She might as well explain now, she thought desperately. ‘It isn’t that I want the money,’ she said quietly. ‘I need the money. And I’ve decided that I have to aim high.’ If only he knew, she thought. They had just acquired their first house—their first real home after always living in rented places—and with it a rather crippling mortgage.

He paused for a moment before speaking, his observant eyes noting the rosy flush which had swept her cheeks, and his heart warmed instinctively at her words. He liked honesty in a woman—in anyone—and she had just been childishly direct. She could have made any other excuse for wanting to try something different. He looked down at the papers again.

‘I see that you have all the necessary business skills, and are more than computer literate,’ he said. ‘Which is an essential requirement, because computers and I are often not best friends.’ He looked up at her again briefly. ‘A note pad and pen are usually sufficient for my own needs but unfortunately my agent, and my editor, both require something more technical from me—and, I suppose, something more legible,’ he added.

Sensing that the interview was going quite well, Sabrina said calmly, ‘I am well acquainted with most office machinery, Mr McDonald, but of course I would like some idea of what else the job might entail.’

There was silence for a few moments while Sabrina studied the carpet beneath her feet as she waited for him to answer her.

‘Are you married, Miss Gold?’ he asked bluntly, looking across at her again. ‘Have you family? Children?’

‘I am not married,’ Sabrina answered. ‘I live with my sister.’ She paused. ‘It’s just the two of us,’ she added. ‘And last year I decided—I mean, we decided—to buy our own house, which I am desperate not to lose.’

He nodded. ‘Does your sister work?’ he asked.

Sabrina looked away for a second. ‘Um, well, not all the time,’ she said carefully. ‘She has always been somewhat fragile, and succumbs to minor things now and again which tend to set her back. When she’s well enough, she runs aerobics classes, and teaches dance and keep-fit very successfully.’ She swallowed. She was not going to tell him that Melly was a brilliant dancer, and fabulous singer, and that she’d auditioned twice for his brother but had never been successful, had never managed to hit the big time in the theatrical world.

Alexander had been watching her as she’d spoken, watching the fleeting expressions which mirrored her thoughts. He sat forward suddenly, picking up a pen and twirling it between his finger and thumb.

‘What I’m actually looking for, Miss Gold, is a PA,’ he said. ‘And I have to say that the hours are not necessarily nine to five. If there’s a deadline I’m having difficulty with, I’d expect you to stay late sometimes. You know what I do; I write books on all kinds of subjects.’ He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. ‘My last assistant, who’d been with me for many years, finally admitted defeat and retired.’

He looked up at the ceiling for a moment. ‘She now spends all her time in her garden, where she keeps some chickens—a lifelong ambition of hers, apparently.’ He shook his head slightly, as if marvelling at the vagaries of human nature. ‘Anyway, my filing system is wrecked and I need a reader, an editor, someone strong enough to cope with me when I’m frustrated. I need someone to type up my work when I don’t feel like doing it, someone to field almost all my telephone calls and to be able to find all the things I keep losing.’ He paused. ‘I’m afraid I’m somewhat a nightmare to be around at times. Do you—do you think you’re capable of meeting all those requirements?’

Sabrina let his words float into the air for a few moments before a slow smile spread across her features. In spite of herself, she was beginning to like Alexander McDonald.

‘Mr McDonald,’ she said in the gentle tone she had often used when dealing with disturbed clients, ‘I think you could safely leave everything to me.’

Putting his pen down, he stood up immediately and came around the desk, holding out his hand. ‘Then it’s a done deal,’ he said, looking down at her solemnly. ‘Can you start next week?’

Sabrina automatically slowed her steps as she walked up the short path of their modest semi-detached house on the outskirts of the city, admitting to feeling both elated and disturbed by her encounter with Alexander McDonald. He was undeniably drop-dead gorgeous, she thought. Did she really want to be working so closely with someone like him? Did she dare risk it, dare risk her feelings being churned up all over again? Because she was honest enough to realize that it was a distinct possibility—something she could well do without.

As she went inside, her sister was just coming down the stairs, dressed to go out.

‘Hi, Sabrina,’ she said briefly. ‘Any luck on the job front?’

