Breaking the Boss's Rules

No doubt that was Crystal’s influence. In her late thirties, she radiated a serene timeless beauty and her glance at her husband was soft with love. For them Paris was a truly romantic getaway, and envy tugged at Imogen’s heartstrings.

Forcing a smile to her face, she stepped forward and greeted the couple, introduced Joe.

‘Good to meet you, Joe,’ Richard said. ‘Sit—order whatever you like. On me. I recommend the Vieux Carré cocktail. Cognac, sweet vermouth, rye and Benedictine, with a dash of Angostura bitters.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Joe said.

‘Me too,’ Imogen agreed.

Once they were seated, with their drinks in front of them, Richard smiled at Imogen. ‘Isn’t Steve accompanying you on this trip? I thought you’d take advantage of the chance for a romantic getaway?’

Next to her Joe stiffened for a second, his movements jerky as he picked his glass up.

‘Maybe give him the opportunity to pop the question if he hasn’t already, eh?’

Mortification encased her body as her cheeks heated to no doubt a tomato-red. Memories came of how she had gushed to Richard about her belief that she and Steve were so suited, so compatible, so together.

She had been truly delusional.

Now she would have to admit that Steve had left her for his ex and was going to marry her. Well, call her a great fat fibber but she couldn’t do it—couldn’t bear to see the pity in Richard Harvey’s eyes.

‘He couldn’t make it,’ she said, ignoring the snap of Joe’s head, sure she could feel his look boring through her temple.

‘That’s a real shame,’ Crystal said. ‘We were hoping to meet him.’

Richard turned to Joe. ‘Did you bring a significant other half with you?’

‘No. I’m a single man.’

The older man sighed, and then shrugged. ‘Then I suppose the best thing will be for you both to stay in the apartment.’

Huh? The words of confession Imogen had been preparing withered on her tongue. Trepidation tiptoed down her spine as she picked up her glass and forced herself to sip rather than gulp.

‘What apartment would that be?’ she managed.

Richard smiled. ‘Well, as you know, Crystal and I have bought a place in Paris and want it done up. I could go to someone over here, but I’d prefer to use either you or Graham. So I’ve come up with a plan.’

Oh, hell; this plan was going to be a Harvey Humdinger—Imogen just knew it.

‘Sounds intriguing,’ Joe murmured.

‘I’ve rented two romantic Parisian apartments,’ Richard explained. ‘One for Graham and his wife and one was meant to be for Imogen and Steve—though now it’s for you two. You stay there tonight. Then on Monday morning I want a two-page proposal on how you would design the interior of a four-bedroom, three-bathroom Parisian apartment. I’ll make my decision based on that.’

‘How does that sound?’ Crystal asked.

‘That sounds like a challenge Langley will be more than happy to accept,’ Joe said.

Come on, Imogen. She could do the whole gibbering wreck thing later. Right now wasn’t the time.

Raising her glass, she summoned a smile that she could only hope denoted calm, professional confidence. ‘I’ll drink to that.’

‘Excellent,’ Richard said. He reached into his pocket and pushed a set of keys across the table. ‘Here are the keys to ‘Lovers’ Tryst.’

Of course. What else could it be called?

Joe and Imogen—off to Lovers’ Tryst for the night. Dear Lord.

Panic bubbled in her tummy, and yet a thoroughly misplaced anticipation strummed her veins.