The Innocent Virgin

His mouth quirked humorously. ‘How about unspecifically?’

She pretended to give the idea some thought. In fact, she very much doubted too many people found this man boring; the level of mental alertness necessary just to have a conversation with him wouldn’t allow for that. Besides, the man was playing with her, and, despite what he might think to the contrary, she really wasn’t one of those vacuous ‘young things’ he had initially accused her of being. At least, she hoped she wasn’t!

She had left school with straight As and gone on to graduate from university three years later with a degree in politics. But two years of working as a very junior underling to a politician who just wasn’t going to make it, despite putting in sixteen-hour days, had very soon quashed her own ambitions in that direction, and she had done a complete about-face, becoming interested in a career in television instead.

Being the smiling face of a lowbrow programme’s weather segment hadn’t exactly stretched her mentally, but everyone had to start somewhere. Besides, being offered her own six-week series of interviews now was worth the year she had spent getting up at four-thirty in the morning just so that she could be at the studio bright and early to give her first weather report of the day when the programme began at six-thirty.

And even Max Harding, despite his privileged background and a father who had probably been able to pull a few strings for him, had to have started somewhere—

‘Sorry?’ She shook her head as she realised Max had just spoken to her.

‘I asked whether your meteoric rise to fame has had something to do with the way you look rather than any real qualifications to do the job?’ He looked at her challengingly.

He had obviously decided to make sure there was no possible chance of her being bored by him any longer!

But if his intention was to anger her by the obvious insult, then he hadn’t succeeded in doing that either. She had heard every insult there was these last two months, from other women as well as men, and especially from Gary Holmes, and she was no longer shocked or bothered by them. Well…not much, anyway.

She gave him a pitying glance. ‘Which one do you think I slept with? The producer or the director?’

Grudging respect darkened his eyes. ‘Either. Or possibly both.’ He shrugged.

Now he wasn’t trying to be insulting—he was succeeding! ‘Pat Connelly is a grandmother several times over, I believe, and seriously not my type!’ Abby told him derisively. ‘And Gary Holmes is just an obnoxious little creep!’ she added with feeling.

A veteran director of fifteen years plus, Gary was one of the most handsome men Abby had ever met—but he had the infuriating habit of treating her like an idiot. He obviously disliked her—possibly because he also thought she was a pretty airhead—but as the dislike was wholly reciprocated Abby wasn’t particularly bothered by his attitude. Except on a professional level. And he had hardly given her time to prove—

She suddenly realised that Max had gone strangely quiet, and looked across at him curiously, but she was able to learn nothing from his closed expression. ‘What is it?’ she prompted with a frown.

He seemed to snap himself out of that scowling silence with effort. ‘Nothing,’ he said abruptly. ‘And if it’s taken you this long to think about my previous question, perhaps you would be wiser not to answer at all!’ he drawled, with some of his earlier mockery. ‘Who’s scheduled to appear on your first programme?’

She was a little stunned by this abrupt volte face, and would have liked to pursue the reason for his sudden silence, but the coldness in his gaze was enough to warn her that she would get precisely nowhere if she did.

‘Natalie West and Brad Hammond,’ she answered instead, with not a little pride.

The famous couple, both having appeared on prime-time television, but in different series, had been involved in the very noisy and very public break-up of their marriage six months ago, culminating with Natalie announcing it would give her great pleasure to see Brad run over with a steamroller, and Brad retaliating with the claim that he would gladly step in the path of the steamroller if it meant he didn’t have to set eyes on Natalie ever again!

It had taken weeks of persuasion and negotiation on Abby’s part, but she had finally got them both to agree—separately—to appear together on her opening programme. It promised to be an explosive debut for The Abby Freeman Show!

Max whistled softly through his teeth. ‘Are you going to supply the steamroller?’

He did have a sense of humour after all! He also, despite his many career-related trips out of the country, obviously kept up with the less serious side of current affairs.

Abby shook her head, her hair silky against her cheeks, blue eyes gleaming with laughter. ‘I already checked—even if Natalie felt so inclined, a steamroller wouldn’t fit through the studio door!’

Max gave an appreciative chuckle. ‘Perhaps you aren’t such a lightweight after all!’

