Out of Hours...His Feisty Assistant: The Tycoon's Very Personal Assistant / Caught on Camera with the CEO / Her Not-So-Secret Diary

‘Here you go, babe, three margaritas.’ Matt placed the drinks Kate had ordered on her tray. As Kate thanked Matt Marcy whisked the tray away.

‘I’ll take care of these for you.’ Marcy checked the tab and hefted the tray onto her shoulder. ‘You take the beers over to Boudreaux’s booth when they get here.’ She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, grinned. ‘This could be your lucky night, hon.’

Before Kate could form a protest, Marcy waltzed off, weaving expertly through the crowd as she balanced the tray of margaritas on one hand. Kate stared dumbly at Marcy’s back, her jaw clenched so tight it was a miracle she didn’t crack a tooth.

‘If I get any more lucky, I might as well shoot myself,’ she grumbled.

Zack was fuming, but he was keeping a lid on it.

What was she doing working tables in the Sports Bar? If she had set out to torment him she couldn’t have done a better job. Just when he was trying to get her off his mind there she was, all hot and luscious in a skimpy skirt that showed her panties every time she moved and a too-tight V-neck sweater that pumped up her breasts. She might as well have been naked, the amount of flesh she was displaying to the whole bar. Watching her walk towards him and Monty, the tray of beers held high, her head down and tantalising little wisps of hair framing her cheeks, Zack had to force his eyes to stay on her face. He guessed he must be the only guy in the place who wasn’t staring at her butt.

‘Wow, she’s built,’ Monty murmured, confirming Zack’s suspicions.

‘Keep your eyes to yourself,’ Zack snapped, ‘or I’ll tell Stella you’ve been checking out other women.’

‘I wasn’t checking her out,’ Monty said, sounding offended. ‘I was just stating the obvious. What’s between you two anyway?’ Monty wasn’t dumb—he’d already asked the question twice since Zack had called their waitress over and asked her to send Kate back with their beers.

‘Nothing,’ Zack said, determined to prove himself right, even if his mouth was drying up and his muscles tensing the closer she got. The ache in his crotch didn’t mean a thing either. It was just residual heat from last night. He stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankle, making his eyes go blank as she stepped up to the booth and slid the tray onto the table.

‘Hello, Kate,’ he said, his voice as bland as a slice of white bread.

‘Hello.’ Kate gave him a brief look before concentrating on putting the bottles on the table without spilling them.

Even in a plain black T-shirt and worn jeans the aura of power pulsed around him, intimidating her. But worse than that was the wet heat that had pooled between her thighs and the parched feeling in her throat brought on by the sight of his lean, solid length relaxed against the leather bench seat.

Her eyes connected with his. She must not show any weakness. He was watching her, the handsome planes of his face defined by the light coming from behind her.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked in a slow, measured voice as if he wasn’t really all that interested in her reply. ‘I thought you were working for Pat today?’

‘I did work for Pat today. I’m working here tonight.’

A muscle in his jaw clenched. ‘I see,’ he said, still in that controlled, indifferent monotone. ‘You know, I don’t think I want you hanging around my hotel.’

Heat seared Kate’s cheeks at the callous words, the assessing, dismissive once-over he gave her.

‘In fact, I’m sure of it,’ he said, slinging his arm casually across the back of the booth.

He looked confident and in control. Probably because he was. The rat.

Kate slung the tray under her arm. Her fingers fisted on the hard plastic. She’d like nothing better than to pick up his fancy bottle of beer right now and pour it over his head. ‘You’re the boss,’ she said, annoyed beyond belief by the quiver in her voice. ‘I’ll leave.’

She turned to go, but he snagged her wrist.

‘Not so fast,’ he said, his fingers clamped tight. ‘We need some more pretzels first.’

Kate tugged her arm loose and glared at him. She wanted to tell him where he could shove his pretzels so badly she could taste the words.

She savoured the image for a moment, then let it go. Bonedeep weariness and despair rushed up to replace it. She nodded. ‘I’ll go get them,’ she said.

‘Eh-hum.’ Monty cleared his throat loudly. ‘Now, are you going to tell me what the bleeding heck that was all about? Who is that girl?’

‘No one.’ Zack ignored his friend, still staring after Kate as she made her way back to the wait-station. Something wasn’t right.

The idea had been to goad her, get her to rise to the bait and then slap her down. It was still bugging him that she’d dumped him this morning to do drudge work. But he didn’t feel the satisfaction he’d expected. In fact, he felt like a jerk. Her face had been cast into shadow by the overhead light, but she’d sounded resigned, weary even. It wasn’t like her to take an insult lying down. He ought to know.

‘All right, why don’t you pull the other one?’

Zack looked at his friend. ‘What?’

‘If there’s nothing going on between you two, I’m Bugs Bunny. And you know carrots make me hurl.’ Monty sipped his beer and skewered Zack with a look.

Zack sighed. He knew that look. It was Monty’s only-dynamite-will-make-me-drop-this-now look.

‘We slept together last night, okay?’ Zack said at last. He took a long swig of his beer, hoping it would ease the dryness in his throat. ‘Although there wasn’t a whole lot of sleeping going on.’ He put the bottle on the table, his throat still dry as a bone. ‘Then she decides this morning she’d rather scrub johns than date me. End of story.’

Monty studied Kate’s retreating figure, then turned back to Zack. ‘She dumped you?’ He gave an astonished chuckle. ‘You’ve got to be joking?’

‘I’m real glad you find that amusing.’

‘Not amusing, mate, more like miraculous.’ Monty laughed again, his eyes darting back to the bar. ‘Oh, fab, she’s coming back. Maybe I’ll get to see her give you the kiss-off again.’

Zack jerked his gaze up, not finding Monty’s teasing at all funny. As he watched Kate approach the familiar tightening in his crotch only aggravated him more.

Kate concentrated on staying upright and channelling Mahatma Gandhi as she approached Zack’s table, the mini-pretzels balanced precariously on her tray. Somehow she had to get him to let her stay till the end of her shift. She hated being a pushover, but she didn’t have the energy to fight and she needed her share of tonight’s bar tips. If she left an hour early, she might not get them.

‘Your pretzels,’ she said, putting the small bowl on the table and keeping her eyes down. Maybe if he didn’t mention her leaving again she could just carry on.

‘Thanks,’ Zack said, sounding surly. What did he have to sulk about?

She picked the empty bowl up from the table, intending to make a quick exit, when the man sitting across from him spoke. ‘Don’t run off, love,’ he said, his broad cockney accent surprising Kate. ‘It’s Kate, right?’

His smile was charming and somehow cheeky at the same time. She hadn’t even noticed him when she’d been at the table earlier, but then she’d been wasting her attention on Zack. She took his hand, feeling her anxiety ebb as his grin widened.

‘Yes, that’s right, Kate Denton,’ she said.

‘Lovely to meet you, Kate,’ he replied chummily. ‘I’m Monty Robertson.’ He let go of her hand, settled back into his seat. ‘Do I detect a touch of the old country in your accent?’

She nodded.

‘Londoner, right?’ he asked, the warmth in his soft ebony eyes putting her at her ease.

‘Chelsea, actually,’ she replied, feeling ludicrously grateful to be talking to one of her fellow countrymen.

‘Very la-de-dah. I’m honoured,’ he said, then his face fell comically. ‘You’re not a bloody Chelsea supporter, are you?’

Kate laughed. ‘Of course I am—best team in London. You’re not one of those saddos who—’ The thump of a bottle hitting the table made her head whip round.

Zack was staring at them. ‘I need another beer,’ he said, his voice deadly calm.