The Mistress Contract

‘And how, exactly, did I treat the rest, Miss…?’

Sephy heard Pat’s sudden intake of breath, but all her senses were focused on the tall, dark man who had obviously been about to leave the room when they had opened the door. She had spoken to Conrad Quentin a few times in the six years she had been working at the firm—brief, polite words at the obligatory Christmas party and on the rare occasions their paths had crossed in the lift—but she had always been overcome with nerves at the prospect of saying the wrong thing and had escaped at the earliest opportunity. But now she certainly had said the wrong thing, and there was no retreat possible.

She stared desperately into the hard, chiselled face; the piercing blue of his eyes threw his tanned skin into even more prominence, picking up the ebony sheen in his jet-black hair, and she saw his straight black eyebrows were lifted in mockingly cruel enquiry.

And it did something to her, causing anger to slice through her body and tighten her stomach, and before she knew she had spoken she said, her voice tight and very controlled, ‘You know that better than me, Mr Quentin,’ and held his glance.

Pat looked as if she was going to faint at the side of her, and for the first time ever Sephy heard the company secretary’s cool dragon of a secretary babbling as she said, ‘This is Seraphina, Mr Quentin, from Customer Services. She’s been with us six years and I thought she would be suitable for temporarily standing in for Miss Watkins. Of course, if you think—’

The man in front of them raised an authoritative hand and immediately Pat’s voice was cut off. ‘You think I treat my staff unfairly, Seraphina?’ he asked silkily.

All sorts of things were racing through Sephy’s frantic mind. She couldn’t believe she had spoken to Conrad Quentin like that, and her heart was pounding like a drum even as tiny pinpricks of sheer, unmitigated panic hit every nerve and sinew. This could be the end of her extremely well-paid and interesting job. And the end of her job could threaten the new flat she had just moved into, the flat it had taken so long to find. And if she left with a black mark over her, if he refused to allow Mr Harper to give her a good reference, how soon could she get other work?

Conrad Quentin was the ultimate in ruthlessness—everyone, everyone knew that—and people didn’t talk back to him! People didn’t even breathe without his say-so. She must have had a brainstorm; it was the only explanation. Maybe if she grovelled low enough he’d overlook the matter?

And then something in the icy sapphire gaze told her he knew exactly what she was thinking and that he was fully expecting her to abase herself.

In the split second it took for the decision to be made Sephy heard herself saying, ‘If everything I have heard is true it would appear so, Mr Quentin, but not having worked for you personally I can’t be positive, of course.’ And she raised her small chin a notch higher as she waited for the storm to break over her head.

As he stared at her she was aware that the hard, masculine face—which just missed being handsome and instead held a magnetic attractiveness that was a thousand times more compelling than any pretty-boy good looks—was betraying nothing of what he was feeling. It was unnerving. Very unnerving. And she would dare bet her life he was fully aware of just that very thing.

‘Then we had better rectify that small point so that you can make a judgement based on fact rather than hearsay,’ he said smoothly, inclining his head towards Pat as he added, ‘Thank you, Pat. I’m sure Seraphina is capable of managing on her own.’ The tone was not complimentary.

‘Yes, of course. I was just going to show her where everything is…the filing cabinets and so on… But, yes, of course…’ Pat had backed out of the doorway as she had spoken, her one glance at Sephy saying quite clearly, You rather than me, kid, but you asked for it! before she shut the door behind her, leaving Sephy standing in front of the brilliant and eminent head of Quentin Dynamics.

He was very tall. The observation came from nowhere and it didn’t help Sephy’s confidence. And big—muscle-type big—with a leanness that suggested regular workouts and a passion for fitness.

‘So you have worked for Quentin Dynamics for six years?’

His voice was deep, with an edge of huskiness that took it out of the ordinary and into the unforgettable. Sephy took several steadying breaths until she was sure her voice was under control, and then she said quietly, ‘Yes, that’s right. That’s one of the reasons Pat thought you would prefer me to a temp.’

‘I don’t use temps.’

The laser-blue eyes hadn’t left hers for a moment, and Sephy was finding it incredibly difficult not to give in to the temptation to drop her gaze. ‘Oh…’ She didn’t know what else to say.

‘My secretary always aligns her holidays with mine and she is rarely ill,’ he continued coolly. ‘It doesn’t fit in with my schedule.’

The sweeping pretension brought her thickly lashed eyes widening, before she saw the mocking glint in his own and said weakly, ‘You’re joking.’

‘Many a true word is spoken in jest, Seraphina.’

They were standing in the outer office, part of which was kitted out as a small reception area. Deep easy seats were clustered around a couple of wood tables laden with glossy magazines, to the side of which were lush p

otted palms and a water chiller. Now he turned and walked past the sitting area to where his secretary’s huge desk and chair stood, just in front of the interconnecting door to his office.

There was a row of superior filing cabinets in an alcove at the back of the desk, and he flicked one tanned wrist as he passed, saying, ‘Acquaint yourself with those immediately. The more confidential files are kept in my office, along with data and documents relating to my other interests outside Quentin Dynamics. There are two sets of keys.’ He turned in the doorway to his rooms and again the blue gaze raked her face with its cold perusal. ‘I have one set and Miss Watkins has the other. Hopefully it will not be necessary to retrieve those from her; I am anticipating she will soon be back at her desk again.’

Not as much as she was, Sephy thought with a faint touch of hysteria. Suddenly Mr Harper and her battered little desk in Customer Services took on the poignancy of an oasis in the desert and she felt positively homesick.

Mr Harper might be work-shy and somewhat somnolent most of the time, and his personal hygiene was distinctly iffy on occasion, but he was rotund and genial and utterly devoted to his wife and children, and their ever-expanding family of grandchildren.

Conrad Quentin, on the other hand, was like a brilliant black star that kept all the lesser planets orbiting it in a perpetual state of fermenting unrest. It wasn’t just the knowledge that he was a multimillionaire with a well-deserved reputation for ruthless arrogance, who demanded one hundred per cent commitment from his employees—it was him, the man himself. The harsh, flagrantly male features and muscular physique had a sensualness about them that was overwhelming.

His virile maleness was emphasised rather than concealed by the wildly expensive clothes he wore, and the unmistakable aura of wealth and power was so real she could taste it. He was everything she disliked in a man.

Still, she didn’t have to like him, she reminded herself sharply, as she became aware he was waiting for her reply. She managed a careful, impersonal smile and said politely, ‘I’m sure she will, Mr Quentin.’ No, she didn’t have to like him, and with any luck the resilient Madge, who was about four-foot-ten and looked as if a breath of wind would blow her away but must have the toughness of a pair of old boots to have lasted this long with her high-powered, vigorous boss, would be back at her desk within the week.

Not that she had much chance of lasting a week—half a day would be doing pretty good, Sephy thought ruefully.