Outback With The Boss

Grace? He’d dropped the Ms Robbins?

‘I don’t have any problems at this stage,’ he continued. ‘If you have problems you should get them off your chest.’ He shot a questioning glance her way.

She shook her head.

‘You’re quite sure?’ he persisted.

Of course she had objections about Mitch Wentworth. She had a list as long as both his arms. But what could she do with them?

Especially now, when he’d skilfully backed her into a corner?

How could an employee criticise her boss for the way he’d bulldozed his way into taking over George Hervey’s little film company? As for her other problems—there was no way she could lambaste a man for his killer good looks.

She really had no choice but to offer an olive branch. ‘I have no complaints,’ she told him. ‘And—and I apologise. You were never meant to see the silly doodling on that magazine. I admit…I’ve been…rather thoughtless.’

He half turned and eyed her speculatively, his hands resting on his hips, pushing his suit coat aside. He was still too damned good-looking to be let loose in small spaces.

‘But,’ she finished defiantly, ‘can you spare me another speech?’

He chuckled and, for the briefest of moments, his eyes danced before his frown slid quickly back into place. ‘No, Grace, I’m afraid you’ll have to bear with me for a little longer. You see, from now on, people will have to get used to following my orders. And the New Tomorrow project must dominate everybody’s thinking. It’s my single focus and it’s got to be the focus for everyone else on the team. For anyone who’s not on that wavelength, there’s going to be a lot of pain and suffering. And if heads have to roll…’ his own head cocked to one side and he glared at her ‘…then so be it.’

‘I understand,’ Grace responded, a little flush mounting on her cheeks. How dared he suggest she wasn’t focused? She’d always taken great pride in her professional commitment. ‘I’m quite well aware that I’m playing with the big boys now.’

Perhaps she had gone too far. Grace squirmed uneasily as Mitch’s jaw clenched and his frown lingered while he studied her face. ‘The big boys…’ he repeated softly. His dark eyes linked for an uncomfortably long moment with hers. They moved to her mouth.

And Grace felt as if she’d stepped into quicksand.

How did he do it?

His hands were now lodged firmly in both trouser pockets and he was standing a good metre and a half away and yet, the way his eyes touched her—she felt as if his mouth was caressing hers—intimately.

This was ridiculous!

She tightened the lips he seemed to be studying so intently. And, her mind racing, she began to talk—anything to cover her turmoil. ‘I—I think you’ll find that I’ve been networking successfully on the location options, Mr Wentworth. I’ve already contacted the property owners in the Tablelands and Gulf regions. I’ve been inundated with offers of accommodation from tourist operators in the north. I have contour maps from the army, information on the roads…The internet is invaluable…’

Mitch held up his hand. ‘Hold it. Okay, I’m impressed, but I don’t need an itemised account just yet. I’m sure it’s all in your report.’

Her eyes blazed. ‘How can I help babbling? You make me nervous when you…when you keep staring at me…like that.’ A swift flood of heat rushed into her cheeks.

Mitch took a step closer and, for a breath-robbing moment, Grace thought he was going to touch her. ‘You don’t like men looking at you?’ he asked lazily.

‘Of course I don’t,’ she snapped while her heart thundered.

His eyes left her then, and he turned to the opposite wall, but an annoying little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

‘No woman does!’ she said indignantly. What was so darned amusing?

‘Ogling women is certainly inappropriate in the work-place,’ Mitch agreed, while he appeared to examine with fascination a ‘Save the Rainforest’ poster on her wall. ‘I apologise if I seemed to be staring. You have an intriguing…face.’

Grace gulped, uncertain how to react.

He moved to the door then stopped. With his thumb, Mitch traced the straight timber edge of the door frame.

Grace’s heartbeats continued to trouble her. He hesitated as if he still wanted to tick her off about something and she wished he’d get it over and done with.