‘Um, well, yes, actually,’ Sabrina said guardedly. ‘But it may only be temporary, for a few weeks. I’ll see how my new boss and I get on. He’s a writer,’ she added, not bothering to mention his name. She went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. ‘Are you just off to your aerobics class?’

‘Yes—and I had a phone call this morning asking me to take over two dance classes later on—the usual girl has gone down with something—so I won’t be home until about eight o’clock.’

The two girls were not very much alike to look at; Melinda was tall, dark-haired and brown-eyed with strong facial features, while Sabrina was only five-foot-three with a more delicate bone-structure and widely spaced eyes.

‘I’m making something hot for our dinner,’ Sabrina said, pouring boiling water into her mug. ‘Will lasagne and salad do?’

‘Brilliant,’ Melinda said, going out and slamming the front door behind her.

Staring thoughtfully out of the window as she sipped her tea, Sabrina cast her mind back to the morning’s interview, and to her new employer. To her, he seemed the typically self-assured alpha male, exuding British masculinity with just a hint of ruthlessness somewhere. There was also a brooding, slightly mysterious air about him, as if behind those black, magnetic eyes there was a tantalizing secret he’d never share with another human being.

She realized that she knew nothing at all of his past, whether he was, or had ever been married. In the press or society magazines, she’d never seen him pictured with a female in tow. His brother seemed to be the Lothario of the piece, frequently seen surrounded by pretty women.

Sabrina narrowed her eyes as her thoughts ran on, her analytical mind informing her that Alexander McDonald undoubtedly had a many-layered personality which wasn’t necessarily going to be easy to cope with. She shrugged inwardly. The money he was offering would be a powerful incentive to keep her head down and do as he demanded.

Later, as Sabrina was frying the steak for their lasagne, her mobile rang and, frowning, she went across to answer it. She hoped it wasn’t Melly in some sort of fix.

The dark tones which reached her ears made her senses rush. ‘Miss Gold? Alexander McDonald here…’ As if she needed telling! ‘I was just thinking, there are still two working days left in the week—could you start earlier than we agreed? Like tomorrow?’

Without stopping to think, Sabrina said, ‘Yes—I think so. Yes, all right, Mr McDonald.’ He didn’t need to know that she’d actually intended to go in to town to buy one or two things to add to her wardrobe. She hadn’t been shopping for a while but, tough, he’d have to accept her as she was with not much of this year’s fashion on show.

‘Good—about nine, or earlier if you like,’ he said. Then the phone went dead and Sabrina stared at the instrument for a second. Well, that was brief and to the point, she thought.

Back at number thirteen, Alexander leaned against his desk, a glass of whisky in his hands. He couldn’t explain it, but he definitely had a good feeling about this new employee. There was something no-nonsense about her that appealed to him, besides a few other things, he acknowledged, remembering her candid green eyes, her neat hairstyle, her short, unpolished fingernails…And the soft, rather pleasing tone of her voice—a voice that wouldn’t get on his nerves.

Still, all that mattered was whether her work proved to come up to his exacting standards, he thought, and that she’d be prepared to work a very long day when necessary.

Mulling over his interview with Sabrina Gold again, he realized that she was going to be very different from Janet. For one thing, Janet was a grandmother obsessed with her family and their new babies, while Sabrina was young and, from what he’d gathered from their conversation, lived with a sister, free of any emotional ties. That had to be a good thing, he thought—no commitments which might stand in the way of her work and their business association.

Feeling restless, as he often did when beginning to reach the end of a novel, he decided to go for a stroll before settling back down to do some more work later.

It was a delightfully soft, still, warm evening as he wandered along the pavement towards the local park at the end of the road, and he suddenly thought nostalgically of his wonderful home in France. With some luck he could arrange to be there by the end of October. He’d only managed two quick visits so far this year, he reminded himself ruefully, so he might even try and stay on over Christmas this time. That thought definitely appealed, because it would mean avoiding family and all the tedious joie de vivre that always took over the festive season. He could make the excuse that he was already committed to his next book and needed space and solitude.

His luxurious place abroad filled his mind. It was a large converted barn, standing almost alone amongst vines and olive groves, and in his absence safely watched over by his near-neighbours Marcel and Simone. Its large swimming pool, always warm and soothing, was surrounded by an expansive patio where on placid evenings he and some local friends would share freshly baked baguettes, sip wine from local vineyards, savour home-grown olives steeped in garlic-flavoured oil and just talk and let time slip by.

