Her Impossible Boss

She had a fascinatingly transparent face. Right now, giving his question some thought, she was lost in a slight frown, her lips parted, her apple-green eyes distant. Tess Kelly wasn’t the sort of woman he had been expecting. Claire was tall, brisk, efficient, and permanently attired in a suit. The girl sitting opposite him was a living, breathing testimony to the power of misconception. She looked as though she had never been anywhere near a suit and her hair.

No fashionably tailored bob, but really, really long. Several times he had been tempted to angle himself so that he could see just how long for himself.

‘Well…I guess there are the usual sights. Museums, art galleries. And then there’s the cinema, the zoo…I love Central Park. We could go there. I’m sure she’ll be missing the familiarity of her home and all her friends, so I’ll make sure to keep her busy and occupied.’

‘And then there’s the matter of schoolwork.’

Tess blinked and looked at him in confusion. ‘What schoolwork?’ she asked, perplexed. ‘It’s the holidays.’

‘Samantha’s education was severely disrupted because of Catrina’s death, as you can imagine. More so when she came to New York. There seemed little point in registering her for a school here, which she wouldn’t be attending on a permanent basis, and the tutors I employed for her came and went as regularly as the nannies. Consequently there are gaps in her learning which will have to be addressed before she sits exams at the beginning of September for her new school.’

‘Okaayyy…and where do I fit in?’

Tess continued to look at him blankly and he clicked his tongue with impatience. ‘You’re going to have to take charge there.’

‘Me?’ Tess squeaked in consternation. ‘I can’t become a tutor! You’ve seen my application form! You’ve made fun of my lack of qualifications!’

The thought of trying to teach anything to someone else horrified her. She wasn’t academic. She became nervous just thinking about textbooks. The youngest of three girls, she had grown up in the shadow of her clever sisters, and from an early age had dealt with the problem by simply opting out. No one could accuse her of being thick if she simply refused to compete, could they? And she had known that there was no way that she could ever have competed with either Claire or Mary. How on earth could he expect her to suddenly become a tutor?

‘I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Mr Strickland,’ she said, standing up abruptly. ‘If teaching is part of the job, then I’m going to have to turn down the position. I…I can’t. Claire and Mary are the brainy ones. I’m not. I’ve never been to university. I never even wanted to go. I did a foundation course in Art when I was sixteen, and that’s the extent of my qualifications. You need someone else.’

Matt looked at her narrowly and allowed her to ramble on. Then, very calmly, he told her to sit.

‘I’m getting the picture about your academic qualifications or lack of them. You hated school.’

‘I didn’t hate school.’ Having not wanted the job to start with, Tess now realised that she did. His daughter’s plight had touched her. The thought of her being so young, and dependent on a father who was obviously a workaholic, tugged at her heartstrings. For the first time she really wanted to get involved. ‘I’m just no good when it comes to textbooks.’

‘I have no time for people who wave a white flag and concede defeat before they’ve even given something a fair chance,’ Matt said bracingly. ‘I’m not asking you to teach to degree level. I’m asking you to tutor Samantha in some of the basics—maths, english, sciences. If you want to persuade me that you’re interested in taking on this job, then you’re going about it the wrong way.’

‘I’m just being honest! If…if you don’t want to employ any more tutors for your daughter, then why don’t you help her with her schoolwork?’ She faltered. ‘You run a business, so you must be qualified…or maybe you don’t need maths and English in what you do…? Some children don’t cope well with home-tutoring. Perhaps your daughter is one of those.’

‘Samantha could cope very well with home-tutoring,’ Matt said shortly, ‘if she was prepared to put effort into it. But she’s not. She might benefit more from teaching in a less structured manner. And, no, there is no way that I can help out. I barely have time to sleep. I leave this apartment at seven-thirty in the morning, which is an hour later than I used to before Samantha arrived, and I try and make it back by eight in the evening when I’m not away. Which is a push at the best of times.’

Tess was distracted sufficiently from her own agonising to shoot him a look of frank horror. ‘You work from seven-thirty in the morning to eight at night? Every day?’

‘I cut myself some slack on the weekends.’ Matt shrugged. He could think of no one who would find anything out of the ordinary about those working hours. The high-fliers in his company—and there were a lot of them—routinely had punishing schedules and thought nothing of it. They were paid fabulous sums of money and quid pro quo, after all.

‘What does that mean?’

‘Where are you going with this?’ Matt asked irritably. ‘You’re straying from the topic.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Tess breathed. ‘I just feel so sorry for you.’

