Accepting the Boss's Proposal

‘It’s not the same situation at all. Lori, you need to keep a low profile at the moment. You and I both know how this works. Give it a couple of weeks and they’ll be after the scent of someone else’s blood—’

He watched as Jemima came back in to the room carrying his coffee. She’d eased off slightly on the formal clothes since her first morning, but she was still the most ‘old before her time’ woman he’d met in a long time. She dressed like a woman between forty and fifty and yet he was sure she was younger than that. She could be anywhere between twenty-five and thirty-five.

Miles studied her intently. She probably would look dramatically more attractive if she did something with her hair other than tie it back in a low pony-tail. It was the most amazing colour. A natural redhead. His mouth curved into a sexy smile. It wasn’t often you met a natural redhead.

‘Lori, it’ll be two weeks at worst.’ He picked up his pen and started to doodle on the A4 pad in front of him—large abstract boxes which he shaded in with swift strokes. Then he wrote ‘Keira’, around which he put flourishing curlicues. ‘If any member of the royal family do anything remotely newsworthy it’ll be less than that.’

Jemima placed his coffee in front of him and he looked up to mouth his thanks. It irked him that he couldn’t get any real response out of her. She didn’t talk about anything personal. Not her husband, nor her children. Nothing. She didn’t even seem to have any kind of social life. A question as to what she’d done the night before had elicited a blank look.

And she didn’t seem to like him much. Every so often he would catch her watching him with those big green eyes and her expression wasn’t complimentary. She seemed to be on the verge between contempt and amusement. All in all, he wasn’t sure what to make of her.

He turned his attention back to Lori. ‘Just make sure you don’t give any kind of statement to the press. Do you understand me? It’s very important.’

Miles finished his call and flicked through his mail. There was nothing there that particularly caught his attention and his eyes moved over the doodles he’d drawn on his pad of paper—Keira. Keira Rye-Stanford. Now she was one very…sexy woman. That wraparound dress she’d worn last night had seemingly been held together with one very small bow. Just one pull would have…

He stood up and walked over to the door between his office and the outer one. ‘Jemima.’

She looked up from the computer screen, a small frown of concentration on her forehead. ‘Yes?’

‘Would you arrange to have some flowers sent to a Keira Rye-Stanford at—’ he pulled the name of her art gallery out from the recesses of his memory ‘—at Tillyard’s. You’ll find the address in the directory.’

‘Keira Rye-Stanford?’

He could hear the censure in her voice, as though she were reminding him he’d sent flowers to someone entirely different three days earlier. ‘That’s right.’

‘What would you like to send?’

Miles conjured up an image of Keira—a Celtic beauty with a soft Irish lilt and a very seductive glint in her blue eyes. She was a woman who probably received flowers often. And that meant one needed to be creative.

He smiled. ‘A dandelion.’

Jemima looked up, her pencil poised on her pad. ‘You want to send a dandelion?’

‘With a message:

Roses are red, Violets are blue,

This is a Dandelion, but it’s for you.

Ask them to wrap it in cellophane with a big bow and deliver it to the reception desk at Tillyard’s.’

‘A dandelion?’

‘Trust me,’ he said with a wink as he headed back towards his office, ‘it works. Every time.’

Jemima finished writing his message and thumped her pencil down on top of the pad.

He stopped. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

Jemima’s green eyes flashed, but she answered smoothly. ‘If the florist does, I’ll let you know.’

‘She won’t. She’ll just charge me the earth,’ he said, shutting the door to his office.

What was Jemima’s problem? Anyone would think he was asking her to pick the blasted dandelion herself, instead of picking up the telephone and calling a florist he had an account with. Becks would think it a giggle. He could guarantee she’d make a first rate job of it. Keira would receive a disproportionately large cellophane-wrapped weed tied together with a classy ribbon. Perfect.

His telephone buzzed and he picked up the receiver with a casual, ‘Miles.’

‘It’s an Emma Lawler. She’s says it’s personal.’ His temporary secretary’s voice was bland.

‘Thanks, Jemima. Put her through.’ Miles sat back in his chair and waited for Emma’s breathless voice to speak before he said, ‘Did you get my flowers?’

CHAPTER TWO

‘PLEASE come tonight. It’ll be fun. Alistair’s best man is going to be here—and he’s single.’

Jemima closed her eyes against Rachel’s voice. Why did she do this? Why did everybody do this?

‘You’ll like him.’

‘I’m not interested in getting involved with anyone else,’ Jemima protested weakly, carrying the phone through to the lounge and curling up in one oversized sofa. Been there, done that and burnt the T-shirt. The man who could get under her defences was going to have to have more ability than Houdini himself.

‘Just because Russell is a complete arse it doesn’t mean all men are.’

She knew that, of course she did. Not that Russell was an ‘arse’, as Rachel put it. If he had been it would have made everything so much easier. He was a nice man—who didn’t love her any more. He was very sorry about it, but…

He just didn’t. Simple as that, apparently. He’d sat down opposite her in the kitchen one Sunday afternoon and explained that he needed time apart. Time to think about what he wanted from life. Of course, in the end he’d decided he’d rather have a blonde account executive from Chiswick called Stefanie.

How had that happened? Had he woken up one morning and suddenly realised he felt nothing for her? Or had it been something that had come on gradually, almost without him noticing it? Jemima shook her head as though to rid herself of those thoughts. Dissecting every part of their marriage like that was the surest way of going insane. Sometimes she felt as if she was hanging by a thread anyway.

‘I’m not trying to pair you up, really. He’s not your type.’ Rachel’s voice seemed to radiate happiness. ‘We just thought it would be a nice way of you two meeting before the wedding. The boys are with Russell this weekend, aren’t they?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, then,’ Rachel said, as though that settled everything. ‘No point sitting in on your own. Alistair is cooking—so you don’t have to worry about food poisoning.’

Jemima gave in to the inevitable. ‘Do you want me to bring anything?’

‘Just you. Come early. I’ve been dying to show you the Jimmy Choo sandals I’ve chosen to go with my dress. I’ve had to take out a second mortgage, but they are to die for and since I’m only going to do this once…’ She broke off. ‘Hell, I’m sorry. That was really insensitive of me.’

The contrition in her friend’s voice brought a smile to her face. ‘Don’t be daft.’ Her finger followed the shape of the agapanthus leaf design on the sofa fabric. ‘Alistair’s lovely and I’m sure you’re going to be very happy together.’

‘I really should try and engage my brain before I speak. It’s just this wedding stuff is all-encompassing. I don’t seem to be able to think about anything else at the moment. It’s all dresses, bouquets, flowers, table settings…I’m really sorry. And I haven’t even asked you anything about your new job yet. What a cow I am!’

‘There’s not a lot to tell.’ Jemima idly twisted the navy-blue tassel at the corner of the cushion. ‘I’ve only done a couple of weeks.’

And I hate it. I hate being away from the boys. Hate missing meeting up with my friends. Hate my life being different from the way I planned it. No point saying any of that. There was no way Rachel would understand how she felt about working at Kingsley and Bressington.

‘Are the girls you’re working with nice?’