It was nearly dark as he wandered, lost in thought, through the almost-deserted park. He nearly fell over a courting couple lying on the grass. He stepped away quickly, muttering an awkward apology. But he needn’t have bothered. They were oblivious to anything but themselves, their intertwined bodies and audible cries demonstrating the erotic pleasure of their coupling.

For some reason which he couldn’t explain, a peculiar sadness came over Alexander for a few seconds. Those two were so young, so in love. He looked back to his own youth and the women he’d known. It seemed such a long time ago, another time, another country. Why had he indulged in no-strings-attached affairs for so long? Why had he never wanted true commitment? Was he that selfish? Had his disastrous relationship with Angelica put him off for ever? For heaven’s sake, that was nearly ten years ago.

When he got back home he poured a fresh glass of whisky, then flung himself down on his bed. Ten minutes’ sleep would do him good, he thought, before he returned to the study and perhaps the conclusion of that penultimate chapter which was worrying him.

Almost immediately, he fell into a deep sleep. A sleep filled with unbelievably colourful dreams which made his head move restlessly from side to side, his lips forming incomprehensible murmurings.

He was lying naked beside the beautiful, unclothed body of a woman. To his amazed delight, she was responding to his passionate advances with uninhibited ardour as she encouraged him to caress her body, her slender limbs, her cool, smooth breasts…When he knelt over her and possessed her completely, she parted her moist lips to receive the warmth of his mouth, the urgent thrust of his tongue…

Suddenly, he awoke and sprang up into a sitting position, his brow beaded with sweat. What the hell was that all about? What had set those particular bells ringing? This wasn’t like him! He couldn’t begin to remember the last time his emotions had been stirred with such an erotic, white-hot passion, either consciously or subconsciously.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stripped off his clothes and went into the bathroom. What he needed now was a long, very cold shower, he told himself.

Because in that so-immediate dream, the woman he had been making such intense love to had been unmistakable. She had been small with long, fair hair, unpolished fingernails and green, green eyes like those of an enchanting cat.

Chapter Two

JUST after eight o’clock the following morning, wearing black trousers and a grey-and-white pin-striped shirt, Sabrina found herself standing once again outside number thirteen. Just as she was about to ring the bell, the door was thrust open and she came face to face with a short, grey-haired, middle-aged woman who was just coming out of the house, a couple of carrier bags in her hands.

‘Oh, hi…’ Sabrina began uncertainly, and the woman moved back for the girl to enter.

‘Miss Gold? Ah. Mr McDonald left a note saying I might see you. I’m Maria, his daily—or his three-times-a-week, I should say.’ She smiled. ‘I haven’t seen him this morning. He isn’t up yet—probably getting over a heavy night!’

‘Oh, I see,’ Sabrina said, slightly taken aback. From yesterday’s phone call, she’d imagined him to be an early riser. Shouldn’t he already be hard at work and ready to spell out his instructions for the day?

‘Anyway, go on up to the study—he said you knew where it was,’ Maria said. ‘I don’t expect he’ll be too long. By the way, the kitchen’s just along there in the hall, first door on the right. Have some coffee, why don’t you?’ She paused, smiling again. ‘Make yourself at home—and good luck!’

With that, Maria departed, leaving Sabrina feeling like some sort of intruder.

She decided against making herself acquainted with Alexander McDonald’s kitchen just yet. Anyway, she’d had her usual light breakfast of cereal, yoghurt and honey and wouldn’t need any coffee for a while. There was no sound at all in the house and for some reason Sabrina felt distinctly embarrassed to think of her employer tucked up in bed. As she trod lightly up the stairs, she wondered which room he was still sleeping in, whether it was one of those on the next floor. Trying to contain her thoughts, she reached his study and went inside.

The place was a total shambles. The rug on the floor had been pushed at a slightly drunken angle, and numerous books on the desk were scattered everywhere haphazardly, only just making room for three empty, stained coffee-mugs. Two baskets on the floor alongside were full of crumpled, screwed-up paper, and there seemed to be dust everywhere; Sabrina could see its lazy motes moving and shifting in the shafts of strong sunlight streaming in from the windows. She made a face to herself. This room was obviously out of bounds to Maria, she thought. It also felt over-warm and stuffy; impulsively she went over and unlatched one of the windows, throwing it wide open to let in some fresh air. She didn’t know how long she would survive in this atmosphere.