‘Come again?’ Matt could hardly credit what he was hearing. If they haven’t been discussing something so important, he would have laughed. Never, but never, had anyone felt sorry for him. Quite the opposite. Being born into a legacy of wealth, power and influence had opened a thousand doors. Without siblings, the task of taking hold of the family fortunes had fallen onto his shoulders, and not only had he looked after the billions but he had gone several steps further and dramatically increased their worth. He had diversified and invested in areas his father would never have dreamed of, and in so doing had attained a position of impenetrable power. He was virtually untouchable. The economic and financial crises that had seen off so many of his rivals had skirted harmlessly around him. It was a situation he had engineered, and one he enjoyed.

‘I can’t think of anything more horrible than being slave to a job, but you’re right. I’m getting off the subject. I was just wondering why you didn’t cover the schoolwork with Samantha yourself if you think that the home-tutoring doesn’t work, but I can see that you don’t have the time.’

Was it his imagination or was there a hint of gentle criticism there?

‘Good. I’m glad we agree.’

‘Would you mind me asking you something?’ Tess ventured, clearing her throat. When he tilted his head to one side she said, tentatively, ‘When do you have time for your daughter, if you work such long hours?’

Matt stared at her in disbelief. The directness of the question put him soundly on the back foot—as did the fact that he was seldom in a position of having to field direct questions of a personal nature. Women just didn’t go there. But she was waiting for an answer.

‘I fail to see what this has to do with the job,’ he said stiffly.

‘Oh, but it has lots to do with the job! I mean, I’m sure you have special times set aside, and I would want to know that so that I didn’t intrude. I just don’t see where those special times would fit in if you’re working from seven-thirty to eight every day, and only taking a bit of time off over the weekends.’

‘I don’t have a structure for the time I spend with Samantha.’ His voice was cold and uninviting. ‘We very often go to The Hamptons so that she can see her grandparents on the weekend.’

‘That’s lovely.’ Tess was unconvinced.

‘And now that we’ve covered that, let’s move on to your hours.’ He tapped his pen absently on the desk, beating a staccato rhythm that made her feel as though she was being cross-examined rather than interviewed. ‘I’ll expect you to be here every morning no later than seven-thirty.’

‘Seven-thirty?’

‘Does that pose a problem?’

Torn between truth and tact, Tess remained silent until he prompted, with raised eyebrows, ‘I’m taking that as a no. It’s a requirement of the job. I could occasionally request one of my housekeepers to cover for you in an emergency, but I would hope that the occasion doesn’t arise.’

Tess had always been punctual at all her jobs—the very many she had had over the years—but it had to be said that none of them had required her to wake up at the crack of dawn. She wasn’t an early-morning person. Somehow she knew that was a concept he would never be able to understand. She wondered whether he ever slept.

‘Do all your employees work long hours?’ she asked faintly, and for some reason Matt had the strongest inclination to burst out laughing. Her appalled look said it all.

‘They don’t get paid the earth to clock-watch,’ he said seriously. ‘Are you telling me that you’ve never worked overtime in your life before?’

‘I’ve never had to,’ Tess told him earnestly. ‘But then again, I’ve never been paid the earth for anything I’ve done. Not that I mind. I’ve never been that interested in money.’

Matt was intrigued, against his will. Was this woman from the same planet as he was? He should stick to the programme, but he found himself strangely willing to digress.

‘Really?’ he said with scepticism. ‘In that case, I applaud you. You’re one of a kind.’

Tess wondered whether he was being sarcastic, but then, looking around her at the luxurious surroundings of his penthouse, where the old sat comfortably with the new and every hanging on the walls and rug strewn on the floor screamed wealth, she realised that he would be genuinely mystified at her indifference to money.

It had very quickly struck her, the second she had walked through the front door of his apartment, that Matt Strickland was a man who moved in circles so far removed from her own that they barely occupied the same stratosphere. The people he mixed with would share the same exalted lifestyle, and it was a lifestyle that could not be achieved without an unswerving dedication to the art of making money.

But Tess had been telling the absolute truth when she had told him that money didn’t interest her. If it had, she might have been a little more driven when it came to a career.

Nor did she have a great deal of respect for someone who put money at the top of their list. Someone, in short, like Matt Strickland. Even though she could appreciate that he was clever and ambitious, there was a hard, cutting edge to him that left her cold.

She sneaked a quick look at that striking face, and her heart beat a little faster and a little harder in her chest.

‘You’re not saying anything. I take it that you disapprove of all of this?’ He gestured sweepingly with one hand. This was a woman, he realised, whose silences were as revealing as the things she said. It was a refreshing trait.

‘It’s all very comfortable.’ Tess tiptoed around telling him the absolute truth—which was that expensive furnishings and investment paintings all came at a price.

‘But…?’