In Her Boss's Bed

‘Why did his wife leave him?’

Conall’s question took Morgen completely by surprise. Her hand was on the door handle beside her, but she withdrew it onto her lap, tucking her hair behind her ear as she spoke.

‘He said she couldn’t cope with his success. She was trying to forge her own career as a singer and felt that Derek didn’t support her enough. They came from very different backgrounds, and in the end I suppose they just wanted different things. The differences just became too much to withstand—for Nicky anyway.’

Shrugging, she stared down at her own ringless hands, fighting off the unexpected sense of failure that suddenly descended on her out of nowhere. She didn’t want to think about Simon, her ex-husband, but her last two sentences might have been describing their own disastrous union—brief though it had been. He had been an ex-pupil of Eton, one of the foremost public schools in the country, then gone on to medical school. When Morgen had met him he’d just been promoted to a registrar’s job at Guy’s Hospital, and his charm and total self-confidence had swept her away.

His parents were wealthy and his father, an eminent heart surgeon, had been knighted in the Queen’s honours list. Morgen hadn’t exactly received the red carpet treatment from his family, and straight from the off she’d known she wasn’t good enough for their darling Simon. How could she be? She’d gone to a mixed comprehensive in South London, then trained as a secretary at a local technical college. Her father had been a bricklayer and her mother a school secretary. It went without saying that her family had hardly moved in the same illustrious circles the Vaughan-Smiths had frequented.

‘These things happen.’ Not taking his eyes from her, Conall wondered what she was thinking. ‘He’ll have to get over it soon. Especially if he wants to keep his job.’

‘Derek isn’t deliberately sabotaging his future. The man is in a lot of pain, for goodness’ sake!’

Fielding off the frosty stare that accompanied Morgen’s words, Conall knew she was probably thinking he was a hard bastard—someone who didn’t give a damn about the people who worked for him as long as they helped the firm turn a profit. The truth was that he cared passionately about bringing out the best in people, and was only too happy to share the fruits of his own success with them when they did. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be tough when he had to be…ruthless, even.

As far as he could see Derek Holden had wallowed in his own self-pity long enough. If something were not done about that soon, it wouldn’t just be the man’s job that went down the pan, it would be his life. O’Brien and Stoughton could easily hire another architect, but Derek couldn’t be brought back from the dead.

‘I’m well aware that the man needs help—professional help. In the meantime I’ll be taking over things for a little while. You’ll be working directly for me, Miss McKenzie. Think you can handle that?’

He couldn’t help needling her, if only to see her react. Her captivating face instantly revealed her unhappiness. Her emotions were laid bare, and Conall realised it wasn’t easy for her to don the civil mask of control that professionalism required. Not when in reality she was in turmoil. Inexplicably he felt himself warm to her in a way he hadn’t warmed to a woman in a long time. And the prospect of being ‘hands on’ in the office while Derek took a necessary sabbatical—with Morgen as his assistant—suddenly appealed much more than it probably had a right to. As soon as he got back to his sister’s flat in Highgate Conall would telephone the New York office and let them know he was extending his stay in the UK indefinitely.

‘I can handle anything you care to throw at me, Mr O’Brien. Why don’t you try me and see? Part of my secretarial course curriculum was how to deal with difficult people. In fact I specialised in it! See you back at the office.’ And with that Morgen slipped out of the car, slamming the door behind her.

Conall laid his head back on the cream rest and mused that her hostility was probably a bonus. It would make it all the sweeter when she finally decided it was worth her while to be nice to him. Priding himself on knowing women as well as he did, and having personal experience that wealth and status in life were powerful aphrodisiacs—especially when it came to attraction—Conall didn’t doubt that that would soon be the case…

CHAPTER THREE

AT THREE-THIRTY that afternoon Morgen made her way to the ladies’ washroom to freshen up. Staring at her reflection in the bank of mirrors, she frowned at the soft bluish shadows beneath her eyes. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t acknowledge she looked just about as tired as she felt, but her spirits were lifted a little despite the tension of the morning because she’d heard from her mother that Neesha was more or less back to her old self today.