Glancing down, she saw that the long, narrow garden was laid out in a strip of lawn, and here and there were clusters of stone pots filled with bright-red geraniums.

‘Good morning.’

Alexander’s voice made her turn quickly—she hadn’t heard him come in—and immediately her pulse quickened as she looked up at him. He was wearing chinos and a black shirt, his hair roughly brushed and still damp from his shower. His face was unshaven, the line of dark stubble along his chin drawing Sabrina’s helpless gaze to the seductive black hair just visible beneath his open-necked shirt. He came over to stand next to her and stared down, his dark, sensuous eyes trapping her enquiring green ones for a second.

‘Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you on your first morning,’ he said, swallowing. The memory of last night’s fantasy was still vivid, and uppermost in his mind. How was he going to rid himself of it and act normally? he thought briefly. He straightened his shoulders.

‘I didn’t get to bed until very late last night—well, it was early this morning, actually,’ he added. ‘But I have to keep going until I’m satisfied that I’ve got things right, whatever the hour. Not that it worked this time, I’m afraid,’ he added.

Sabrina frowned briefly, not knowing how to respond to that remark. She moved away from him and went towards her own desk.

‘Well, sometimes a new day can bring fresh ideas?’ she suggested, cross at the way her cheeks had flushed at being alone with Alexander McDonald. She hadn’t felt this way yesterday at the interview. But that was different. Then she had employed all her clinical instincts to get what she wanted—this job. It had kept her cool, calm and rational, deflecting her thoughts from any other feelings she might experience at being in close proximity to one of the most lusted-after—and apparently elusive—men on the London scene.

But this morning realization set in. She was going to be closeted in this room with him for many hours for the foreseeable future, and once again Sabrina felt threatened and in danger of becoming emotionally affected by a member of the opposite sex. She didn’t need her professional qualifications to work that one out, yet she was quietly horrified. Hadn’t fate’s cruel hand made her decide to stick to work and to the needs of her sister from now on, for all time? She was not going to allow life ever again to bring her to the dizzy heights of supreme happiness, only to dash her to the ground and break her heart into pieces.

She should have been married to Stephen by now, but in a tragic, mad moment destiny had taken over. Stephen had lost his life in a friendly rugby-game, never regaining consciousness from a one-in-a-million chance accident on the pitch.

Sabrina had considered herself the luckiest woman in the world when he’d asked her to marry him. Not just because he was so good-looking, with the most amazing deep-gold hair with eyes to match, but because he was funny, loyal and kind. He had promised Sabrina that Melly would always have a home with them, for as long as she needed it. Life had been so good—too good to be true. How many other men would have understood the sense of responsibility towards her sister made so acute by the family background? Their father had walked out a long time ago, and their mother, Philippa, had remarried when the girls were in their teens and at their most vulnerable. She was now living in Sydney with her husband, and rarely came back to the UK, confining her interest in her daughters to somewhat irregular phone-calls. So everything that had happened had made Sabrina feel as if she really was left holding the baby—and knowing with absolute certainty that now she’d never hold one of her own. Because she’d never trust love again, never risk losing again, and she’d managed to convince herself that her need for a man, any man to share her existence, had died for ever.

Yet the burgeoning rush to her senses now told its own story. It was undeniable that Alexander McDonald was seducing her—in thought, if not in deed! It was hardly his fault, but it was the worst possible scenario for a successful business-arrangement, so she’d better get a grip and keep any wayward thoughts well under wraps, she told herself.

Alexander pushed back the chair by his desk and sat down heavily, glancing down with some distaste at the disorderly mess in front of him.

‘I should at least have washed up these mugs before I eventually went to bed,’ he said. He glanced across at Sabrina. ‘Do sit, Miss Gold.’

Sabrina didn’t sit down, returning his glance squarely. ‘I hope you’ll call me Sabrina,’ she said, thinking almost immediately that maybe Alexander McDonald preferred to be more formal with his staff.

But straight away he said, ‘Good. And I’m usually known as Alex. So at least we’ve cleared something up this morning.’

