The Boss and His Secretary

‘We both do,’ he acknowledged, his hand dropping back to his side.

‘We—do?’ She was cagey still.

‘Are you going to make me a cup of tea?’ he requested.

Taryn turned away to set the kettle to boil, knowing without having to ask that he had not been referring to a cup of tea when he had said he wanted something.

‘You’ll join me, I hope?’ he invited, when he observed she had taken out only one cup and saucer.

No need to be antagonistic just for the sake of it, she decided, taking out another cup and saucer and, since he was not yet ready to go and see his uncle, inviting him to take a seat at the kitchen table.

‘Cake?’ she offered.

‘You heard?’

Her lips twitched. He knew his uncle had passed on his compliment about her cake. She glanced at Jake Nash and saw he had his eyes on her nearly smiling mouth, perhaps noting he had reached her sense of humour. She sobered straight away, and busied herself taking two cups of tea over to the table. Against her sudden better judgement, she took him a slice of cake too.

Since he had invited her to join him, she sat down at the table with him, this good-looking, steady grey-eyed man. ‘So,’ she challenged, ‘if the phone lines from New York haven’t been buzzing again, what do you want that I might possibly want too? Presumably you believe there’s some sort of connection?’

‘You have a sharp intelligence, Taryn,’ he commented.

She fixed her dark blue glance on him. ‘So I can make a decent cake and I’m not too dim. So?’

‘You’ll be leaving here soon?’

‘Mrs Ellington phoned to say she will definitely be back by the end of next week.’

‘When you’ll be looking for a job?’

Taryn collapsed back in her chair. ‘You’re never offering me the job of your housekeeper!’ she exclaimed, bringing out that which her ‘sharp intelligence’ had brought her.

‘I’m quite adequately catered for in that department,’ he replied smoothly.

‘Of course,’ she murmured. ‘Your good lady will see to all your domestic arrangements.’

‘I don’t have a “good lady” in that sense.’

‘You’re not married?’

‘Nor living with anyone,’ he answered coolly. ‘I do have a kind soul who comes in and tidies up and cooks a bit most days.’ He shrugged, and challenged, ‘You like housekeeping so well that you want to continue with it when your stint for my uncle is done?’

She shook her head. ‘I needed a break from PA work—I’m now ready to go back to it.’

‘Back to Mellor Engineering?’

Subtle question. ‘No,’ she replied coldly. ‘And, to answer your next question, no, I was not dismissed on the spot,’ she informed him defensively.

He eyed her silently for long interminable seconds—and she was sure she was not going to say another word to the wretched man. ‘But you did leave—on the spot?’ he enquired, with that sharp intelligence he had. She refused to answer. ‘Care to tell me why?’ he persisted.

‘No!’ she retorted. ‘It’s nothing to do with you.’

‘You—had a small breakdown?’ he fished.

‘No, I didn’t!’ she exploded. Honestly, this man! If it was her house she’d chuck him out. She counted to ten, felt calmer and, since he had witnessed for himself that she had been upset that day in the lift, conceded, ‘I was—upset—at the time. But now I’m looking for a job I can well and truly get my teeth into.’

‘You want a career?’ he enquired mildly. But she had a feeling, as steady grey eyes held hers and he took in her every word, look and nuance, that this seemingly mild-at-the-moment man missed not a thing.

‘To have a career is paramount to me,’ she agreed. ‘My first priority.’

‘You have a second priority?’

‘I could do with finding somewhere to live.’

‘Where do you normally live when you’re not here in Knights Bromley?’

‘At home. In London.’

‘With your parents?’

‘My parents are divorced.’

‘You live with your mother?’

‘Honestly!’ she gasped. ‘Is there no end to your questions?’ He smiled, totally unperturbed. And, to her own surprise, she found she was telling him, ‘My mother lives in Africa. I live with my father and stepmother, actually.’

‘Ah!’

‘Ah?’ she queried.

‘I take it your stepmother is of the wicked variety?’

Her lips twitched again. What was it about this man that even when she was annoyed with him he could make her want to laugh? ‘So?’ she queried, determined again not to smile.

‘So,’ he replied, ‘while I’ll leave you to deal with the second of your problems, I might be able to help with your first.’

Keep up, Taryn, she urged, and realised he must be referring to her first and her second priority. Second was fresh accommodation; first was a PA career job.

She looked at him, seeking more of a clue. He looked back, saying nothing. ‘You’re saying you have PA vacancies at the Nash Corporation?’ she asked, bringing out slowly the only thing she could think he must be meaning.

‘From time to time,’ he replied, accepting that his great-uncle had told her of his company. ‘Though as secretaries are upgraded they are more usually filled internally.’

Taryn was not at all certain that she wanted to work for the Nash Corporation. Even if it was true that, as career moves went, she would be hard put to it to do better. ‘But you have one vacancy that you can’t fill internally?’ she guessed, while at the same time she could hardly credit that Jake Nash, the head of the whole shoot, should be talking to her about it—if indeed this was the case—when it went without saying that he must have a very efficient Human Resources department within his organisation who took care of all that.

He did not answer her question but instead asked her, ‘Tell me, Taryn, how long were you working for Mellor Engineering?’

He was interviewing her for a job! She stared at him wide-eyed, and not a little disbelieving. But she saw no harm in answering. ‘Five years.’

‘Has it been your only job?’ he wanted to know.