His Permanent Mistress: Mistress Under Contract

She nodded. More to herself than him. As if he’d confirmed her worst suspicions.

She focused on the room again. ‘Where are the current staff?’

‘I’m really not sure. There’s a list in the office at the back of the bar. I rang them to let them know it was closing for a couple of days and that the new manager would be in touch.’

‘I’ll get onto that right away.’ She picked up a stained coaster from the nearest table. ‘It could do with a little freshening.’

‘Freshen away. Just don’t do anything drastic.’

She raised her brow at him and he didn’t like the cunning in her smile.

He glanced at his watch. He needed to get back to the office before Sarah thought he’d run out for ever. But he didn’t want to leave this woman alone in the club. Not yet. He needed to get to know her a little. He was used to reading people. It was part of his job. Not only did he have to understand the law and be able to apply it, but he had to understand people as well—under-stand the motivations, desires and reasons behind drastic action. But he’d yet to get a handle on her. She seemed a contradiction. Edgy on top, eager underneath. ‘I have to get back to the office to grab some files.’

‘Files?’

‘I thought I’d catch up on work here while you start to get things sorted. Be here to answer any questions you may have.’

‘I thought you didn’t know anything about running a club.’

‘I’m a good guesser.’

Lucy stood firm and stared down her new employer—again. He didn’t trust her.

‘Sure.’ She smiled. ‘Go get them. I’ll chase up the bar staff.’

He hesitated.

She gave him a withering glance. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to hock off all the furnishings in the half-hour you’ll be gone.’

The thing was, he seemed to think she actually might do just that. She couldn’t for the life of her think why he’d just employed her. Not when it was so obvious he thought she was a flake. It must have been a spontaneous decision and one he was already regretting. She could see it a mile off. He didn’t even want to leave her in the club on her own for five minutes for fear she’d what—run off with the remainder of the stock?

She felt annoyed. Really annoyed.

OK, so she’d never held a job for more than three months. That wasn’t because she wasn’t a good worker. It had always, always been her decision to leave. Usually because she was bored. Because there was somewhere else she thought she wanted to be. And, OK, she mouthed off a bit. Sometimes. Most of the time. Like always. That way she could keep people at bay. Keep their expectations low. Keep herself protected.

She eyeballed him. Damn his judgments. He could stand there in his immaculate suit with his immaculate face that she was not noticing; he could stand there and just watch her.

He didn’t think she could do this. Well, screw him. And that, she conceded, was the problem. She wanted to. Lust like you wouldn’t believe. She wanted to strip him, lay him bare and watch the frozen look go up in flames. Utter foolishness. Lucy had learned long ago to at least try to put the brakes on foolish notions.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. ‘Call me if there’s any problem. I’ll lock the door behind me on the way out.’

She reached out, the casualness of her gesture totally undermined by the intensity of their sparring stares. Again, she had to look away first. It was like staring into the eyes of a lion—and she couldn’t help feeling he was capable of the kill. She watched him leave. Listened to his sure steps heading down. Waited for the sound of the door closing firmly behind him. Then she expelled the breath she’d been holding onto for what felt like hours.

This was huge. Huge. How on earth was she going to pull it off?

She needed help. She flipped out her mobile, wincing at the single bar left on the battery indicator. Knowing she’d already IOU-ed the pre-pay provider and had about thirty seconds’ worth of time left. She pressed the number and hoped for the best. Fortunately Emma picked up straight away. ‘It’s me. I need your help. Phone me back on this number, will you?’ She rattled off the number, thankful her sister had scarily good mental recall.

A minute later the phone in the club rang.

‘Lucy, is everything OK?’

‘Yep. Actually things are great. I got a job.’

‘Another one? Where are you now?’

‘Wellington.’

‘What happened to Nelson? I thought you liked it there.’

‘Oh. All those hours of sunshine. I started to go crazy.’

Emma’s laugh floated down the line. ‘Stir crazy, huh, Luce. When are you going to stick at something longer than a few weeks?’

‘When it rains men. This is a big job though—bar manager.’

‘Really? Fab. What do you need me for?’

‘I’ve got to get up to speed with the stock management systems and pay rolling and spreadsheets, Emma. Spreadsheets.’ She hated the things.

Emma laughed. ‘What systems are they using?’

Lucy looked at the computer and read out the programs on the desktop.

‘Piece of cake, Luce, you’ll crack them in no time,’ Emma encouraged. ‘Look, I’ve a spare laptop. I’ll load the software on and send the guide with it by courier tomorrow.’

‘You’re a lifesaver.’ Lucy gave her the club address. ‘Con-trolling the ordering out front is no problem, it’s the backroom stuff I need the handle on.’

‘Good Lord, Luce. You know what?’

‘What?’

‘You sound motivated. Actually motivated.’

Lucy stared at Daniel Graydon’s business card. ‘I guess I am. I’m going to nail this job, Emma.’ Because it was the last thing he expected. Three weeks was time enough to prove a point. She wouldn’t just do the job, she’d shine. And once she had? Why, then she’d have a holiday.

‘Good for you.’

She hung up, buoyed by the brief conversation. She walked back into the bar and stood in the middle—surveying her new domain. The club was up one flight of stairs, darkened windows overlooking the busy downtown street. A large pool table stood in one corner. Cosy nooks and comfy seating scattered around the edges, a small dance floor on one side of the bar with the DJ stand on the far wall. The space was small, intimate. It was made for selected entrants. It should be exclusive. Hip. She’d target the young, urban, wealthy—fashion designers, media lovies, movie technicians—and mingle them with the up-and-coming darlings of the political and judicial worlds. Wellington—New Zealand’s city of power and privilege, flavoured with a touch of Hollywood.

And cool. Undeniably cool. Lucy understood the power of cool. Not that she was, but she could fake it as well as the rest of them. She could spot a trend. She’d suggested themes and altered décor a little in many of the bars and hotel restaurants she’d worked at over the years—and been successful.

Back in the little office she rooted amongst the chaotic paperwork for a list of staff details and started dialling. An hour later and she’d contacted all but one of them. A couple had already found other work, thinking the club was to be closed for a while, but the others were keen to get back to it. It meant she was short, though—and missing a doorman. But she could work long hours to cover the gap and she knew of the perfect bouncer. She might have been out of town for a year but she had some old friends she knew she could call on. She’d do all the calling necessary to make this work.

Her new employer provided premium incentive. For whatever reason—probably desperation—he’d offered her the chance. More to the point he’d laid down a challenge. Now it was up to her. And her appreciation of his stud factor was going to have to take a back seat to her proving him wrong.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_8502f78f-43cc-5a3e-abdd-a53c22297859)

You find putting things in order satisfying