those bloodstains!
She still had his sodden handkerchief, she realised as she looked down with
dismay at the screwed-up item in her hand. Not that she could have given it
back to him in this condition; she would have to launder it first and send it
back to him. Not that she thought Logan McKenzie would miss one white
handkerchief; it was just a matter of principle.
She—
'Here we are,' announced a bright female voice as Karen Hill, Logan
McKenzie's private secretary, came into the room, laden down with
disinfectant cream and plasters. 'Logan says you've had an accident.' She
looked at Darcy enquiringly.
Logan—Darcy was sure—thought she was one big accident! She cringed
with embarrassment now as she remembered the way she had sobbed all
over the poor man.
'It's nothing,' she dismissed. 'Just a plaster will be fine,' she accepted lightly,
the cut no longer bleeding, although it stung slightly.
But not as much as remembering her complete breakdown in front of Logan
McKenzie a few minutes ago! The sooner she got away from here, the
better.
'Thanks.' She accepted the offered plaster. 'Er—do you have any idea of
Logan's—Mr McKenzie's,' she corrected awkwardly, 'shirt size?'
Karen's blonde brows shot up in obvious surprise. 'Logan's shirt size...?' she
repeated speculatively.
Mistake, Darcy, she admonished herself. If she intended replacing Logan
McKenzie's ruined silk shirt she would just have to find another way of
finding out what size to purchase.
'It doesn't matter,' she told the other woman brightly, avoiding Karen's
questioning gaze as she put the plaster on her finger. 'I'll just finish clearing
away here and be on my way,' she added.
'Fine,' the other woman answered distractedly, obviously still puzzled by
Darcy's earlier question.
Well, she would have to remain puzzled, Darcy decided irritably; she had
already embarrassed herself enough for one day!
Once on her own she cleared away in double-quick fashion, stacking
everything into the baskets she had brought up with her, even the broken
glass was swept up and wrapped in newspaper for her to take away with her.
It was just her luck to find Logan McKenzie waiting for the ascending lift
when she struggled down the corridor with the two laden baskets!
He turned to glance at her. doing a double take as he obviously recognised
her, a frown instantly darkening his brow.
Not surprising really. Darcy acknowledged with an inward wince: the poor
man was probably wondering whether it would be safe io get into the lift
with her, or if there was a chance it would break down the moment the doors
closed behind the two of them!
'Hello,' she greeted inanely.
'Darcy.' He nodded tersely, glancing impatiently at the lights indicating the
slow ascent of the lift.
Couldn't wait to get away from her, Darcy realised self- derisively, knowing
he would probably make a point of asking Daniel Simon for her not to wait
on one of his business lunches ever again! Well, he needn't worry on that
score; she was only here today because they were short-staffed.
The restaurant, Chef Simon, opened in London by Daniel Simon five years
ago, had become such a success that the customers often asked him if he
was able to cater for dinner and luncheon parties in their own homes. The
outside catering company of Chef Simon was a direct result of those
requests. With numerous pre-bookings, already six months ahead in some
cases, this secondary business was obviously doing very nicely, thank you!
Unfortunately several of the staff were off with flu at the moment, which
was the reason Darcy had been roped in to help today. After the last
disastrous half-hour, she wished she could have claimed a previous
engagement!
'Here, let me.' An impatient Logan McKenzie reached out and relieved her
of one of the heavy baskets.
Darcy blinked her surprise, having been taken unawares, lost in thought as
she was. 'Thank you,' she murmured dazedly. 'But there's really no need,'
she added awkwardly, moving to take the basket back out of his grasp.
Something he obviously had no intention of letting her do as his long,
tapered fingers tightened about the wicker handle. 'Leave it,' he snapped
impatiently as the lift finally arrived, standing back to allow her to enter
first.
Darcy looked at him beneath lowered lashes as hepressed the lift button for
the ground floor. Aged about thirty-five, he was incredibly
good-looking—in an arrogantly austere way, she decided slowly. His short
dark hair was straight and silky, blue eyes the colour of the clear
Mediterranean Sea, his nose slightly long, sculptured mouth unsmiling now,
although Darcy had witnessed several charming smiles during the serving of
lunch, his chin squarely firm. Tall and ruggedly muscular, he looked as if he