It was far from an apology for his earlier rudeness—in fact it was still a remark tinged with condescension—but it was certainly an improvement on his initial antagonism. ‘Does that mean you’ll reconsider appearing on my programme?’ God, how it still gave her a thrill of pleasure to say ‘my programme’!

She had earned a certain amount of recognition from her appearances on breakfast television, with members of the public coming up to her in supermarkets and restaurants to say hello, but she was really hoping that having her own programme was going to take her one step further than that, and earn her the professional respect of people like Max Harding. If she ever got the chance, that was!

‘Not in the least.’ He instantly shot her down, his tone bored and noncommittal. And totally uncompromising. ‘And, as you aren’t going to tell me who this “friend of a friend” is…’ He raised dark brows.

‘I told you I can’t do that,’ she confirmed, her disappointment acute at his continued refusal.

Max shrugged. ‘Then it would appear we have nothing else to say to each other.’ He stood up, removing his own empty coffee mug and Abby’s full one and placing them on the worktop before turning to look at her pointedly.

He was obviously waiting for her to leave.

She had lied her way up here in the first place, and been taken in to this man’s inner sanctum, yet still she had failed in her objective. But other than continuing to pressure him—something guaranteed to annoy him even further—she didn’t have any choice but to comply with his less than subtle hint.

‘You won’t be too hard on Henry?’ she asked as she followed Max back through the sitting room to the door. She hadn’t realised earlier just how strongly Max felt about any invasion of his privacy, and Henry was a man of advanced years, who would have great difficulty finding another job if he was sacked from this one.

Max glanced back at her. ‘Calm down, Abby,’ he taunted. ‘Having witnessed your persuasive powers firsthand—no, I won’t be hard on Henry at all.’ He opened the door as he spoke.

Her ‘persuasive powers’? Did she have some of those? And if she did, why hadn’t Max Harding been persuaded?

He shook his head, smiling slightly. ‘Don’t beat yourself up trying to work out what they are, Abby; all that matters is that they didn’t work on me!’

Obviously not—but she would still have liked to know what they were. If she did, she might be able to use them again—to better effect!

But she could see by the derisive expression on Max’s face as he stood there waiting for her to leave that he certainly wasn’t going to enlighten her. Pity.

‘I’ll make a point of watching your first programme,’ he told Abby softly as she stepped out into the hallway.

She stared up at him suspiciously, uncertain of exactly what he had meant by that, and unable to read any of his thoughts from his blandly mocking expression.

But he had just succeeded in increasing her own first-night nerves by one hundred per cent!

CHAPTER THREE

‘WELL, well, if it isn’t little Abby Freeman!’

Abby groaned as she sank further down into her armchair, having instantly recognised Max Harding’s mocking voice.

Holed up in a corner of the Dillmans’ crowded drawing room, having already drunk three-quarters of the bottle of champagne sitting in the ice bucket on the low table beside her, she was in no mood for company. Something everyone else in the room, including her hosts Dorothy and Paul, seemed to know instinctively and act upon—and of which Max Harding had taken no notice whatsoever!

‘Go away,’ she muttered, without so much as glancing in his direction. She could see the long length of his legs from the corner of her eye, though, and observed that he didn’t move by so much as an inch.

‘I didn’t have you figured as a woman who likes to drink alone.’ He sounded amused now.

Abby raised dark lashes in order to glare at him, her gaze belligerent. ‘I don’t usually drink—alone or otherwise,’ she snapped impatiently. ‘But I’m sure that you and probably everyone else in this room are aware of the reason I’ve made tonight the exception.’ And several million other people, she thought with another inner groan at the remembered humiliation.

How could she have known? How could she have guessed? Why hadn’t someone told her?

‘Hey, Abby, it really wasn’t that bad.’ Max came down on his haunches beside her chair now, the amusement having disappeared from his voice as he looked at her with something like concern. ‘In fact, I thought you recovered very well.’

She hadn’t ‘recovered’ well at all, and she was sure that everyone watching the airing of her first show earlier this evening had known it, too.

As previously agreed, she had interviewed Brad Hammond first for ten minutes, chatting warmly about his earlier career and his success now in a popular television series. Then Brad had gone off the set and Natalie had come on for her allotted ten minutes, discussing her own success.