He smiled across at her briefly, his full lips parting to expose white, immaculate teeth. Desperately trying to rein in her imagination—and failing once again—Sabrina fleetingly wondered what it would feel like to have that sensuous mouth close in on hers. He was impossibly handsome, she thought, as his blue-black eyes searched her face. Yet Sabrina was aware that there was a hint of something more behind Alexander’s overtly masculine features, his obviously desirable appearance. There was something about him that both excited and intrigued her. She tried to stem the annoying tingling at the back of her neck, and as he continued scrutinizing her Sabrina had the uncomfortable feeling that he was reading her mind. She certainly hoped not. She tore her eyes from his penetrating gaze, clearing her throat.

‘Do you have any sort of set plan for me…to make a beginning?’ she said tentatively, glancing around and wondering where on earth they were going to start. She hoped she wasn’t expected to come up with any brilliant ideas for the current project he seemed to be having difficulty with. She’d never tried her hand at creative writing, though she’d always been an avid reader from as far back as she could remember. Alexander McDonald’s books were known to be serious and highly literary tomes, and from what she’d read in the book reviews his plots were strong, often dark and with no happy endings guaranteed. They were not really her own choice of reading matter at the end of a working day spent trying to unravel troubled lives and situations for her patients. She wondered briefly when she’d be able to return to her own profession.

‘Have you ever read any of my books?’ Alexander asked bluntly, desperately trying not to keep looking at her. Sabrina coloured up again; he was reading her mind! She paused for only a fraction of a second.

‘No—I haven’t,’ she said simply. ‘I have read about your books in all the reviews, and they seem…somewhat heavier material than I can cope with.’ She hesitated. ‘My normal reading time is an hour or so before I go to sleep,’ she explained. ‘And what I need then is total relaxation, a distraction. I mean, I wouldn’t want to be thinking, dreaming, worrying about all your characters, to have them on my mind all night.’

There was a moment’s silence after that and Sabrina hoped she hadn’t put a nail in her own coffin. If she wasn’t careful this could turn out to be a very short-term employment. She didn’t think Alexander McDonald appreciated criticism—or, worse, a lack of interest—especially from someone like her.

But she couldn’t have been more wrong, because she was treated once more to a brief, heart-wrenching smile as he looked at her, his eyes narrowing. The woman might have said she’d read everything he’d ever written and that she considered it all wonderful, he thought. But she’d been honest enough to say she’d never even read the first page of any of his books.

He got up and came around to stand in front of his desk, leaning casually against it and staring down at her.

‘Good. That means you’ve got no preconceived ideas. Your opinion on something that may be a sticking point for me is going to be invaluable.’ He paused. ‘Janet—my faithful secretary for the last fifteen years—was a useful contributor in this way now and again, but lately it had become a matter of her trying to please me, to tell me what she thought I wanted to hear. That’s no good.’ He thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘It was something of a relief when she decided to retire.’

Sabrina swallowed, biting her lip. By the sound of it, this job was certainly not going to be stereotypical, as he’d made clear from the start. But she’d not envisaged it including her having to offer her opinion on the esteemed writing of one of the most successful authors in the world. But then, she thought, she’d read most of the classics—read and re-read them—and was a regular visitor to the library and bookshops, keeping up with all the modern output. Maybe she’d be some use after all, in a small way. She wanted to be useful to Alexander McDonald. And it might prove to be an interesting diversion for her.

He turned around now, picking up a large diary and handing it over to Sabrina

‘This is an essential part of my life,’ he said. ‘And from now on, you’re in charge of it, Sabrina. I need you to remind me at frequent intervals what’s coming up and where I’m meant to be, and who with. I tend to be forgetful most of the time.’ He moved beside her, flicking the pages over. ‘Oh, and I would rather you always answer the telephone—just tell the caller to hold while I decide whether I want to talk or not. If I do, I’ll pick up my extension; if not, I’ll give you the thumbs down and you can think up some excuse.’

For the next hour, Sabrina listened as he explained how he liked everything done, and learned that he didn’t like things moved about unnecessarily. ‘If you tidy up too much, we’ll never remember where anything is,’ he said flatly, and Sabrina smiled inwardly. She’d been right in thinking that Maria wasn’t welcome here. She threw discretion to the winds; she did have some requests of her own.

