The Boss's Virgin

‘Poor Miss Dalton,’ Pippa said, with the first real sympathy she had felt for the older woman, who was never pleasant to her.

‘Don’t feel sorr

y for her! Just because her heart’s breaking is no reason why she should make our lives hell, is it?’ Judy was made of sterner stuff; her brown eyes glinted crossly.

Pippa grinned at her. ‘No reason at all, no! Anyway, you didn’t say what he was like to work for!’

‘He’s quite tough, too, actually, but in a different way. He expects us to work very hard, and he won’t tolerate mistakes, but he isn’t nasty, like Dalton. So long as you work hard he’s decent to you. Half the girls in the office are nuts about him, but he never encourages them. He’s a happily married man.’

‘Has he got children?’

‘One, a boy, around four years old, called Johnny. Randal has a big silver-framed photo of him on his desk. And another photo of his wife in evening dress—she really is fantastic. Wait until you see her!’

She was not to see Mrs Harding for some months, but Randal Harding was back at work the following Monday. Pippa had got in early to give herself a head start; she was only just able to keep up with the work as yet, and Miss Dalton was watching her like a hawk, pouncing on her every mistake. Pippa could not afford to lose this job, so she’d got an earlier bus that morning.

It was a fresh, blustery day; her curly chestnut hair had got blown about as she’d walked along the road, and her skin was flushed with exercise and cool air.

Nobody else was in her office; she sat down in front of her word processor and switched on, arranged her pens beside a pad next to the phone and was about to start work when the door opened. Looking round with a smile, Pippa was startled to see a man entering the office. She got an immediate impression of height and dark, brooding good looks.

He looked surprised too, staring at her. ‘Who are you?’

She didn’t like his curt tone. Coldly, she answered, ‘I work here. Who are you?’

‘I’m the managing director.’

She gulped. Oh, no! She should have guessed. She had known he would be back at work today.

‘Would you make me some coffee and bring it through to my office?’ he asked. ‘Bring a pad, too. I want you to take dictation.’

The door shut again; he was gone, leaving Pippa breathless. Well, that hadn’t been a good beginning, had it? She wouldn’t have left a very favourable impression on him. And she had been so keen to impress him!

Hurriedly she made him coffee, got a few biscuits from the tin kept in the cupboard where the coffee-making equipment was stored, laid a tray, collected her pad and several pens, and went through to his office.

That first session with Randal was tense and anxious; she was terrified of making a mistake. He was clearly in a temper; she sensed he would have gone into hyper-rage for any reason, however slight. So she concentrated hard, listening intently, her pen moving fast and fluently over the pad while he dictated several memos to staff, letters to clients.

Miss Dalton arrived just as he finished. Pippa incredulously saw that the snow queen looked flustered, her skin flushed, apologising as she hurried into the room, still wearing her smart black raincoat.

‘I am so sorry, Mr Harding; I left early so that I would be here when you arrived, but there was some sort of hold-up on the buses; I had to wait for ages before I could get one.’

He nodded impatiently. ‘Never mind, Miss Dalton. Pippa was here early and has taken dictation.’ He looked at Pippa. ‘Get those ready to sign as soon as possible, would you? Thank you.’

Pippa retreated, still shaky, and felt Miss Dalton’s icy eyes on her all the way.

Judy was just hanging up her coat. ‘Where have you been?’ she asked, and Pippa told her in a whisper. Judy whistled. ‘She won’t forgive you for that for a long time! The boss is her property; she’ll hate you for being here when she wasn’t.’

She was absolutely right. Miss Dalton was on Pippa’s case all day, snapping at her, complaining about her work, criticising her for wearing eye make-up, not to mention vivid red varnish on her fingernails in the office.

‘You look like a tart! Mr Harding doesn’t like his employees to wear that much make-up! Don’t come to work like that again!’

Pippa mumbled an apology; the other girls discreetly averted their heads.

Later that morning Miss Dalton struck again accusing her of gossiping to Judy when she should be working.

‘I’ve finished the work Mr Harding asked me to do—shall I take the letters to him to sign?’

‘No,’ snapped Miss Dalton. ‘I’ll do it!’ She came over to Pippa’s desk, picked up the perfectly typed letters and went out with them.

‘Brrr…icy weather,’ Judy whispered. ‘I told you so. She hates you now. Take another step near Mr Harding and she’ll kill you.’