Playboy Boss, Pregnancy of Passion

And he was as good as his word; he’d wrapped up the call before she’d had time to absorb more than the fact there were two desks in the room, both with state-of-the-art computers and completely clear work surfaces, and a bank of filing cabinets. The view from the office window over the river was stunning; she could see ships sailing down the Thames, and on a sunny day like this the water sparkled.

‘Right—I’m all yours,’ he said.

The thoughts that put in her head… Very, very unprofessional thoughts. Thoughts of him lying naked on crisp cotton sheets that were just about to get seriously rumpled.

Sara pushed the idea away and really hoped that her face hadn’t turned as red and hot as it felt. What the hell was wrong with her? She never, but never, started fantasising about her clients. Even the good-looking ones.

Though Luke Holloway was a little more than good-looking. He was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. The sort whose smile would make any woman’s heart feel as if it had just done a somersault.

‘Can I get you a coffee?’ he asked.

‘Thanks. That’d be nice.’ Though what she really needed was a cold shower.

‘Bathroom’s over there, if you need it.’ Luke indicated the door in the far corner.

Oh, no. Please don’t let her have said that thing about cold showers out loud. Then her common sense kicked in. Obviously he meant if she needed the loo. ‘Thanks, I’m fine.’

He opened another door to a small galley kitchen. ‘Milk, sugar?’

‘Just milk, please.’

He added milk to one cup and sugar to another, then took a tin from the cupboard and removed the lid. ‘Help yourself.’

Extremely posh chocolate biscuits.

Clearly her amusement must have shown on her face because he laughed. ‘My only vice. Well, almost.’

She caught the gleam in his eyes and could guess the other one. It dovetailed with the thoughts she’d had when he’d told her he was all hers. And it made her mouth go suddenly dry. She had to make a real effort to force her mind back to business. He wanted a troubleshooter, not a lover.

She wasn’t in the market for a lover in any case. She liked her life as it was. Happy and single. Uncomplicated.

‘So what makes you think I can help you?’ she asked.

‘You come highly recommended,’ he said simply.

‘So,’ she countered, ‘do you.’

He inclined his head, acknowledging the compliment. ‘Lily warned me that you might be busy.’

‘Usually, I am.’ She shrugged. ‘I’d planned to take the summer off to do a bit of travelling. Spend a month in Italy or Greece.’

‘Good food, decent weather and plenty of sandy beaches?’

‘Plenty of ruins,’ she corrected. A beach holiday, sitting still and doing nothing, was her idea of boredom. She liked exploring. ‘It’s one of the perks of being self-employed—I can choose when I want to take a holiday.’

He handed her a mug of coffee, then picked up his own mug and the tin of biscuits and ushered her back into the office. ‘Most self-employed people have to be forced to take time off.’

Was he talking about himself? She looked straight at him. ‘It’s important to take time off. If you don’t refill the well, you end up with burnout and you’re no good to anyone. Good time management helps a lot.’

He didn’t look convinced, but at least he didn’t try to argue with her. Which was good. After Hugh, Sara had had enough of workaholic men. Ha. After Hugh, Sara had had enough of men, full stop. She kept her relationships light, flirty—and absolutely not committed.

‘My office isn’t usually this disorganised,’ he said, shepherding her back into the main room and indicating a chair.

‘Disorganised?’ The place was spotless. Unless she was missing something huge.

‘As I said on the phone, my personal assistant’s pregnant and she’s been off sick a lot. I’ve had temps in, but Di—that’s my assistant—hasn’t been able to brief them properly, and I haven’t been here enough to do it myself.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Today’s temp didn’t even bother turning up. I was talking to the agency when you came in, asking them what had happened.’

Sara couldn’t resist the impulse to tease him. ‘Are you telling me you’re so scary that the temps have got your name on a blacklist and refuse to come and work for you?’

‘I’m not scary in the slightest. I just expect a fair day’s work for a fair day’s pay. And if you can’t do basic things like answering the phone politely and taking a proper message, then you shouldn’t take a job as a PA.’ He raked a hand through his hair. ‘Actually, one of the temps was excellent, but when I asked if I could have her back for a long-term assignment, the agency said she’d already been given a placing somewhere else and wasn’t available.’ He propped his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on his hands. ‘Which leaves me in a mess. I need someone to go through all the filing and put my office back into the order I’m used to, and to keep this office ticking over until Di decides whether she wants to come back after she’s had the baby.’

‘I can do the first bit,’ Sara said, ‘but I do short-term assignments only. Maternity cover—that’s way too long a time for me.’

‘Understood.’

‘So how much filing are we talking about? Because, unless I’m going mad, I can’t see any filing at all.’

Luke walked over to the other desk and removed a large cardboard box from underneath it. It was full of papers, stuffed in haphazardly. ‘This,’ he said. ‘I know, I know. Do the filing daily and it’s a small job. Leave it, and the next thing you know it’s overwhelming. But Di felt too rough to do it. She knows I hate clutter, so she put it all into this box out of the way, meaning to do it later.’

‘Except now she’s not here, and your temps have consistently ignored it.’

‘Exactly. And Di usually weeds the files. My guess is she hasn’t done that for a while, either.’

‘So would I get carte blanche to reorganise your filing system?’

‘If it’s a genuine time-saver, yes; if you’re trying to justify your bill, no.’

She liked the fact that Luke Holloway was this blunt. It meant she’d know exactly where she stood with him. No pussyfooting around, no hiding behind a façade of being a polite, bumbling upper-class Englishman, the way that Hugh had.

Not that Luke could pretend to be upper-class. Not with that accent.

‘So what exactly is it you do?’ she asked.

‘Are you telling me you didn’t look me up on the Internet?’

She flushed. Of course she had. ‘It didn’t tell me very much. You’re twenty-eight and a self-made millionaire.’ And his girlfriends were all the model type—tall, long legs, exotic looks and impossibly shiny dark hair. He dated a lot, was on the guest list at the best parties and changed his girlfriend frequently. Extremely frequently. ‘But newspaper stories and online gossip columns aren’t always accurate.’

‘It didn’t tell me much about you, either. Apart from the fact that you don’t have your own website.’

So he’d looked her up, too?

Well, of course he had. Even if she’d come recommended. Luke was the kind of man who’d pay attention to detail. ‘I don’t need a website. My clients come from word of mouth.’

‘Which is the best form of advertising. It’s accurate and it can’t be bought.’

How come they were discussing her business? She was meant to be finding out about his. ‘You still haven’t answered my question,’ she pointed out.

‘I buy and sell businesses.’