In Bed With the Boss

‘Have you ever tried contact lenses?’ he found himself asking.

Alex blinked behind her glasses at the abrupt change of topic but, not only that, at the impression she’d got that Max Goodwin had gone from businesslike to personal somehow—but surely that was ridiculous?

‘Yes, I do have a pair, but I prefer my glasses,’ she said slowly and with a slight frown.

‘You should persevere with your lenses,’ he told her and stood up. ‘OK, let’s get this show on the road.’ He strode over to his desk and buzzed for Margaret Winston.

Margaret, when she came, didn’t see a problem in the making over of Alex Hill; she looked relieved instead. Then she became practical.

She named a leading department store and told them they had a customer-service department that assisted in putting together wardrobes, co-ordinating cosmetics and even had their own hair salon. She would get right onto the phone to them, she said, and organize a consultation immediately.

‘Thank you, Margaret, that’s excellent news. By the way, am I running late again?’

‘Yes, Mr Goodwin, you are—I’m just about to ring ahead and advise them.’

‘Thanks. Uh—I’d really like to brief Miss Hill. When am I going to have time to do that?’

Margaret thought for a moment. ‘I’m afraid it’s going to have to be after hours,’ she said a little helplessly. ‘Six o’clock this evening, for an hour, is about all the free time you have left.’

‘That OK with you, Miss Hill?’ He swung back to Alex.

She frowned. ‘Where?’

‘Here. I have a penthouse on the top floor. Just use the penthouse buzzer and give your name—Margaret will pass it on to the staff up there.’ He held out his hand to Alex.

She didn’t offer him her hand. She said instead, ‘Brief me?’

Max Goodwin dropped his hand. ‘Yes, brief you on these negotiations,’ he said and added precisely, ‘that is all. And for the simple reason that it may not only be social chit-chat you’ll be translating, because many a meaningful conversation has been held outside a conference room. So I’d like you to be aware of some of the nuances behind these talks.’ He raised a satirical eyebrow at her. ‘All clear?’

Alex shrugged. ‘I only asked.’

‘Because, despite what you said to the contrary, you couldn’t help wondering if I had something else in mind?’

Alex smiled suddenly. ‘If you had known my Mother Superior, you would also know that “penthouses” and “after hours” are all things sensible girls should avoid like the plague. I guess that habit of suspicion becomes a bit engrained. I really am over it now, though—I’ll come.’ She held out her hand, quite unaware of the startled look in Margaret Winston’s eyes, then the small smile of approval that good lady allowed herself before she left.

But it was when he took her hand and shook it that Alex discovered something curiously mesmerizing about Max Goodwin. Was it pure animal magnetism? she wondered. A heady assault on the senses because, even if he was arrogant and incredibly high-handed, he was also good-looking and impressive with those broad shoulders and narrow hips so that he wore his beautifully tailored suit to perfection?

Was it the sneaking suspicion that, despite those blue eyes and the suit, he’d be quite capable of throwing you across the back of his horse like a disobedient squaw and cantering off with you?

Don’t be ridiculous, Alex, she chided herself immediately.

But it wasn’t only that tantalizingly dangerous appeal to him, she reflected. There was a vitality to him that was hard to resist. There was the fact that she might despise his ways and means, but she found him an interesting, worthy opponent to cross swords with.

There was that wary little feeling she’d experienced earlier that he’d crossed some boundary into the personal with her—was that really why she’d been a bit dubious about this after-hours meeting in the penthouse?

On the other hand—and this took her by surprise and shook her a little as she reclaimed her hand—there was the curiously fascinating detail that she came up to just above his shoulder height.

CHAPTER TWO

AT FIVE minutes to six that evening, Alex barrelled into the foyer of Goodwin House with her hair and scarf flying and a variety of shopping bags hanging from her arms.

She looked around breathlessly for the penthouse buzzer and was intercepted by the commissionaire. She gave him her name and told him who she needed to see. He looked doubtful for a moment but led her to the penthouse lift—he had the grace to look apologetic when her name was received in the affirmative and the lift doors opened on cue.

‘Thirty-fifth floor is what you need, ma’am. Have a good evening!’

Alex pressed thirty-five and prepared to part company with her stomach—she didn’t like lifts, but this one turned out to be painless. And on the thirty-fifth floor it opened directly into Max Goodwin’s penthouse.

It wasn’t Max who greeted her, however, it was a man of about forty who said pleasantly, ‘Miss Hill, I believe? I’m Max’s domestic co-ordinator, Jake Frost. I’m afraid he’s running a few minutes late. Would you care to come through to the lounge and may I get you a drink? Oh—I’ll take the shopping bags.’