The Beautiful Widow

‘A cocktail would be lovely.’ She was glad now she’d eaten the slice of cake Maggie had pressed on her. The day had been hectic and after she had dropped the twins off at their nursery she’d rushed from pillar to post and skipped lunch. Without the cake any alcohol would have gone straight to her head, but she felt Steel Landry would expect a sophisticated career woman to have a pre-dinner aperitif.

She watched as he prepared the cocktails, and as he carried two glasses back to where she was sitting she took one with a smile of thanks. ‘What is it?’

‘A Moscow Mule.’

He smiled, and her heart did a pancake flip. She took a tiny sip and the zingy concoction exploded on her taste buds and then left a warm glow where it travelled.

‘Despite its name it was invented in a Sunset Strip bar in 1940s Hollywood,’ Steel said lazily, sitting down opposite her once more and loosening his tie as he undid the top two buttons of his shirt.

It made concentrating on what he was saying hard, doubly so as he crossed one leg over the other knee and settled back comfortably. It was crazy, ridiculous, but every nerve in her body was registering his smallest action and she didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because he was the most aggressively masculine man she’d ever met, and his voice—deep, smoky, compelling—added to the dark sexual appeal.

Summoning her thought process, Toni said weakly, ‘What’s in it? It tastes pretty powerful.’

He nodded his agreement. ‘Russian wheat vodka, lime juice and ginger beer. Apparently a spirits distributor was having trouble getting the Americans to buy his Russian vodka so he thought up a new drink with a barman who made his own, equally poorly selling, ginger beer. Enterprising, especially as it lives up to their marketing of having a kick like a mule.’

And Steel Landry was a man who would appreciate enterprise and initiative, she thought. Did he realise how intimidating he was? Probably. It was a tool that would serve him well in the cut-throat world of business. Wishing her neatly tailored, pencil-slim skirt were a couple of inches longer—although its knee-length had never bothered her before—she covertly tugged at it and readjusted her position before taking another sip of the cocktail.

‘Kids OK?’ he asked softly.

Startled, she met his gaze. ‘Yes, they’re fine.’

‘Then could you try to relax a little?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Painfully aware she’d turned an unflattering shade of crimson, Toni didn’t know where to put herself. ‘I am perfectly relaxed, thank you.’

‘You, Mrs George, are like a cat on a hot tin roof,’ he drawled slowly, ‘or maybe little Miss Riding Hood in front of the big bad wolf would be a better analogy. Whatever, I’m not going to try to seduce you over drinks and dinner.’

‘I never thought for a moment you were,’ she said hotly, such transparent honesty in her voice he couldn’t fail to believe her.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Then why so tense?’

She shrugged. How could she say she was desperate for the job? That it would make all the difference in the world to her if he paid half as well as James had intimated he might? She had enjoyed her time working for James’s practice; preparing the sketches and ideas for quotation and then, if the practice won the contract, putting together more detailed specifications and working drawings and getting approval for them. Once she’d put out the contract for the actual work—the decorating, furniture, coverings, etc.—to tender, she had been responsible for supervising it and seeing schedules were kept and problems solved. It had been tough sometimes when things went wrong but she’d been good at it and she knew she could handle anything Steel Landry might ask of her. The alternative was trying to pick up some freelance work or another job, both of which were in short supply to someone who’d been out of the running for the last four years.

She didn’t regret her time at home with the twins. Richard had had a very good job as a sales executive for a large pharmaceutical company and they should have been able to manage perfectly well until the twins started school and she went into the workplace again. She had been very careful to shop wisely and make a penny stretch to two, making the most of two-for-one offers and learning how to cook the cheaper cuts of meat until they were as tender as anything offered at the best restaurants. Most of the girls’ clothes she’d made herself, copying the latest designer fashions with such success she’d earnt a little extra for the family finances when friends had asked her to do the same for them. She hadn’t realised at the time that her efforts were pointless and that Richard’s double life was about to blow their family apart. She’d been so gullible and stupid.

‘Mrs George?’

The deep, slightly husky voice brought her out of the darkness. She blinked. He wanted an answer to his question. Following on from her thoughts, she said hesitantly, ‘I—I suppose I’m out of practice regarding interviews and selling myself.’

Even if she hadn’t realised instantly the last words weren’t the best she could have chosen, the way the carved lips twitched slightly would have told her, but his voice was soothing when he murmured, ‘Not at all. You’ve done an excellent job.’

Her soft brown eyes sharpened. She didn’t know how to take that. She didn’t know how to take him. When James had rung her she’d done a little research of her own on the powerhouse that was Steel Landry. She’d wished she hadn’t afterwards; it had made her more nervous. A human dynamo. Hard but fair. Relentless and unmovable when he wanted something. Severely lacking in the milk of human kindness. Admittedly that last had been from a disgruntled ex-employee who hadn’t been up to the position for which he had been employed, but nevertheless it had been unsettling.

‘Drink your cocktail, Mrs George,’ he said smoothly, ‘and stop worrying. You’ve got the job if you want it, OK?’

‘I have?’ Her eyes opened wide with startled pleasure. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much, Mr Landry.’

‘You accept?’ he asked, as though there had ever been a chance she might refuse. ‘Good. In that case we can do away with the Mr Landry and Mrs George. The name’s Steel.’

‘But—’ She stopped, not knowing how to continue.

‘What?’

‘You—you’re my boss,’ she stammered stupidly.

The crystal eyes crinkled. ‘Did you call James by his surname?’ he asked mildly, finishing his cocktail.

‘No, but—’ She paused. ‘That—that’s different.’