‘Am I at least allowed to clean some dust from my desk—and from yours?’ she said. She feigned a dainty sneeze. ‘It would be advantageous for both of us,’ she added.

He shrugged, as if the matter of dust had never entered his head. ‘Feel free,’ he said casually.

Finally, she was handed an A4 note pad with pages full of scribbled writing.

‘Type this up and print it out, will you? See if you can make sense of my scrawl.’

Sabrina took a long, deep breath, feeling upbeat for a moment. She knew she could handle this job, because she wanted to, desperately. Twenty-four hours ago she hadn’t even met Alexander McDonald, but she owned up again to a feeling of warmth towards him. He seemed quite nice, as new bosses went, though it was obvious to her that he might be touchy at times. Well, she could handle touchy, she thought.

They were standing close together now, their heads bent over the script they were looking at. His tall frame made Sabrina feel tiny, insignificant and distinctly shivery as he towered above her, the titillating musk of his bronzed skin reaching her nostrils. As he turned another page, their hands touched briefly and Sabrina was painfully aware of his long, sensitive fingers.

She moved away from him slightly, trying to keep her mind from intrusive thoughts, and went across to boot up her computer, thinking that all that writing didn’t look too impossible to interpret, but it was full of alterations and crossings-out which would take time to sort. She bit her lip, feeling that the worst part of the job was the fact that she and her employer were going to be here in this room together all the time. She’d much rather have an office of her own—a decent cupboard would do—where she wouldn’t feel those eyes judging her, assessing her every move. Surely he’d go out sometimes and leave her in peace?

Reading her thoughts, as usual, he said, ‘I’m due at the gym for a couple of hours this morning. But first I’m going to make us some coffee.’

Sabrina stood up. Surely making the coffee was one of the duties of his personal assistant? ‘I’ll do it,’ she said quickly. ‘Maria showed me where the kitchen is.’

He nodded, walking towards the door and glancing back at her. ‘OK,’ he said, relieved that he was feeling more in charge of himself by this time. ‘And I might as well show you the domestic side of things straight away. We may need to make ourselves something to eat at the end of a long day.’

He led the way down the stairs and along the hall to the kitchen, Sabrina following in his wake. She remembered him saying yesterday that he would expect her to stay on after normal working hours when necessary, and she shrugged inwardly. She’d do whatever it took to keep this highly lucrative position. Her expression clouded briefly as she remembered how low Melly had been this morning when she’d looked in on her in her bedroom.

The kitchen was large, immaculate and welcoming. There was a spotless Aga, a large refectory table and chairs. Holding prime position in the centre of the room was a double oven with overhead lighting and shining granite surfaces. Goodness me, Sabrina thought, what does he need all these facilities for when he is the only occupant of the house? Perhaps he was always entertaining, she thought, though somehow that didn’t seem likely. She sighed inwardly, thinking of her own small kitchen that was badly in need of a refit.

Alexander threw open the door of one of the cupboards. ‘Everything you may need is here, or in the fridge,’ he said, looking back at her. ‘Maria does all my shopping, makes sure I don’t run out of essentials—though I do eat out rather a lot.’ He paused. ‘I’ve become adept at scrambling eggs, and that’s just about it.’

Sabrina smiled up at him briefly and went over to the sink to fill the kettle.

‘I’ll go and get changed and come back in a minute for my coffee—which I like black,’ Alexander said. ‘And feel free to help yourself to anything you want, whether I’m here or not,’ he added.

Sabrina set out the things she needed, putting coffee granules into the cafetière, and was just reaching for two mugs when the telephone rang. She frowned. It wasn’t the land line, it was a mobile, and it certainly wasn’t hers. Then she saw that Alexander had left his on one of the surfaces, and she went over to answer it. Before she could open her mouth, a woman’s rather strident tones filled her ears.

‘Alexander? You have not been returning my calls. That is extremely naughty of you!’

‘Excuse me,’ Sabrina said hastily. ‘Um, I’ll see if Mr McDonald is in.’

There was a second’s pause. ‘Is that Janet?’ the voice demanded.

‘No, I’m Mr McDonald’s new secretary,’ Sabrina said. ‘Janet does not work for him now.’

‘Really? He didn’t tell me anything about getting a new secretary,’ the voice said in a rather complaining tone. ‘Oh, well. I want to speak to him, please.’