A dreadful thought struck and her hands clenched so tightly her fingernails dug into her palms. Surely he wasn’t about to announce that he’d recognised her after all? He knew she was the hussy in the wispy triangles of black lace?

Not now?

But when his eyes swung back to hers, although they glinted with secret amusement, he merely nodded his head and said with studied politeness, ‘Nice to meet you, Grace. I’ll look forward to reading your report.’

He turned and left and Grace’s knees buckled. She sank onto a chair.

Groaning, she tried to reassure herself that Mitch couldn’t have known about last night in Henry’s flat. She was panicking about nothing. If he’d recognised her, he would have brought it out in the open—the way he had with the magazine.

Yikes! The magazine! With a moan of despair, she buried her face in her hands. The magazine! The underwear! How could she cope?

Staring through her fingers at her keyboard, Grace knew the full meaning of regret. But, she decided after a few minutes of blistering remorse, what she regretted most was that the human brain wasn’t more like a computer. If only there was a safe way to wipe a man’s memory…and get away with it.

CHAPTER THREE

MITCH closed Grace’s preliminary report on location options for New Tomorrow and placed it carefully on his desk. Leaning back in his chair, he glanced at his watch and stretched his arms above him. He was surprised that it was already seven p.m. No wonder his stomach was growling with hunger. In the past three days since he’d arrived in town, there’d been so much work to get through that he’d stayed back in the office each night, then grabbed a snack from the sandwich bar next door rather than eating properly in the hotel’s restaurant.

He allowed his arms to drop again and inter-linked his hands behind his neck. It was his favourite position for thinking.

And he needed to think about Grace Robbins.

This report she’d submitted was impressive. The clear, concise writing, the maps and illustrations, the impeccable layout and thorough attention to detail showed beyond doubt that Grace was absolutely professional. She was one smooth operator.

In the two months since she’d moved from the Sydney office to be part of the advance team working out of Townsville, Grace had assimilated an amazing amount of information about the northern region and all of it was highly relevant to their project. While reading her report, Mitch had become excited by all the potential location sites she’d outlined.

What had really surprised him was her uncanny grasp of what he was trying to achieve with this movie. He’d only sent a fairly sketchy proposal; she hadn’t even read a full script. But it was as if he and Grace had already shared several in-depth conversations about his hopes and expectations for New Tomorrow.

An assistant who could methodically work her way through extraneous details to find exactly what was relevant was a great asset. But one who could also share his artistic vision was a rare find. When her efficiency and presentation skills were also considered, Mitch knew George Hervey had been right. Grace was of inestimable value to the company.

It was a pity these qualities didn’t come with a pleasant, sunny personality. There was only one way to describe Grace—well-balanced—with a huge chip on both shoulders!

Throughout the three days he’d spent in the office, her face had remained a polite, but frowning, almost unfriendly mask. And, while it didn’t particularly bother him, Mitch was beginning to think he’d dreamed up that vision of an alluring, provocative beauty framed by the doorway of Henry Aspinall’s flat.

The way she scurried around the office with her head down, dressed in sombre browns and greys, she looked like a drab brown mouse. It was hard to believe she’d ever made a sexy come-on in her life.

Perhaps he should have said something to clear the air. But he hadn’t wanted any blurring of business and private matters between himself and the woman with whom he had to work so closely.

He flipped open the plastic cover of the report and turned again to Grace’s recommendations. Pen in hand, he read through them once more, circling certain points and making notes in the margins. She had certainly presented some thought-provoking options.

Grace was in the mood for cooking something special. It was an inspiration that didn’t hit her often, so she tended to make the most of it, preparing large quantities that would last her for many meals. Occasionally she felt expansive and threw a dinner party, but tonight she was making her favourite curry and she wasn’t planning on sharing it with anyone.

On the way home from work, she stopped off at the local supermarket and bought all the necessary ingredients. And after a long, warm soak in scented bath oils, she padded into her kitchen, drew the red gingham curtains closed and slipped her favourite Spanish guitar CD into the player.