Reflecting on that fact now, she let her shoulders drop a little with relief. That meant that her daughter could go back to school tomorrow and her mother could go back home. Relationships were strained between them at the best of times, but none more so than when Morgen asked her to take care of Neesha for her when she was sick. Lorna McKenzie did not approve of women working full-time when their children were small. Truth to tell, Morgen might have shared the same conviction if Simon hadn’t walked out on her less than a year into their marriage, drastically diminishing her options.

For a man who’d initially been over the moon to hear she was pregnant, he’d soon changed his tune as his wife’s pregnancy had advanced. He dealt with sick people all the time, but he had professed he was unable to cope when Morgen was wretched with morning sickness. That, coupled with her lack of desire to socialise with his friends and never seeing eye-to-eye with his parents, had been good enough grounds for him to end the marriage as far as he was concerned. Besides, he really hadn’t liked the idea of being ‘tied down,’ he’d explained as he was leaving. His career came first, and he really hadn’t been sure whether fatherhood was for him after all. He was willing to help support her and the baby, but only until Morgen could return to work full time, at which time his future contributions would be for the child only.

‘The child.’ Simon still rarely referred to his daughter by her given name. She didn’t see him from one month to the next anyway. By now Simon had made Specialist Registrar, and was on the fast track to becoming a consultant. He worked long hours and in his free time liked to play sport and socialise with his well-connected friends. As far as Neesha’s grandparents went, Elizabeth and Terence Vaughan-Smith wanted nothing to do with their grandchild—they hadn’t agreed with the marriage in the first place, so why should they acknowledge a child of that union?

Morgen stared hard into her own eyes and bit back the overwhelming desire to cry.

‘Don’t you dare, Morgen McKenzie!’ she whispered harshly through gritted teeth, returning her pale rose lipstick to her make-up bag. ‘You didn’t cave in when the bastard walked out on you; you’re not caving in now!’ Her defences were low because she was tired, that was all. But her heart ached just the same for Neesha, because her father and his family had more or less rejected her.

Oh, well. Such was life. She wasn’t the only one who’d had hard times and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. Look at poor Derek. What would become of him if he were unable to turn his addiction around? At the thought of her boss she glanced down at her silver-linked wristwatch, noted the time, then grabbed up her bag from beside the sink.

Hell’s bells! She didn’t dare be late for Conall O’Brien—not when they had a four o’clock meeting to get to at Docklands. The man already thought she was lazy and incompetent—why make life even more difficult for herself by compounding that impression?

As she hurried back along the thickly carpeted corridor to her office, Morgen prayed she’d get there before Conall. She wasn’t craving his approval, but neither was she courting his disapproval—and if he started to have a go at her, the mood she was in she’d probably tell him to stick his job where the sun didn’t shine, and then where would she and Neesha be?

But luck, it seemed, wasn’t on her side today. Standing by the window, gazing down at the London traffic through the slats in the blind, Conall turned as she entered, causing Morgen’s heart to flutter like a moth flying too close to a flame. Newly showered and shaved, and wearing another impeccably tailored suit—this one a dark charcoal-grey matched with a pristine white shirt and burgundy-coloured tie—he looked like a man who meant business. He was clean-shaven, tanned and gorgeous, with piercing blue eyes that had her cornered the instant she set foot in the room, and it seemed that the world tilted more than a little when Morgen gazed back at him. The sensation made her strangely angry, not to mention defensive as hell.

‘I haven’t kept you waiting, have I? I literally just popped out to the washroom for a minute. Are you ready to go?’

‘You look tired, Miss McKenzie. Are you sure you’re up to this?’

Now he was casting aspersions on the way she looked, as well as her ability to do her job! Striding across the room, Morgen deliberately ignored him. Instead she gathered up the papers and plans on her desk, slid them into a large manila envelope, tucked it under her arm and walked back to the door.

‘Shall we go, Mr O’Brien? It’s already twenty to four. I just hope the traffic is in our favour.’

She’d tied back her hair, Conall noticed, almost as if trying to regain some lost control. The idea intrigued him, made him wonder if there were areas of her life where she willingly gave up the desire to stay in control. Like when she was in bed with a lover, for instance?

Although personally he preferred her beautiful hair left unconfined, however she wore it she would command attention—because Morgen McKenzie was not a woman who could pass unremarked. Her fitted suit accentuated a figure that veered more towards the voluptuous than the fashionably thin, but because she was tall as well—at least five eight, by his calculations—she could wear a black polythene sack and still look amazing. But he hadn’t missed the dark circles beneath her lovely eyes either, and he was sure she was ready to kill him for noticing. Was his first impression of her right? Was she a party girl burning the candle at both ends most nights after work? And—more to the point—did she have a man in her life?