‘I’ll see if he’s in,’ Sabrina repeated. ‘May I ask who’s calling?’

‘This is Lydia,’ the voice said, as if that should have been obvious to anyone with half a brain cell.

‘One moment,’ Sabrina said, putting the phone down carefully and leaving the room, running up the stairs two at a time. Alexander was just coming out of one of the rooms dressed in a white T-shirt and shorts, his brown, muscular thighs and calves shadowed with dark hair. He was looking so unutterably seductive that Sabrina almost forgot what she was supposed to be doing.

‘There’s a call on your mobile—which you left in the kitchen,’ she faltered.

‘Oh, I’m always mislaying the wretched thing,’ he said. ‘Who wants to speak to me?’

‘Someone called Lydia,’ Sabrina replied, turning to go back down the stairs.

He didn’t reply to that, but followed Sabrina into the kitchen and picked up the phone.

‘Good morning, Lydia,’ he said casually. Before he could utter another word, Sabrina could hear those distinctive tones sailing on uninterrupted.

‘Why haven’t you been returning my calls?’ the woman said petulantly. ‘It really is most annoying, Alexander.’

‘Yes, I know. Sorry, Lydia.’ He paused. ‘It’s just that I’ve been extremely busy, and rather distracted, because Janet has left and I’ve had to find someone else suitable.’

‘Yes, I’ve just been told about Janet,’ the woman went on. ‘Your problem is you work too hard, Alexander. Anyway, enough about all that. I hope you’re still free for Sunday week?’

As Sabrina poured the boiling water onto the coffee, she couldn’t help being riveted to the conversation going on beside her. Alexander made no effort to exclude her from listening in. Who was Lydia? Clearly an over-familiar lady friend who didn’t seem very important to Alexander, if the expression on his face was anything to go by.

‘Sunday week?’ he repeated, frowning.

‘Yes, Sunday week,’ the woman said. ‘Look, I’m not taking no for an answer this time, Alexander.’ She paused. ‘There are going to be lots of party people there you’ll know.’

‘I don’t do parties. You know that, Lydia,’ he said.

‘You always used to! Your…social reputation was very well-known at one time.’

‘That was a very long while ago, Lydia,’ Alexander replied. ‘I have, shall we say, outgrown parties.’ Especially your parties, he thought. ‘I really do not find them entertaining any more.’

‘Well, I can promise you that you’ll find this one entertaining,’ Lydia persisted. ‘Do say you’ll come?’

Alexander glanced at Sabrina, raising his eyebrows in mild exasperation.

‘Oh, well, OK. If you insist, Lydia,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Wonderful! And, by the way, Lucinda is back in England and she’ll be at the party.’ There was a long pause. ‘She particularly asked whether you were going to be there when we spoke on the phone. Mentioned something about an old score to settle.’

Alexander’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘I wonder whether Lucinda and I will recognize each other,’ he said. ‘After all this time.’

There was a girlish giggle at the other end. ‘I doubt that there will be any difficulty with that. You were very close once, weren’t you?’

‘That also was a very long time ago, Lydia,’ Alexander said, clearly irritated by now. ‘Um, look, I have to go. But thanks for the call.’

‘Don’t forget—Sunday the sixteenth. And don’t be late!’ was the parting shot.

He ended the call and Alexander turned to pick up his coffee, glancing down at Sabrina, his eyes narrowing slightly.

After a moment he said thoughtfully, ‘Could you possibly arrange to be available on the evening of the sixteenth to come to this function it seems I can’t get out of?’ He paused. ‘It might be useful to have you there.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry it’s a Sunday, when I wouldn’t normally ask you to work, but it would be helpful if you could.’

Sabrina frowned thoughtfully. She hadn’t realized how demanding this job was going to be, but if needs must she’d better do as her employer wanted. She made a mental note to bring a note pad and pen with her.

‘When I get home I’ll double check I’m free,’ she said. ‘But I think I can do as you ask.’

‘Great. Thanks.’ He finished his coffee and turned to go. ‘I very rarely see my mother these days, and sometimes I just have to fall in with her wishes.’

‘Your mother?’

‘Yes—Lydia. My mother,’ Alexander said as he left the room.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.