Taming the Rebel Tycoon: Wife by Approval / Dating the Rebel Tycoon / The Playboy Takes a Wife

As she stared at him in stunned silence, he added, ‘I’m more sorry than I can say. Your work has always been excellent…’

Coming from a man who had never been known to compliment his staff, that was praise indeed. But what use was it when she was now out of a job?

‘Bearing that in mind, I’ll make sure you have very good references.’

‘When…?’ Her voice wobbled dangerously and she stopped speaking.

Looking uncomfortable, he said, ‘As Marsden will need your office for his own team, it would be best if you left immediately. I’ve authorized six months’ salary in lieu of notice, which will be paid directly into your bank…’

That was very generous. Her contract had only specified one month.

‘A reference and any other appropriate papers will be sent to your temporary address in due course.’

Rising to his feet, he held out his hand. ‘May I wish you well.’

Her voice under control now, she said, ‘Thank you,’ then shook the cold, papery hand and walked out of the room with her head held high.

In the outer office, Sandra Langton, who was just putting on her coat, said with obvious sympathy, ‘Tough luck.’

Then, dropping her voice, ‘I must admit I was surprised by how hard old Sourpuss took it…When will you be leaving?’

‘Now…As soon as I’ve cleared my desk.’

‘Well, all the best.’

‘Thank you.’

Shock setting in, Tina climbed the stairs on legs that felt as wadded and useless as a rag doll’s and, sinking down at her desk, gazed blindly into space.

She had been with Cartel Wines since she left college two years ago. It was a job she had loved and been good at. Even old Sourpuss—as the staff called De Vere behind his back—had admitted it.

But that made no difference whatsoever. Due to circumstances, she was now unemployed.

A kind of futile panic gripped her. Six months’ salary was a buffer, but when the alterations to the house had been completed and she moved back into her flat, her rent would be considerably higher. That, added to Didi’s expenses, meant losing her job couldn’t have come at a worse time.

Over the past year, life had been a series of downs with scarcely any ups. Now, with this final blow, she seemed to have hit rock-bottom.

Well, if that was the case, the only way was up.

Allowing herself no more time for regrets, she rose, squared her shoulders and started to tidy her desk top.

Only when it was clear, did she suddenly recall the letter she had been going to read. Seeing the handsome dark-haired stranger had put it right out of her mind.

But where was the letter?

A quick search through the papers she was taking failed to bring it to light.

Oh, well, it must be there somewhere. She would look more thoroughly later.

Finding an almost empty box in the cupboard, she transferred the few remaining items in it to one of the shelves, then, taking her personal belongings from the desk drawers, stacked them in the box.

The plants she had brought to brighten the somewhat spartan office, she would leave.

She pulled on her coat, put the strap of her bag over her shoulder, tucked the box under one arm and, switching off the light, closed and locked the door behind her for the last time. There was nothing of value in the office, so she left the key in the lock.

Just the night security lights were burning, which meant that the rest of the staff had already gone and she was probably the only person still left in this part of the building.

The main entrance doors at the front would have been locked and bolted some time ago. But her car was in the rear car park, so it was just as quick to go through the warehouse.

As, without looking back, she began to descend the stairs to the dimly lit passage, a movement she heard rather than saw made her realise that she had been wrong. There was someone else still here.

At the bottom of the stairs she turned right and in the gloom saw that the double doors at the end of the passageway were swinging slightly.

Whoever was still here was obviously only a little way in front of her and heading for the car park, as she was.

When she went through the doors, however, the long warehouse appeared to be deserted.

More than a little puzzled, she frowned and, her footsteps echoing in the vast space, began to walk past the various bays, with their rows of pallets stacked with crates and boxes of château bottled imported wine.

Last autumn and winter, on the nights she had worked late, she had walked through the warehouse without a qualm. But tonight, for no good reason, she felt on edge, uneasy.

The night security lighting was high up in the roof of the building and left areas of deep shadow that suddenly seemed sinister, providing as they did an opportunity for someone to lie in wait…

She was doing her utmost to ignore the far from comfortable thought, when some sixth sense insisted that she wasn’t alone, that someone was watching her from the shadows.

The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose and her skin goose-fleshed. Instinctively, she paused and glanced behind her.

Not a soul was in sight.

Gritting her teeth, she was about to walk on when in the silence she heard a faint noise like the brush of a furtive footfall.

The echoing vastness of the warehouse made it impossible to tell where the whisper of sound had come from.

She was standing rooted to the spot when she realised that it would be George Tomlinson, the night security man.

Feeling foolish, she took a deep breath and called out, ‘George, is that you?’

Only the echo of her own voice answered.

She tried again, louder.

Still no answer, apart from the mocking echoes.

It occurred to her that he was probably doing his early evening rounds of the offices, checking that all the lights were out and the doors locked.

But if it wasn’t George she’d heard, who was it?

Perhaps someone had slipped in through the small door the employees used and had been heading for the wages office when they had heard her coming and decided to hide?