‘That’s what I like to see—enthusiasm for the job. It’s going to be a long afternoon, by all accounts. I’ve already spoken with the client. Have you met Stephen Ritchie before?’

‘We’ve only spoken on the phone,’ Morgen replied, tension edging into her shoulders as she reflected on the irate telephone calls of the past week, not to mention the threats to sue the firm. All in all, Mr Ritchie did not sound like the kind of man she was eager to meet.

‘Well, it’s no exaggeration to say he’s baying for our blood—or Derek’s blood, at least. We’re going to have to jump through hoops to come out on top. Think we can save the day, Miss McKenzie?’

He paused in the doorway, crowding her with his impressive physique. His expression seemed to increase in intensity, causing a sudden outbreak of goosebumps beneath Morgen’s clothes. Trouble was, the sexy fragrance of his cologne—along with the highly alluring and more subtle scent of the man himself—kept drifting in and out of her nostrils, making it hard to think. Unable to wrench her gaze away from his, Morgen sucked in a shaky breath. His seductive blue gaze had become a perilous ocean, and she was in mortal danger of becoming irrevocably lost at sea.

‘I wish you would stop using my name as a means to taunt me, Mr O’Brien. I don’t like being intimidated.’

‘Is that what I’m doing? Intimidating you?’ Frowning, Conall let his gaze sweep her features with genuine surprise.

Morgen couldn’t find the words to answer him—not even a simple yes or no. Her senses were too besieged by his nearness.

‘Would you prefer it if I called you Morgen?’ he asked evenly, his voice dropping down a sensual octave or two.

Taken aback by his unexpected concern, she stepped hurriedly ahead of him into the corridor to cover her confusion. ‘That is my given name.’

‘Then Morgen it is.’

Easily falling into step beside her, Conall mused how well her name suited her. Morgan Le Fay sprang to mind—the legendary dark-haired enchantress in the tale of King Arthur. There was certainly something bewitching about her, that was for sure.

‘Got everything we need, Morgen?’ he asked conversationally, referring to the large manila envelope under her arm.

Her green eyes briefly met his. ‘I’ve got everything you need, Mr O’Brien.’

Sweet heaven, he couldn’t argue with that… ‘Call me Conall,’ he said brightly, just about getting the words out past the sudden aching dryness in his throat.

It was raining when they reached the site, where two new luxury apartment blocks were being erected. The rain had quickly turned the dry sand of the ground into a river of mud, and as Morgen donned the compulsory hard hat the site foreman gave her she wished she had had the foresight to bring some Wellington boots. Derek normally kept his in the boot of his car, and she had enough experience as his assistant to know that she should have done the same. As for Conall, he didn’t seem to notice the fact that his black hand-made Italian shoes were quickly sinking into a quagmire of mud and sand.

After shaking hands with the stocky foreman, and introducing both himself and Morgen, he followed the man to the nearby planning office that had been erected to monitor progress on the site.

Inside, three other men—one of them suited—were seated round the long rectangular table. The smell of brewing coffee and cigarette smoke immediately enveloped Morgen’s senses as they entered. All the men glanced at her with wary gazes, as though an alien had suddenly wandered in amongst them. Clearly some men still had old-fashioned views about women on a building site, she thought irritably, concluding it was about time they got over it.

‘Miss McKenzie is my assistant and will be taking notes,’ Conall explained, before pulling out a chair for her to sit down. ‘Unfortunately Derek Holden is on sick leave, so I will be taking over the project until his return.’

From the first few minutes, as plans were laid out on the table and one of the men got up to pour the coffee into waiting mugs, it was evident who was in charge and why. Conall O’Brien’s expertise in smoothing ruffled feathers and executing the necessary action to bring things back on course was a master-class in skill, diplomacy and people management bar none. Morgen saw and heard Stephen Ritchie’s initially hostile reception to Conall melt like snow beneath a sun lamp.

Previously sluggish and tired, she straightened her back, sat up and listened in awe as the man finally had both the client and the contractors shaking hands and inviting him for drinks later on in the week.